Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Virgil had never really understood the appeal of playing in the snow. 

He himself had only ever been in the snow once. He had to understand it, if he was going to protect Thomas from its dangers. He’d come away from that experience with a short list of conclusions involving frostbite, illnesses, and slippery road conditions, but not much more. 

The others were different. They were able to see something in the snow he didn’t--something fun, something interesting, something full of potential. Even Logan, whom Virgil would have thought wouldn’t be interested in such frivolities, apparently enjoyed their annual tradition of what Patton called the Sides’ Snow Day. 

It happened every year in late December. In honor of the approaching holidays, Roman would conjure a huge blizzard in his realm on the night of the 18th. The sides would pack bags, head into Roman’s realm on the 18th, and be gone until the morning of 20th.

Well. Most of the sides. 

Virgil had never attended a Snow Day. He’d never been invited. That had bothered him at first, when he was younger, but he’d gotten used to it, just as he’d gotten used to their daily disdain and frustration with him. He was a bad guy, and bad guys didn’t get to go on fun family trips. It made sense. 

The others hadn’t seemed to have many qualms about leaving him behind, either. They’d pack up their bags and disappear without a word, evidently assuming that since Virgil routinely avoided them for days at a time anyway, he’d never notice or care if they were gone. He’d been left to kick around the mindspace on his own for the entire day and two nights.  

He didn’t mind, once he got used to it. Not really. It was...sort of nice, he supposed, to be able to go into the commons whenever he liked, without worrying about running into someone. His mere presence had a way of starting fights, so having some time to let his guard down a little was...well, relaxing wasn’t right, but...calming, perhaps. Soothing, if a bit lonely. 

But this year...his curiosity had gotten the better of him. There had to be something he was missing--something about snow that would make this all make sense. If he could just see what they did in it...maybe he’d be able to understand at last. And if he could understand what they enjoyed, then by extension he’d understand what Thomas enjoyed, and understanding Thomas would give him more tools to protect him. That was a good thing, right? 

The excuses were flimsy, and he knew it. But he also knew he’d resolved to do this, and there wasn’t time to talk himself out of it.

When Roman had opened the door to his realm, he’d lurked in the hallway, and as the door had drifted shut, he’d slipped over and caught it before it could latch. He hadn’t followed right away--they’d’ve seen him--but he had held the door, just barely unlatched, until it had been safe to slip in unnoticed. 

(Roman’s door only opened to his fantasy realm when he’d specifically invited someone into it. If you tried to get in without his permission, you’d just find his bedroom. Virgil knew this. And so he waited, holding the door open just far enough so the magic of imagination lingered long enough to allow its last uninvited occupant to slip inside.)

When he finally entered, he was stunned. The world that opened to him was a vast, snowy field, surrounded on all sides by forests. Beyond the trees, rising up all around them, a line of snow-tipped mountains towered on the horizon. The sky was clear and perfectly blue, and the sunlight made the snow sparkle and glitter like a thousand tiny diamonds. 

His breath caught in his throat, and for just a moment, Virgil’s fear was replaced with something more innocent. Something like wonder. Was this what the others saw when it snowed? Was this what they felt? Because if so, he was beginning to understand how they might overlook the potential danger. 

But his own role quickly reasserted itself. Yes, the snow was beautiful, but the others could only allow themselves the chance to enjoy it because he stayed vigilant about its dangers. It wasn’t his job to enjoy things; it was his job to keep everyone safe. 

He blinked and looked around, trying to get his bearings. At first, he didn’t understand where the others had gone; a quick scan showed him only a light post next to the doorway (which Virgil had carefully blocked open with a sock: he would have to be able to get back, after all, and it wasn’t like he could just ask Roman to let him out. He wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place). 

But after a moment, he realized the snowy field in front of him wasn’t quite as pristine as he’d first thought. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he realized he could see tracks in the snow--hooves and two long, smooth grooves that led toward the edge of the trees on the far side of the meadow. A sleigh, perhaps--that would fit in with the whole winter motif. And when he took a moment to squint in that direction, he thought he saw a flicker of colorful light just at the edge of the forest. 

He hesitated again. He’d only intended to come into the realm to see the snow for himself, then slip back into the mindscape again, but... 

But now that he was here, curiosity was overcoming him. Where were the others? Where had they gone? What would they do, for two nights stranded in this frigid (if beautiful) place? 

He bit his lip and glanced at the door, now just a rectangle-shaped crack against the backdrop of sky behind him. It would be easiest, and safest, to slip back through that crack, and spend the next few days in his typical isolation. 

But. 

He sighed. He’d already made up his mind, and he knew it. Might as well stop wasting daylight, right? 

He wrapped his hoodie more tightly around himself, vaguely wishing he’d thought to bring something a little warmer, and began to trudge through the snow, following the tracks. 

* 

By the time he reached the edge of the forest, some two hours or so later, his vague wish for something warmer had turned into a constant litany of internal curses. He was halfway to frozen solid, his hands, cheeks and nose painfully chapped and red from the biting wind, and the snow had quickly seeped through his shoes and soaked his socks and halfway up his ankles. He’d tried to stay in the tracks made by the sleigh, but after ten minutes or so of walking, the bright blue sky had turned dark with heavy clouds, and fat snowflakes had begun to fall, burying the tracks in moments.

Now, the snow was nearly to his knees, and sloshing through it had taken hours, even though he could see the edge of the meadow could not have been more than a mile or two away. He’d spared a moment to be grateful that he, as a side, could not actually develop frostbite or freeze to death, but that gratitude had been quickly overshadowed by Roman’s insistence that everything in his imaginary realm be made to be as realistic as possible. By the time Virgil reached the edge of the meadow, his teeth were chattering nonstop, and his breath was ghosting in front of his face. 

The twinkle of lights at the edge of the meadow had turned out to be a small cottage, brightly decorated with colorful fairy lights. Several of the pristine pines around the cottage were also wrapped in the twinkling lights, and the overall effect was really quite beautiful. Combined with the beauty of the falling snow, which was drifting down in aesthetic swirls on gusts of wind, it made the whole scene feel like a Christmas card. 

Of course, he reflected ruefully, he could already see how much easier it’d be to appreciate from indoors. 

He shook off the thought as he approached the cottage. Though not terribly large, it had a number of very sizable picture windows, and warm light was spilling from within, making squares of orange on the white canvas of snow. Virgil stepped around these carefully as he drew near, not wanting one of the others to glance out the window and see him lurking. Instead, he stayed at the outside edges of the cabin’s warm glow, until he found a side of the house that didn’t include a gigantic window. From there, he was able to creep forward until he was right beside the cottage, able to hear the muffled sounds coming from within. 

There was laughter. That was the thing he noticed straight away. He heard Roman’s loud, regal bellow, followed by Patton’s own rather undignified giggles. Logan he couldn’t hear, but he could easily picture the logical side’s quiet chuckles. It made something strange twist uncomfortably in his insides, but he ignored it, creeping along the edge of the house until he came to the edge of one of the windows. From there, he very carefully rose from his slight crouch and peered into the cottage. 

He was grateful the others were distracted by their laughter, because he couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped him at the sight that met his eyes. If he’d thought the outside of the cottage was a winter wonderland, the inside might as well have been Santa’s workshop: evergreen boughs and wreathes were artfully draped along the ceiling, which was also lined with small twinkling lights. A huge fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, and as Virgil listened, he realized he could hear Christmas music playing from some hidden speaker system (or perhaps from the walls themselves--Roman always pulled out the stops, when he wanted to impress). The mantle was adorned with a beautiful winter scene constructed of miniature ceramic figures skating around a frozen pond, and a quaint Christmas village stood in the background. Over the fireplace, three beautiful shimmering satin stockings--one silver, one bronze, one gold--hung empty, waiting to be filled with treats, and on the TV in the corner, the DVD menu sequence from A Christmas Story was displayed, ready to play. 

But the pièce de résistance had to be the gigantic tree that stood in the far corner of the room: an enormous evergreen that looked impossibly big for the space it was occupying, adorned in silver tinsel and multi-colored lights that seemed to chase each other around the glittering boughs. Baubles and crystal icicles hung from the branches artfully, but it wasn’t to them that Virgil’s eye was drawn. 

Instead, it was to the other ornaments: the ones that appeared to be pictures of cherished memories, displayed in tiny silver and gold frames and hung amidst the more generic ornaments He squinted, trying to see them, and realized they were all of the sides during previous holidays: opening presents, exchanging gifts, sipping hot cocoa, or sitting in front of the fireplace. There were also photos of the three of them playing in the snow, building forts and snowmen, throwing snowballs at one another, riding in the sleigh Virgil could only assume had brought them here in the first place. 

He swallowed, that odd twisty feeling in his gut rising to tighten in his chest and sting at his eyes. He blinked to clear them, berating himself for the display of pointless emotions. He hadn’t come here to feel sorry for himself, after all--he’d come here to understand what was so great about snow. 

But is that really the only reason? a voice whispered in his mind. You could’ve done that without hiking all the way out here, couldn’t you? Hell, you could’ve just googled it. Why are you here really? 

Virgil swallowed again, shoving that voice aside and creeping forward to another window, finally putting himself in position to see the other sides. 

They were sitting on a large, soft-looking sectional couch, wearing pajamas and gaudy Christmas sweaters and holding mugs of what was probably cocoa. They weren’t looking toward the windows, thankfully, but appeared to be deep in conversation with each other, eyes twinkling as they occasionally burst into the laughter he’d heard earlier. If Virgil had to guess by the fond look on their faces, he would say they were reminiscing--about what, he couldn’t say. Previous years spent together here, perhaps, passing pleasant hours in pleasant company. 

Without him. 

Virgil scowled and ducked down again. Of course without him. That was a given. Why did that one thought keep creeping up into his mind? Why did the tiny, hurt voice inside of him keep insisting on bringing it up? 

They don’t like you, the other voice, a more rational, reasonable thing, piped up in reply. You’re a bad guy. You’re a villain. This is...this is clearly a family occasion, something they share because they love each other, and...and it’s the holidays, and that’s what family does on the holidays. They spend time together, away from...from...

He closed his eyes, but the tears slipped out anyway. 

Away from the things that made them unhappy.

That’s what this was--more than just a holiday retreat, or a play day in the snow: this was a time to get away from him. Just as Thomas was always saying: the holidays were a time to leave your worries behind and just be happy with the people you loved. Well, what was he, if not the literal physical embodiment of those worries? What was he, if not the very thing Thomas needed to escape during the season everyone else was celebrating? 

No wonder the other sides came here without him every year. No wonder they looked so happy now. 

Virgil scrubbed at his frozen cheeks and rose to peer into the window one more time. 

The others had moved from the couch, and were now standing around the tree, smiling warmly at the pictures swinging from the branches. Roman had an arm looped around Patton’s shoulders and the other hooked through Logan’s elbow, and they were leaning on each other, each still holding a mug of cocoa as they spoke quietly to one another. As Virgil watched, Patton reached up and wiped at his own face, brushing away a nostalgic tear; Roman turned and pressed a kiss to his hair in response. 

Virgil had seen more than enough. He turned away, unwilling to intrude any further on this peaceful scene, and began to trudge back through the snow the way he’d come. It was colder than before, now, but he barely felt it this time as he made his way back, using his own footprints to make the trek a little less arduous. The cold of the night air could hardly compare to the chill of loneliness that had settled into his heart, and so he paid it no heed, following his trail back to the doorway that had let him inside this realm in the first place. Thankfully, the lamp post that stood by the door was now lit, flickering with a warm glow that guided him home like the proverbial star. At some point during the trek, the once-more clear sky had erupted in an incredible display of color. Northern lights, he remembered dully, sparing them only a glance to ensure they weren’t dangerous. At least they made it easier to see in the darkness. 

When he reached the door at last, he pulled his frozen fingers from where he’d stuffed them under his armpits and nudged the door open, slipping back into the mindscape commons. He moved the sock and pulled the door shut, then--just to make sure--pulled it open again. 

Roman’s empty bedroom stared back at him in silent darkness, quietly reprimanding him for his earlier intrusion. 

Uninvited. Unwelcome. Unwanted. 

He pulled the door closed and slumped, wandering to his own bedroom and climbing onto his bed. He wrapped himself in blankets, shivering and already sniffling--he’d almost certainly end up coming down with something, and served him right--and closed his eyes, trying not to think about how warm it had looked inside the little cottage, and how happy everyone had seemed. 

It didn’t work too well. But that was okay. Because Virgil understood now. 

It wasn’t the snow, after all--the snow was only secondary. It was...it was everything else that made them so happy: the warmth, the love, the joy, the absence (for once) of fear and worry. 

And Anxiety.

Virgil curled up in his bed and swallowed hard, promising himself that he would not emerge again until after the holidays were over. 

It would be best for everyone.

Chapter Text

Roman’s realm was, essentially, magic. 

Well, technically it was imagination, but when you really boiled it down, they were almost indistinguishable. And Roman, as the physical representation of creativity, had complete control over said realm. If he dreamed it, and willed it, it would be. 

But it got time-consuming, sometimes, to have to constantly urge things to exist. And as such, Roman had learned to automate large portions of the realm. He set things in motion, then left them to their own devices, which allowed him to enjoy himself more freely too. He’d even learned, over time and with Logan’s help, how to build a little bit of unpredictability into the mechanisms of his realm, which allowed him to go adventuring without knowing exactly how things were going to turn out. It was more fun that way, because it meant he got to be surprised. 

Of course, right now, the ‘surprise’ he’d encountered wasn’t precisely of the pleasant variety. 

Roman was currently standing in the middle of their Snow Day cottage, where he’d come to begin preparing the place for their annual retreat. Normally he didn’t need to do so; the realm where the cottage sat was simple, and its automated mechanisms needed very little in the way of maintenance. It came into existence when he called it. The temperature outside was always between twenty two and thirty two degrees; it snowed intermittently but never for more than three hours at a stretch; the snow never melted but it also never got deeper than twenty-four inches, unless specifically instructed to do so. It was the perfect consistency for building snow forts and snowmen, but it broke apart into soft, glittery powder on impact, ensuring no one was ever injured in their annual snowball fights. 

Then there was the cabin itself. Decorated in the perfect balance of homey and elegant, it fairly sparkled with colorful lights and glittering tinsel. The warm scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, and pine lingered in the air at all times, and in spite of the large picturesque windows, the temperature inside remained pleasantly warm (though not so warm that one couldn’t enjoy a snuggle in an over-large Christmas sweater conjured just for the occasion). Constant Christmas music played at a pleasant volume, coming from the walls themselves, loud enough to be heard but not so loud that it interfered with conversation. And it would obligingly pause itself, if the consensus was reached to pass the time with a holiday movie or two. 

But the real magic of the room--the one that Roman was most proud of--was the photo capture mechanism. 

Roman had been struck with the idea after Thomas had begun reading Harry Potter: memories that moved. He was enchanted by the thought. He’d set out to create a new automation for the annual cottage retreat: the realm itself became a living camera, capturing moments of joviality and mirth as the sides celebrated their holiday, and storing them for Roman to review later. He chose the best of them and added shining frames of silver and gold, then used them to adorn the tree. It became a living slideshow, displaying the best moments of holidays past, giving them a point of reminiscence and nostalgia amidst the celebration of the passage of another year. It had always been Roman’s favorite part of the retreat. 

This year, there was the added excitement of bringing Virgil out here for the first time, and Roman wanted to make sure everything was perfect. He’d come early to select the best pictures from previous years, to catch Virgil up on how things worked, and to welcome him into their future celebrations. 

Except, as it turned out, there was one little snag: this wasn’t Virgil’s first year to the cabin. 

Roman was currently staring at one of the previous year’s captured moments. At a glance, it looked perfectly wonderful: a shot from the perspective of the tree itself, of the three sides standing wrapping each other up in one another’s arms, smiling as they gazed on the memories of holidays past. The memory was in motion for about ten seconds, capturing Roman wrapping his arm around Patton, Patton’s head dropping to Roman’s shoulder, and Roman looping his arm through Logan’s elbow. Logan glanced up at him and smiled briefly. Patton reached up and wiped away a tear; Roman turned and kissed the top of his head, and then they all turned their attention to the tree, each with a soft smile lingering on his face as they took in the beautiful sight. 

But the three of them weren’t the only thing in that memory. 

The picture had captured something in the background. A pale blur in the window behind Patton’s elbow. At first Roman had dismissed it as a reflection of some kind. But as the memory played again, looping back, he realized the blur wasn’t there in the beginning.It appeared, rising from the darkness outside the window too deliberately to be a blur or trick of the light. 

Roman frowned, and paused the memory mid-loop, zooming in on the blurred figure. The camera, since it wasn’t really a camera, captured everything perfectly, and there was no distortion or pixelation, no blurring or loss of focus as he maneuvered the angle in a 3-D space around Patton and closed in on the window. 

What he saw at first made him feel a flash of irrational anger--he broke into my realm! The little sneak, he followed us!--but it was quickly washed away by two things: firstly, the realization that Virgil had not, in fact, had any sinister motives (as evidenced by the fact that they’d never even known he was there), and secondly...

Well. The second thing made the brief flare of habitual temper sputter and die like a candle flame under a bucket of icy water. 

Virgil’s face.

Roman drew in a breath, mouth dropping open and tears falling from his eyes as abruptly as if someone had turned on a faucet. He blinked them away, reaching with shaking hands to zoom the image in even further, then set it in motion again. 

The window was empty at first. But after a second, Virgil appeared in the corner, his fingers (un-gloved, God, he must have been freezing out there!) gripping the window frame and using it to pull himself up. His eyes were wide, his expression unguarded (and why not? No one knew he was there) as he peered in at the three sides standing by the great tree. As Roman watched, Virgil’s eyes grew wet, and for just an instant, his eyes held more pain and sorrow, more dejection, than Roman had ever known. It made him gasp, as he looked on in horror, feeling as though he’d been punched in the gut. 

It wasn’t over. As he looked on, the agony in Virgil’s face vanished, replaced by something far, far worse: a deadened look, a resigned sort of acceptance, as Virgil took in the warm family scene and apparently understood that it did not, and would never, include him. As Roman watched a pair of tears welled unnoticed from Virgil’s eyes, sliding down his cheeks, where they appeared to freeze on his icy-pale skin. 

Then Virgil was gone, ducking back out of sight, vanishing from the frame once more. 

Roman watched this loop three more times before finally lifting his hand and calling it to a halt again, unable to bear it. He swept the memory aside, and began a frantic search through the rest: the room was designed to capture moments from any side within its boundaries, so in theory, it should’ve captured--

There!

Roman drew in a sharp breath, then paused over a handful of images that appeared to be of the snowy fields outside the cabin, all at night. The camera never bothered taking images without sides in them, so that meant--

He swallowed, and selected one, pulling it up and zooming in, scanning the snowy landscape, and--

There. 

Virgil was trudging across the field, apparently following his own footsteps, his hands stuffed into his armpits, head low and hood drawn up over his hair. He looked unbearably small, slogging through the knee-deep powder in the vast landscape, and as Roman zoomed in further, he saw the breath ghosting in front of Virgil’s face, and the tears standing frozen on his cheeks. His eyes still had that dead, dejected look about them, but there was more to it now--a fever-glaze that told Roman without a doubt that the anxious side had suffered greatly from his unprotected tromp through the snowy wilderness. He felt a faint niggle of memory--Virgil had been absent last Christmas, more than usual, and hadn’t turned up again until after the New Year, when he’d been called upon to make the New Year’s video. Roman hadn’t looked what he’d assumed to be a gift horse in the mouth at the time, grateful that their resident villain had decided not to make a nuisance of himself after all, but...but what if...? 

An image cropped up, unbidden, in his mind: Virgil, curled up in his room, huddled under blankets in bed, shivering and sweating as his body was wracked with fever and chills--

Roman closed his eyes and slammed his fist down onto the table. In an instant, the images dissolved into motes of sparkling light, but he barely noticed. He snapped his fingers, and the room around him dissolved, leaving him back in his own bedroom, the lingering scent of cinnamon and nutmeg fading like a memory of a daydream. He opened his eyes and ran his hands through his hair, then let them drop to his sides. 

He was going to have to talk to the others.

Chapter Text

The others were avoiding him. 

Virgil didn’t notice right away, because the holidays had them all working overtime, and over the years, he’d gotten pretty used to being ignored. 

But things had been different since July. They’d been actually paying attention to him, asking after him, inviting him to spend time with them. So when that all came to an abrupt halt, around the middle of December, it hadn’t take him too long to catch on.

It wasn’t super obvious stuff, at least not at first. Subtle glances when they thought he wasn’t paying attention (he was always paying attention--he couldn’t help it), quiet conversations that stopped the moment he walked into the room, lame excuses to leave early on movie nights or after dinners. Logan might clear his throat and ask if Patton wouldn’t mind helping him with ‘that little project,’ then Roman would jump up and declare he’d help too. Patton might enlist the other two to help him clean his room or fold laundry; Roman would ask for their input on an ‘ongoing creative issue.’ 

(They turned Virgil down every time he asked if they needed his help, too. After the first few times, he stopped asking.)

Once he figured out it was happening, it wasn’t terribly hard to figure out why. 

Virgil sat on the edge of his bed, drumming his fingers on the mattress. Today was December 17th--the day before the others would leave for their annual snow day adventure. No one had said anything about it. Virgil hadn’t exactly been under the illusion that they’d be taking him along this year (though a stupid, too-optimistic part of him had hoped they might), but the idea of spending the days alone again did sting a little. He’d sort of gotten used to having company. 

Still. He knew better than to press his luck. The others had been treading very carefully around him since he’d tried to do everyone a favor and duck out for good, and while it felt nice to be appreciated, he didn’t kid himself that they suddenly liked him. They simply knew he was necessary now. 

Was it any surprise, then, that they were acting so strangely? No doubt they didn’t want to give up their annual tradition of leaving their worries behind, but how could they sneak away without potentially offending him? In the past, they hadn’t especially cared if they’d hurt his feelings by leaving him behind (probably assuming he didn’t have feelings to hurt), but now...now, they knew he could cause real problems for them, and for Thomas. They were wondering, no doubt, just how much trouble he would cause. Would he threaten to duck out again? Would he demand to be taken along with them or else?

He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. It’s what they were doing, he was sure of it: trying to answer those question, and figure out a way to approach him about them. There was no way this could end well, if he left them to their own devices. They’d probably confront him about it--sit him down and have some big awkward explanation ready. They’d tell him about traditions, and make clumsy excuses about it being nothing personal but would he mind terribly if they did this without him, and he didn’t even like Christmas anyway (he did; he loved it, he always had, but it was easier to pretend he didn’t than to face the fact that no one wanted him around for it) so it wouldn’t be that big a deal, really, would it, if they went without him? 

Yeah. Wouldn’t that be a fun conversation. 

No; he’d have to find a way to avoid that. He’d have to cut them off at the pass, somehow. He’d toyed with a few different ideas: playing sick, or making some casual comment about wanting to spend a few days recharging alone in his room before the holidays began. He thought he could pull it off, if he was careful, though it would be a slightly delicate situation. Oversell the ‘sick’ bit and they might feel like they had to stay and take care of him; be unconvincing with his ‘casual’ act and they’d see through him in a heartbeat (now that they were paying attention more, he’d realized it was much, much harder to hide his real feelings from them, especially Patton). 

But maybe that wouldn’t matter. Maybe it would be okay, if they knew he was lying, or making an excuse. Hell, maybe they’d take whatever tissue-thin offering he presented them with and run with it gratefully. 

Maybe they’d even appreciate him taking the matter out of their hands. 

Well. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was the best one he had, and he was tired of being danced around like the mess no one wanted to acknowledge or clean up. He knew his place with the others, and it was still leagues better than it had been this time last year. He wasn’t going to look that gift horse in the mouth. If they needed time without him, well...fine. He could understand that. 

He’d take a break from himself too, if he could. 

Resolved, he stood and headed to the door. The others were in the commons; he’d confront them there and get this over with. 

* 

The others had been in the commons--he’d been right about that. But they weren’t there now, and Virgil would never have in a million years been able to predict what they’d been doing. 

He stood at the base of the steps, mouth hanging open, staring at the living room he barely recognized. 

It looked like Christmas had come in and had babies on every available surface. There were decorations everywhere, from gently flickering candles on the mantle and book cases, to tinsel and garland hanging in graceful swoops from the walls, to delicate-looking snowflakes suspended on lines of nearly-invisible wire from the ceiling. They swayed lightly, making their iridescent surfaces send arcs of pastel color through the room. 

Then there was the fireplace: a log was burning merrily, sending sparks up the chimney and a glowing warmth into the room that somehow didn’t overheat the place. Atop the mantle, a beautiful crystal lake with tiny figurines of skaters sat next to a tiny ceramic snow village. Virgil swallowed, recognizing the little figures as the skaters that had taken residence over the fireplace in the snow day cabin. These didn’t move the way those did, though; without being in his realm, Roman’s powers weren’t quite as effortless or expansive. 

But the most impressive feature of the entire affair was the tree. Tucked into a corner and standing impossibly tall for the height of the ceiling, it was draped in glitter and flickering lights, so beautiful that Virgil’s breath actually caught in his throat as he stared up at it. A niggle of an unfamiliar emotion, one he hadn’t felt in a long time, began to grow in his heart: wonder. His eyes abruptly blurred, and when he brought a hand to his mouth to stifle a soft gasp, he wasn’t surprised to see the hand was shaking. 

“Surprise!” Came a soft voice from his left; he turned, and saw Patton, Roman, and Logan standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Patton was holding a tray of plain sugar cookies; behind him, Logan was carrying what looked like every imaginable kind of decoration possible. Frosting and sprinkles of every size, shape, and color sat on his tray, ready to adorn the cookies on Patton’s tray. Behind them, Roman stood with one last tray of his own--one loaded down with mugs of hot chocolate and bags of mini marshmallows. 

“Wh--what? What’s...?” Virgil tried to speak, but had to swallow around the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. 

“We thought we’d start our celebrations early this year,” Roman said, moving around the other two and carrying the mugs into the living room. He set his tray down on the coffee table; Logan and Patton followed, though Patton paused in front of Virgil and reached out to squeeze his shoulder first. 

Virgil watched as they all settled around the coffee table. For a moment, he wondered if he should leave, but when Roman plunked down his favorite Nightmare Before Christmas mug and waved him forward, Virgil offered him a shaky smile and took his place at the table. 

Maybe this is a peace offering, he thought. Maybe this is their way of including me so they don’t feel guilty about leaving tomorrow.

And really, would that be so bad? He didn’t need to be a part of their retreat; not really. That they were doing this--creating something he could be a part of--that was more than enough. That was everything, actually. He smiled, feeling a weight lifting from his heart. This...this would work. This was the best of both worlds. They got their break, but he wasn’t wholly excluded. 

This was...good. 

“We were just about to head up and get you,” Patton said, as Virgil settled down beside him. “You have perfect timing!” 

“I...yeah, I guess so,” Virgil said, accepting a small plate of cookies. They appeared to be in vaguely Christmas shapes--a tree, a candy cane, and one lumpy abomination that Virgil could only assume was supposed to be a snowflake. He grinned, as the others started to work, Roman huffing indignantly at Logan, who insisted his own cookies looked more like molecular structures than Christmas shapes. 

“They can be both,” Patton cut in, ever the peacemaker. “Logan, why don’t you make molecular structures in red and green?” 

“That would be acceptable,” Logan agreed, and Roman pouted a little but seemed willing to let it go. Virgil stifled a giggle behind his hand and reached for the purple food coloring.

They spent the next couple hours like that: decorating cookies, laughing, sipping at cocoa. Patton got up at one point and disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes, returning with a plate of cheese, crackers, and sausage, along with a veggie tray. “Too many cookies,” he told Virgil as he set the tray down on the coffee table. A little while after that, Logan offered to make them coffee as an alternative to the hot cocoa; Patton declined, but Virgil accepted gratefully, appreciating the break from the sugar (and the boost of caffeine). 

When they’d utterly stuffed themselves with cookies and snacks, they abandoned their place on the floor and climbed onto the couch while Roman waved a hand, conjuring a list of Christmas movies on the TV screen.

“What are we thinking, guys?” he asked. “Nightmare Before Christmas? A Christmas Story? A Christmas Carol?” 

“Ooh! Do you have the muppet version?” Patton asked. 

“Of course! I’m offended you have to ask!” He started to put it on, but Logan cleared his throat. 

“I think we should let Virgil decide,” he said with a significant look .at the others. 

They exchanged glances, and Roman coughed once. “Of course you’re right,” he said. “Apologies. Virgil, what’ll it be?” 

“Anything is fine,” Virgil said, feeling color starting to rise in his cheeks at being singled out. 

“No, really! We can watch anything you like. It doesn’t even have to be a Christmas movie. Anything you want!” 

Virgil hesitated, looking at Roman, then Patton and Logan, who were all watching him with a combination of forced cheer and trepidation. He felt something in him starting to crumble, and he huddled in on himself a bit, drawing his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. 

“Anything is fine,” he said again, more firmly. 

“Virgil...” 

“No.I mean it. Anything is--” he broke off, then blinked, and swallowed. “I don’t care. It’s...it’s more than enough you guys did this. I...” his voice cracked and he closed his mouth abruptly. 

The others glanced at each other, and then Roman sighed and waved a hand at the TV. The images on the screen swirled then vanished. 

“Okay,” the prince said softly, “I think...maybe it’s time we actually talked, here.” 

“But I thought you said you wanted to--” 

“I know what I said,” Roman interrupted Logan, who closed his mouth. “But I don’t think it’s going to work. We can’t just ignore...” he stopped abruptly. 

Patton reached out and patted Roman’s arm. “It’s okay, Roman,” he said softly. “It’ll be okay.” 

Virgil had watched the exchange, feeling his bewilderment melt into understanding. This was it: the moment they’d explain to him that this was his night because they were about to leave for the next two, so of course he got to make all the decisions because it was only fair, right? After the retreat things were usually so busy for Thomas that the sides barely had a moment to think, so this was Virgil’s Christmas. The others would have their own, and plenty of chances to choose the movies they wanted to watch. 

But they didn’t understand, Virgil thought, frustrated. It was already so much more than he’d ever expected from them--so much more than he’d ever experienced--and he was ecstatic they’d given it to him. It was more than enough, and so much more than he’d ever dreamed of. How could they think otherwise?

“Guys...it’s okay,” he said softly. “You don’t have to explain. I understand. This has all been...” he paused and smiled, looking at the plate of crumbs and sprinkles and smears of frosting, at the half-empty mugs of cooling cocoa, at the decorations that had turned the commons into a holiday wonderland every bit as beautiful as the cabin. “This is more than enough,” he said.

Instead of looking relieved, however, the others looked confused. “More than enough of what?” Patton asked. 

Virgil frowned, then said, “More than enough...” he waved his hand vaguely around the room. “You know. For me. For the holidays.”  

The others glanced at each other, then Logan leaned forward and peered at Virgil closely. “Virgil,” he said, “what, precisely, do you assume to be the purpose of this evening’s festivities?” 

“I...” Virgil blinked, then frowned. “It’s my holiday time with you. Right? Before you leave?” 

“Leave?” 

“Yeah. For your trip? To the ca--to Roman’s realm?” 

“You assume that is our plan?” Logan said quietly. “To leave you alone again?” 

“I mean...yeah?” Virgil frowned. “Why wouldn’t you? Why else do all this?” he waved his hand at the commons. 

“Because we’re a family,” Patton said. “And we should be together. Right, Roman?” 

Virgil looked at Roman, who turned and looked at him, face solemn and quiet. “Yes,” he said.

“Right,” Virgil said, still bewildered. He wasn’t sure where the confusion was coming from, here--they all seemed to be agreeing with each other. “We’re together now, and that’s enough, and then you will take your trip. Like usual.” 

“Virgil, no,” Roman said gently, though he looked a little sad. Wistful, almost. “We’re not leaving you behind.” 

“But...” Virgil frowned. “But you’re--it’s your tradition. You three deserve a break.” He hesitated. “I don’t mind,” he continued, and he was proud that his voice came out mostly steady. “Really. Especially not since...” he waved a hand at everything around them again. “This was really nice,” he said, a little shy. “I really appreciate it. But it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get to have your time away from me.” 

“But...we don’t want to be away from you,” Patton said, looking a little distressed. 

Virgil almost smiled--Patton was so sweet, of course he’d say that--but when he looked at Roman and Logan, they were nodding in agreement. He frowned. 

“But I’m...I’m Anxiety,” he said slowly. “Doesn’t everyone want to get away from anxiety during the holidays?” Thomas had as much said so himself, the first time Virgil had popped up in a video--getting away from his worries and just being with friends and family was what the holidays were all about. 

He tried again: “Look. It’s not your fault, and I don’t blame you. You guys have...been really amazing with me these past few months, and I appreciate it. But you don’t have to worry, okay? I’m not going to leave Thomas, and I certainly don’t blame you for needing a break from me. I know I can be...” he trailed off, swallowing around the annoying tightening in his throat. “I know I can be hard to deal with. You deserve time away from that.” 

“We don’t want time away from that,” Roman said, looking over at Virgil again. His face was gentle, if a little sad. “Virgil,” he said, “I was...sort of hoping this wouldn’t happen, but I can’t say I blame you for thinking...what you obviously think. And you definitely deserve the truth.” 

Virgil frowned. That sounded ominous. “The truth...?” he said hesitantly. 

“Yes. Virgil, I know you snuck in last year.” 

Virgil felt the blood draining from his face, and he drew in a sharp breath, panic starting to make his heart flutter in his throat. But Roman didn’t look angry. Instead, he looked...well. Sad. 

“You...you saw me?” Virgil whispered.

“Yes,” Roman said. “Well...not at the time. The room --the cabin-- it’s programmed to take pictures. Capture memories. We hang them on the tree so we can reminisce the next year.” 

Virgil nodded slowly, recalling the tree he’d seen, with its living-photo ornaments. 

“And last year...well, it’s programmed to capture images of any side in the realm.” 

Virgil understood abruptly, and closed his eyes, humiliation creeping hot up his neck. “It took pictures of me,” he guessed. 

“It did. I saw them when I went in a few weeks ago to prep for this year’s trip.” 

That explained why they’d been avoiding him, Virgil thought. They felt guilty. 

“So now...you feel sorry for me. That’s what all this is. Right?” He wasn’t even mad, he realized. Embarrassed, sure. Ashamed, absolutely. But this wasn’t their fault. He’d certainly been pitiful enough, peering in the window like a little lost Christmas orphan. Damn. 

“No.” It was Patton who spoke up this time, and Virgil opened his eyes, surprised at the vehemence in the moral side’s voice. 

“We don’t pity you, Virgil,” Logan agreed gently. “We’re ashamed of ourselves, because we didn’t realize what was really going on. It’s the same mistake we made about you from the start.” 

“What...what do you mean?” 

“You aren’t the cause of Thomas’s anxiety,” Logan said. “Not exactly. You’re a representation of it. And therefore the experience of it.” 

“You don’t stress Thomas out,” Patton agreed. “You try to process the stress and identify danger, and figure out how to deal with it.” 

“And it’s harder around the holidays because there’s more going on,” Roman finished. “Thomas is around family and friends, and being that social makes him anxious. That’s not your fault. You’re the result of that, not the cause. And blaming you for it only made it harder on him. Running away from you ever year might have felt like we were running away from stress, but all we were really doing was leaving you to handle all of it on your own.” 

“Which wasn’t fair. We should’ve been there to help you,” Patton agreed, his voice soft and with a note of plea in it. “We should never have left you to deal with everything alone.”

“But it’s...it’s my job,” Virgil whispered.  

“No,” Logan said firmly. “It’s all of our jobs. If you’re the experience of Thomas’s anxiety, then the rest of Thomas’s skills--his emotions, his reason, his creativity--should be there to help constructive find ways to manage that experience.” 

“I don’t understand,” Virgil said, eyes flicking from one of them to another. 

“We should have been helping you, Virgil,” Roman said, reaching out to lay a hand on Virgil’s knee. “Not abandoning you when you needed us most.” 

“And especially not during Christmas,” Patton concluded, his voice choked. “Not when we should have been together as a family.” 

Virgil looked at Roman’s hand on his knee, trying to process what they’d told him. “So what you’re saying,” he said slowly, “is you...you want to keep me with you this year so you can...manage me better?” 

“No,” Patton said gently. “We want you with us because we love you, and we want to help you when things are stressful instead of leaving you all alone to deal with every negative emotion Thomas encounters during the holidays by yourself.” 

Virgil looked at them, and bit his lips, eyes stinging. He had to admit the thought of not facing two long, lonely nights without them was...well. Pleasant. 

It sounded really fucking good, actually. 

He hesitated, then reached shyly for the hand that still rested on his knee. Roman responded immediately by taking Virgil’s hand between both of his own and giving Virgil one of the warmest smiles he’d ever seen. Patton beamed, eyes shining with tears, and even Logan looked a little misty as his lips twitched upward. 

Virgil returned their smiles shyly, then said, “So what...what does this mean? Will...will you take me with you? To the cabin?” 

“No,” Roman said, and for a second Virgil’s heart took a horrible dip. But Roman continued: “We’re not going back there. In fact, it doesn’t even exist anymore.” 

“What?” Virgil sat up, frowning. “Why not? What happened?” 

“I destroyed it,” Roman said. 

The others also looked surprised by this news. Logan frowned at Roman, and said, “You destroyed it? But you put so much work into it.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Roman replied firmly. 

Logan still looked bewildered, but Patton was nodding thoughtfully. 

“It’s tainted,” he said softly, and Roman nodded, giving Virgil’s hand a squeeze. 

“Exactly,” he said, searching Virgil’s eyes for understanding as he spoke. “That place is--was--built on memories we should have shared with you, and didn’t. It would never have felt right going back there. I’ll always treasure the times I spent with you two,” he added, glancing at the others before looking back at Virgil. “But...” 

“But it’s time to create new memories,” Logan said, nodding at last. “Together.” 

“As a family,” Patton agreed. 

Virgil stared at them, and the little nagging voice of doubt in the back of his mind was finally silenced. He drew a shaky breath, and abruptly his eyes were swimming with tears. 

“Oh,” he whispered, voice soft and higher-pitched than he usually let it go. 

“Oh, Virgil,” Roman murmured, his own voice cracking a little. “Come here, would you?” 

Virgil choked on a soft sob and let himself be pulled into Roman’s embrace, winding his arms around Roman’s waist and burying his face in his shoulder. He felt someone else, probably Patton, move around to hug him from behind, and a hand that was not Roman’s slipped into Virgil’s, squeezing gently. 

Held between the three of them, Virgil let himself cry. He let himself mourn at last for all the times he’d been abandoned--let himself finally feel the heartbreak he’d tried so hard to deny year after year, when they’d packed up their things and disappeared for their grand holiday adventure, leaving him all alone. He cried for the loneliness he’d felt, knowing just how unwanted he truly was. 

And he cried for the relief of knowing it was over. It was really well and truly over. They wouldn’t leave him again. They wouldn’t go away any more.

He wouldn’t be alone. 

He didn’t know how long he cried. What he did know was that Roman held him the whole time, stroking his hair; that Patton remained a steady warmth pressed against his back, gentling him through the worst of the hiccuping sobs, while Logan’s hand stayed firmly wrapped around his, giving him the occasional reassuring squeeze, grounding him in reality. 

When he finally calmed down, his tears tapering off at last, he didn’t pull free right away. Instead, he let himself rest, held by the others and secure in the knowledge that they would comfort him as long as he needed. As long as he wanted. 

“Thank you,” he whispered at last, and felt Roman angle his head to press a kiss to Virgil’s hair. 

“No,” he whispered back. “Thank you. For giving us a chance to correct our mistake. For giving us a chance to earn your forgiveness.” 

“You don’t have to--”

“Yes. We do,” Patton said firmly. “We wronged you, Virgil. Of course we need to try to fix that.” 

Virgil swallowed. “I forgave you already,” he said. “I don’t want your penance. I just want...” 

“Name it,” Roman murmured. “Anything, and it’s yours, Virgil.” 

Virgil sighed, closing his eyes. “I just want this,” he whispered. “My family.” He paused, smiling as they each tightened their grip, reassuring him without words that they had them. 

Then he added: “And...maybe to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas.” 

The others burst into laughter, and Virgil joined him, and if they had to wipe away a tear or two in the process, well--Virgil would never tell. They drew apart at last, and Patton went to refill everyone’s cocoa, while Logan took the empty trays of snacks and cookies back to the kitchen. 

Virgil looked shyly at Roman, who was smiling at him gently. “What...what happens now?” he said.

“What do you mean?” 

“Well...” Virgil shrugged. “If you destroyed your cabin...what will we do? For Christmas?” 

Roman took his hand and brought it to his lips in a soft, chaste kiss. “We make a new tradition,” he said. “And we do it the way we always should have. Together.” 

Virgil swallowed, and smiled tremulously. He listened to Logan and Patton playfully bickering in the kitchen, then looked at the large, glittering tree in the corner, and his smile grew. 

“We’re off to a good start,” he offered. 

Roman laughed and looped an arm around his shoulders, as the others returned with their cocoa. 

“Yeah,” he said, waving his hand at the TV so the opening credits began to roll. “I think we are.” 

* 

End