Chapter Text
It had been a fairly ordinary and boring day, and in all honesty, that should have been more than enough to warn Virgil that something terrible was going to happen. Naturally, on one of the few days he felt more or less at ease, something would go wrong. Maybe it was his lot in life to be the universe’s punching bag.
Virgil had been in the kitchen pouring himself a glass of water while the others were using the living room to brainstorm. Or at least, that was what they were supposed to be doing, himself included. Considering he had literally put distance between himself and the meeting, maybe it wouldn’t come as a surprise to hear that it wasn’t going particularly well.
“If you are going to squander work time with meaningless games that lack an objective, could you at very least do it somewhere more open?” Logan said, narrowly ducking the heavy red and gold frisbee. It ricocheted off the wall, leaving a scratch in the paint. Logan turned to look at the mark with a disapproving scowl. “You’re making a mess.”
Roman caught the frisbee, tossing it from hand to hand with a grin so bright he could probably short-circuit Vegas. “Oh come on Microsoft Turd, lighten up! I can’t be expected to work when you’re being so lame and boring! It’s like trying to teach the works Shakespeare to a… neck-tie wearing robot!”
“‘O most pernicious muse, answer, walk, in no state truth for myself.’ A quote created by a neural network trained on the works of the Bard, and quite fitting for the circumstances I think,” Logan said, rubbing his temples.
Patton fumbled when the frisbee was tossed back to him, but managed to keep a hold on it while grinning foolishly. “Come on Logan, just because he called you a robot doesn’t mean you should let Roman…”
“Don’t,” Logan warned.
“Push your buttons.”
“Nice,” Virgil mumbled, taking a sip of his water. In spite of himself, he was starting to get anxious about making sure the video idea got done in time. He’d have to get everyone back on track soon, but he decided not to push it yet. He’d either have to face the anxiety of continued procrastination, or the anxiety of possibly irritating the others. For all their kindness and warmth, he still wasn’t exactly used to his thoughts and opinions actually being welcome.
Logan rubbed his temples, taking a deep breath. “I am truly loathe to suggest this, but if we want to begin script writing for the next video, we must decide on an overarching concept, and soon. If we do not make some proper progress this may turn into a complete creative block. I think that it may be best to change our approach.”
Patton hurled the frisbee again—this time it bounced off the ceiling before Roman caught it, and little flakes of paint fell down. It was sort of terrifying, the level of power Patton had. But it was comforting, too, knowing such a strong force cared for them all so much. “Change our approach how?” He asked eagerly. “Are we going to play detectives again? I’ve been working on my Watson costume!”
“No,” Logan said. He paused for a moment. “Maybe later. What I am suggesting right now, however, is that we allow complete daydream mode to occur. No holds barred, so to speak.”
Virgil realized he was dropping his water. He tried to catch the glass in the split second before it hit the floor, but only ended up smacking it into the kitchen wall. It still broke and splashed all over everything, but he had bigger things to panic about. “Logan what the hell? You’re not actually saying that!“
“I am saying it,” Logan said, tilting his head to the side. “Did you not watch the words come from my mouth? It is not as if someone is speaking on my behalf, or at least, not to my knowledge.”
Roman was spinning the frisbee in the palm of his hand, only showing off now. “Oh come on My Little Emo, it’s not so bad! My room is in daydream mode all the time, and it’s a land of unspeakable adventure!”
Virgil pulled at his hoodie strings anxiously, walking out of the kitchen and back into the living room as he tried to keep his cool. Logan looked pointedly at the broken glass still on the kitchen floor, but made no comment when Virgil spoke up. “But that’s just you, Princey. Full on daydream mode means full creative effect over the mind palace. Constant creativity means that your brother can get in.” They weren’t as concerned as he was. Just this once, he wanted them to be as worried as he was about this.
“Well kiddo, I know Remus can be…” Patton pulled a face, his nose scrunching up in displeasure. “A real, um, a real mixed bag—“
“Mixed bag of garbage! Heyo!” Roman interrupted.
“—but he’s part of creativity too! And even if his ideas are usually pretty bad, the whole violent rivalry thing with Roman can really get some ideas moving!” Patton concluded, though it sounded like he wasn’t entirely keen on the idea either.
The very idea made Virgil want to melt into a puddle. It was bad enough when the Dark Sides snuck into the mind palace, now they were suggesting to just let one of them in? “Let it be on the record that I completely hate this,” Virgil said with a dark scowl.
Logan sighed, ducking once again as the frisbee narrowly missed concussing him. “I am not fond of welcoming them in either, Virgil. It may be for the best that all of us except for Roman stay in our rooms until the whole creativity feud comes and goes. If this is what is required to achieve our intended goal, then I am willing to deal with the inconvenience.”
“Or, instead of splitting up the three of us could hang out in my room!” Patton chimed in. “It wouldn’t be fair to watch Disney movies without Roman—“ Roman shot him a grateful look for that, “—but we could play Monopoly and have some good old family bonding time!”
Virgil grimaced, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Fine,” he conceded. It wasn’t so much as he was okay with the idea as it was that he really didn’t want to be the cause of any arguments today. “So long as we don’t have to see any of the others, I’ll suffer through it.”
Patton clapped one hand against the frisbee eagerly. “Yay, that’s the spirit! Once Roman is done I’ll bake cookies and we can all catch up afterwards!” He declared happily. And honestly, listening to the contented confidence from Patton, Virgil felt a bit more okay too. “Oh! But first we gotta finish this frisbee game—Virgil, now you catch!”
It was not Patton’s fault that he had unusual gorilla-like strength, or that his dark strange son was particularly non-athletic. Neither was it his fault that his normally terrible accuracy happened to fly unusually straight. That did not stop him from screeching in distress when the frisbee utterly decked Virgil.
“I killed him!”
Virgil winced as his head slammed against the ground, unfortunately landing on the hard linoleum of the kitchen hall instead of the living room carpet. The ceiling lights swam and flared overhead. He could hear Logan worriedly listing off concussion systems, Roman grabbing him by the shoulders and shouting something, Patton in indiscernible sobbing hysterics.
They were all impossible to make out really, like he was listening to them talk from somewhere deep under water. He blinked, but the light was so bright, it made his retinas burn. He could see the three blurry figures leaning over him. Although he couldn’t make out their faces, the colors alone were more than familiar enough—blue, red, cyan. There was a powerful ringing in his ears as he tried to steel himself. “Damn,” he mumbled. “You gotta learn some restraint, Pat.” He blinked to try and clear the blur from his vision.
There were only two figures leaning over him now. Had one of them left? Wait. It took him a split-second to recognize it wasn’t his friends now. Confusion and dread sank into his gut as his vision began to clear for the green and yellow figures leaning over him. Too soon, his vision came back into focus, but Virgil found himself really wishing that it hadn’t.
“Virgil? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said Deceit.
It’s very jarring to wake up to the scaly face of a friend-turned-hated-enemy leaning over you, especially just after stressing out about the idea of him and his friends breaking into your sanctuary.
So of course the first think Virgil did was punch Deceit.
Fight or flight reflexes, of course. He didn’t mean it.
Okay so maybe he meant it.
Virgil forced himself to sit up, scooting back across the floor until his back was pressed against the wall. Deceit was clutching his nose, his forked tongue hanging out from his lips in distress. It would be an almost pitiful sight of Virgil didn’t hate his guts.
“In the spirit of fairness,” piped up a snivelly voice, “It wasn’t him that hit you with the frisbee!” And of course, it was the Duke, of course that had been the green figure. Of course Virgil’s friends would suddenly disappear, and of course his home would be invaded by two of his least favorite people.
Maybe he was still recovering from the frisbee trauma.
“If violence makes you feel better it is completely justified and I forgive you,” Deceit said, voice muffled as he still held his nose.
“Then I’m going to punch you again,” Virgil decided. He didn’t make a move to get up, though, and neither did Deceit or the Duke. The three of them simply sat there, staring at each other in silence.
Eventually, the Duke put a hand on Deceit’s shoulder and broke the silence. “Okay, so like, clearly your head is fucked up. Was that me? Do you have brain trauma? Amnesia? Aids? Do you require mouth to mouth, because I can and will give you a little tongue,” he said.
Deceit patted the Duke’s hand gratefully, looking at Virgil like a wounded puppy dog. Well, the whole scales and slit pupil threw that off, so maybe just like a vaguely sad non-venomous snake. “I’m sure there are absolutely no adverse side effects whatsoever and we’ll all move on from this issue as better frie—“
“What the HELL are you two doing in here wearing those stupid outfits?” Virgil snapped, the patience his head injury had granted him finally running out.
Deceit hesitated. “Here? You mean, as in, the mind palace?”
“Duh!”
The Duke cocked an eyebrow, scowling. “Uh, because we live here, My Chemical Bromance. Clearly this proves my frisbee skills are a lethal weapon.” He paused, glancing dramatically off into the distance in a way Virgil had seen Roman often do. “I must be stopped.”
What was even happening anymore? He eyed them up distrustfully, scowling. They were wearing different clothes, for whatever reason—was this supposed to be a part of their trick?
The Duke had changed less of the two. The cut of his ridiculous tunic with the fluffy layered sleeves was largely the same—but instead of black, it was a soft warm cream color, with cheery green detailings that looked less like vomit and more like country hillsides. The subtle unsettling ornaments were gone. No teeth, no eyeballs, just a bright green rose pinned to his sash.
Deceit would be nearly unrecognizable if it weren’t for the snake skin that covered half of his face. He was wearing a sunny yellow vest over a white button-up that had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His tie was striped, with a pin in the shape of his emblem clipped to it. His black shawl was gone in favor of a white cape, an actual honest-to-god cape, with the end flaring out into a star-like shaped hem. His bowler-hat was yellow with a black band instead of the other way around, and it was worn at a tilt that could only be described as jaunty.
“You look ridiculous,” Virgil muttered.
The Duke gasped in offense—fragile egos seemed to be a family trait. “Oh that’s rich, coming from you! We had an agreement Virgil, I don’t mention the stripey stars thing, you don’t mention the ruffles!” The what? Virgil looked down at himself for the first time since waking up.
The others weren’t the only ones to have a costume change.
He had his hoodie still, sure—or at least it felt like his hoodie did. It was solid purple, interrupted by stars made of black and white striped felt. It felt softer, less clumsily made than it usually did. Fleece lined the hood, and in spite of the circumstances Virgil couldn’t help pressing it against his cheek. Holy cow, it was soft. Even his dirty black sneakers were gone in favor of a sleek pair of purple Converse hightops.
“Did you undress me?” he hissed in distress.
The Duke tipped his head to the side. “No?” He broke into a grin. “Did you want me to? Because that can be arranged.”
“Forget it—enough games,” he snapped. He gripped either side of his head, wincing. It felt like at any moment, it might split in three. If he had a panic attack here, in front of them— “Where are the others? What did you do to them?”
The two Dark Sides shared a baffled look. “If you mean good old Orange Juice, he’s still, uh… out of commision,” the Duke said hesitantly.
Deceit smiled in a gentle comforting way that only he could manage to make look sinister. “I’m sure that whoever it is you’re talking about is absolutely fine.”
Virgil scowled, trying to stifle his building panic. They were faking it. They were obviously faking it, how stupid did they think he was? “Trust me when I say that I’d rather take an axe to the brain than hear you say that,” he snapped.
The Duke stood up, crossing his arms. Virgil scrambled to his feet too, his instincts warning himself never to let anyone get the higher ground. “Lysle was trying to make you feel better, Virgil!”
Lysle. How long had it been since he heard someone use Deceit’s name? Names and symbols had never been particularly shared freely amongst the Dark Sides. But hearing the name just made him feel angrier. “That snake? He’s never helped a single person in his entire fucking life!”
“Virgil? Remus?”
The Duke glared at Virgil, hands clenched into fists. “Never helped you? I’m sorry, who is it always keep you grounded!? Because last time I checked, you can’t keep your head on straight without his help! Since when did you become such an asshole? Don’t make me frisbee you again, Panic at the Everywhere!”
Virgil snarled, his fight or flight reflexes swinging to the more aggressive end of the pendulum. “You know what? I’d like to see you try, Dukey!”
Suddenly Deceit was standing too. He was between them, a hand on each of their wrists. Virgil tried to pull away, but Deceit was too stiff, his knuckles practically white. “We have to hide,” he hissed, and for a moment, Virgil could have sworn he saw a bead of sweat on those yellow scales. “Perfection is coming.”
“Perfection?” Virgil echoed.
The meaningless name seemed to be all the Duke needed to hear. He went pale, quickly dropping behind the couch. Deceit crouched too, forcing Virgil down with him. He tried to protest, but—
The fear radiating off of them hit him like a brick wall. He could feel it resonating inside him, as easy to sense as if it were his own. It felt wrong, such a vulnerable feeling coming from these two, and he tried to rationalize it, tried to find some sort of way to explain it away. But it wasn’t a trick, not this. This was pure, survival-based terror.
Footsteps. He hadn’t heard the faint woosh of anyone rising into the room, but he could hear the floor beneath the carpets creaking, as if carrying some horrific weight across them. The footsteps were moving slowly closer across the thick living room carpet, only barely audible. Virgil tried to quiet his breathing. Deceit squeezed his hand, as if for comfort, and he didn’t dare risk drawing any attention to their corner of the room by trying to pull away.
A chuckle echoed off the living room walls, so strangely mirthless. “That’s funny! I could have sworn I heard someone using their potty-mouth!” The unseen figure said. Their voice was bright, full of energy, but held no warmth. It felt like staring into the bulb of a flashlight. “Well if someone was swearing… I don’t approve of bad language! And if I don’t approve, it must be wrong!”
There was a few footsteps closer. Virgil could feel his heart beating faster. He closed his eyes, wishing he would wake up, wishing the others would suddenly appear and save him. “And if something is wrong… well, I sure should hate to be the miserable fella responsible!”
The coffee table shattered. From here it was impossible to see, but he head the bone-crunching smash, felt the small flakes of wood that had been flung over the couch landing on his skin. There was the sound of someone sinking out of the room, and then, finally, silence.
Deceit collapsed against the back of the couch as if he hadn’t dared to breathe through that entire encounter, and the Duke hesitantly peeked out to see if the coast was clear, nearly as pale as Virgil was. There had always been an unspoken rule among them, back before Virgil had left. Never let anyone see your fear. If you had a weakness, it could and would be used against you. Now, his two former friends looked like they wanted nothing more than to disappear.
“It’s all okay now,” Deceit said, though his usual refined accent was somewhat shaken. “We have nothing to fear. Remus can always imagine up a new coffee table, and no one was hurt. Everything is completely fine.”
Virgil shook his head, finally pulling his hand out of Deceit’s. He refused to acknowledge the sad confusion on Deceit’s face, simply hugging his own knees to his chest. He had to get out of here. He had to find the others before that… thing, whatever it was, got to them first. “You said that was… Perfection?”
The Duke nodded tiredly. “He’s one of the stronger Dark Sides. Probably hates us more than even the others. Doesn’t appreciate my more ‘juicy’ artistic liberties,” he said, though his usual mocking bravado was nearly all dried up.
“Well you must have really done something to piss him off,” Virgil said bitterly, scowling. “Don’t Dark Sides usually leave each other alone unless it’s an easy target?”
Duke wrinkled his nose. “Well if those fiends have a code of conduct, I certainly didn’t get the memo.” He walked over to the other side of the couch, making a dramatic gesture to the coffee table. Rather than simply proving his point, the pieces of wood and glass slowly began floating through the air, carefully putting themselves back together. It seemed odd to Virgil that something fixed with pure imagination would still have cracks, but a spiderwebs of fracture marks remained nonetheless. “Besides,” the Duke added, “What would that have to do with us anyway?”
“Well, maybe we did do something to upset him,” Deceit said. “That’s probably it, right? We can apologize, and make things better, then he’ll forgive us?”
Virgil shot him a withering glare. “I’m not an idiot. You can stop pretending to be some saccharine gummy-snake already. I know you’re a Dark Side. I know what you’re really like.”
They were staring at him liked he’d stripped down naked and announced his presidency campaign for the city of Atlantis.
“Virgil,” Deceit said slowly. “Virgil, the three of us are the Light Sides.”