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A function that didn't function. Virgil had always prided himself on being a side that worked. It hadn't always been through the best means, and maybe he worked a little too well at times, but he always tried, and Thomas always cared. Virgil made it so his host cared.
Caring was partially Patton's job, but Virgil provided a certain spice to it. The motivation. The tension that rung the emotion into a necessity. Thomas cared for his friends, for his family, for people and the world because Patton told him it was the right thing. He cared what his friends, his family, what people and the world thought of him because of Virgil.
Virgil protected Thomas. He kept him on time, and helped him plan things out, thoroughly, cautiously. Planning, ultimately, was up to Logan, but, of course, Virgil had to add the push. Time was a crushing restraint, and every second wasted away was another moment of a finite existence squandered. Of course Thomas had to make it on time for this; what would they think of him if he was late? What if he missed a once in a lifetime opportunity all because he wasn't there, or has proved himself to be irresponsible, unreliable? Is Thomas making the most of his time here? Is he using that time wisely?
Virgil has always taken his job seriously. When the world became confusing, the tension - his tension - too much, that tension could be morphed, formed into something constructive, creative. Thomas had said once that Virgil had given Roman reason before to create. Another push in the right direction. Another dream realized, another hope to strive for.
Anxiety couldn't be any of the constructive forces alone, but he was always there to encourage Thomas closer to them, to trust them. If Thomas trusted those three - Morality, Logic, Creativity - he'd be okay.
They all worked for Thomas.
A function that didn't function...
Except for the one who had stopped.
Virgil couldn't help with this one. He couldn't provide any sort of push for Sleep.
But he'd tried.
If you don't sleep now, you're going to be groggy in the morning and hate life!
You've got three hours of potential sleep left, Sanders. Are you really going to keep staring at that ceiling?
Falling! Asleep! Driving! That's all I'm saying.
Memory plummets on little sleep, and you've got that test in the morning. Shut your eyes- count sheep- Ugh! How does this work again?
There were attempts at distraction…
Have you ever thought how truly vast the world is? There's as much unknown about the sea as there is space.
Wonder what Joan is thinking about right now? What if they're thinking about you? What if Joan's deciding they don't like you anymore?
Virgil wasn't so good at it. Virgil found that, actually, he was quite good at derailing.
And so Sleep came around less and less. He drank coffee like nobody's business. He went to parties in the dead of night, in some hidden part of the mind Virgil couldn't begin to look for.
Virgil knew it was his fault Sleep stopped working. And he knew he wasn't entirely innocent on the matter either.
Because he had wanted to be needed. He had wanted to have a say in every side, even if the side themself didn't acknowledge it. Virgil had wanted to help, to do something good, to feel involved in his host's life, when all he did was tear him down.
Virgil had protected Thomas from a lot of things, but scaring Sleep away tipped the scales. Anxiety wasn't supposed to "help".
It was a bit of a relief to give up some of his control over the mind. When Remy began showing up again, Virgil thought maybe this was how he could help - by not doing anything.
It was a while since then - since Virgil had given up control. It should have stressed him out, the complete lack of care, but it reverberated in him too. He didn't think he could get that control back if he tried.
It wasn't like when he'd ducked out either. It was similar - a decline in hygiene, lack of care what others thought of him, depleting self preservation.
Thomas felt it strongly, but Virgil felt it too, and he couldn't take it back.
He was sleeping just as much as Thomas was these days.
Was he even Anxiety anymore? There was no more protect in his bones. There wasn't any of that push that he prided himself on to assist the others. There was no… anxiety, no tension nor care. It was a little unsettling.
But the feeling didn't last long. None of them did anymore. Sometimes, while laying in bed, he'd occupy himself by counting his own breaths. One….. two….. three…..
He could never remember when he trailed off, numbers forgotten. He layed in bed, and, yeah, he slept a lot, but Virgil had also fucked Sleep over for a lot of years. There was a lot of staring at walls too. There were no thoughts to keep him awake, but no Sleep to let him sleep. The guy could be an ass. To think once upon a time they'd actually been great friends…
"Girl, you have to get up."
Sometimes Remy would come in, but he wouldn't help. Why was he there to taunt him?
" Virgil ," he would say, voice a bit desperate. "If not for yourself, then for Thomas."
Why would Virgil bother Thomas now? He was sleeping. Yeah, it was the middle of the day, but why did that matter? He was safe.
"He needs to work on that video today, so I'm outta here. You pick your bootie up and scramble on over to him," Remy said. The thought of getting up seemed impossible. The new video didn't matter anyway. Who was Thomas kidding thinking he could do this for a living? And, since this ultimately wasn't going to work out, why make a living at all when "real" jobs would just make him miserable? What the hell was the point in it all if Thomas couldn't at least be happy ?
“Thomas is hurting, Virgil,” Remy whispered into the empty room, and Virgil could feel it again. Faintly, it stirred within him. Protect.
It stayed with him. He wasn’t sure for how long. Remy had already left, probably to give Thomas more of the rest that he deserved. Eventually, Virgil got up.
He and Sleep didn’t get along. They were never supposed to work together. Anxiety kept Thomas awake, and that hurt Thomas.
But Thomas was finally getting his sleep. Why was he hurting now?
Over time, Virgil pushed Thomas to continue on. He coaxed him out of bed, and felt the buzzing emptiness inside of him. Roman swept in and they drafted up ideas for videos; Logan waltzed in with a planner and budgeting for airline fares, for a show out in California; Patton came in to comfort Thomas, to remind him that warm beverages and a movie, and time with his friends, could help.
Thomas didn’t call in his friends. He couldn’t pay attention to the movie. His tea went cold on the coffee table.
They all worried. Except Anxiety. How ironic.
“Hey, hun.” Remy approached him one day. He’d been sipping at some horrible energy drink, waiting for something to come back. Caffeine always made his nerves go off the deep end, but Virgil somehow craved that familiarity. Anything but what was in him now. He wanted to work again.
“Sleep,” Virgil greeted, taking another swig. The taste was growing on him. His heart was beating a little faster, but the caffeine didn’t seem to work any past that today.
Remy collapsed down on the couch next to him, shooting a look. He didn’t have a cup of his own today, and it made Virgil feel very out of his shoes for a moment. He was tempted to hand his over, just so things could be set right again, so he wasn’t marked the one that was out of control.
“Why are you calling me that?” Remy asked, eyeing him up and down. There was something there, and Virgil couldn’t figure out if it was concern or pity.
Virgil shrugged. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
“Whatever happened to Remy, then?”
“We’re not exactly friends, so,” Virgil replied, and another shrug followed. He’d been doing that a lot lately. He used to do that to come off uncaring, afraid how all his overcaring might be construed, but, now, it was second nature. It was absence of his own mind; it was a blankness in reply. Fill-in-the-blank. What does the shrug mean? It’s up to you.
“We are too friends,” Remy replied, crossing his arms. “And I am offended you would even say that, boo.”
“Really. That’s news to me.”
Remy sighed, long and hard, and leaned his side into the couch, facing Virgil. “Look, I know we don’t exactly get along. Or have the same idea of what’s good for Thomas. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”
Virgil didn’t look over. The blinds on the other side of the room were once comforting. Virgil tried to dig up that emotion. He tried to dig up anything that could respond to Remy.
“And I know you aren’t doing this on purpose. You and Thomas are affecting each other in this endless loop, and, oh girl, it’s a doozy. It’s not either of your faults you or Thomas are feeling this way.”
“What way?” Virgil asked, hoping- hoping someone would understand; hoping someone could help him understand. Maybe he should ask Logan. Why was he even talking to Remy? Remy hated him.
“I- It’s-” Remy struggled for a moment, eyes flashing something unsure. Then, with a deep breath, looked down. It was the least confident Virgil had ever seen him. “I don’t know, boo. I’m Sleep. All I can do is feed into it.”
“Feed into it?” Virgil asked, and looked him head-on, taking in everything from Remy’s slumped shoulders to his slightly disheveled hair.
“It brings you down; it feels like it’s consuming you,” Remy said. “And the only way I know how to protect Thomas from it is to make him go to sleep. From what I’ve seen, though, I only make it worse.”
“There’s no quick fix,” Virgil stated, and it was the most coherent his thoughts had been in a while. Everything had seemed so clear before - so bleak and dim, but in a way he understood completely. Now, Virgil knew he didn’t understand, and it was the most sense anything had made since getting up from that bed. “I could never give Thomas that extra push for sleep, because I don’t make Thomas relax. Just like you can’t get him to care again. Your influence has no tension to it.”
“We don’t work together, hun,” Remy said, and Virgil nodded, a frown forming on his face. “But I don’t think we can work apart anymore. Look what’s happened.”
Virgil made Thomas care too much. Remy made him not care at all.
Virgil closed his eyes, tipped his head back. “What do we do then?”
A weight was lifted from his hand, the feel of aluminum sliding along his fingertips until it ceased to exist. He opened his eyes to see the energy drink, plucked from his hand. Remy swished it around once, probably considering taking a drink from it, before shaking his head and willing it away. Remy looked back at him.
“We start with you,” he said. Virgil’s eyebrows shot sky-high. “We gotta get your mojo back.”
Virgil didn’t know if that was possible. He pulled back a little. “I don’t know, Remy…”
At the sound of his name, Remy smirked. It was softer than Virgil remembered, more relieved. But he was back to looking sure of himself, and it comforted Virgil. He remembered how they’d once upon a time been friends. He remembered how they’d wanted to work together, and dreamed of a better life for Thomas.
“Me neither, Vee,” Remy said, and he stood from the couch, turning back to him, cocking out his hip. “But I’m sure we can figure it out.”
Virgil couldn’t bring himself to hope. There was still something empty and consuming inside of him, and he wanted to grab it himself and scoop it out, pin it up somewhere it couldn’t reach him or Thomas again.
He wanted to protect Thomas again. Virgil sighed, looking down at his lap.
He wasn’t so sure they could figure it out. Virgil couldn’t even fathom where to go from here, the first step or the next. He wasn’t sure he had what it took to pick himself up from this… thing.
But, Virgil supposed, he would just have to follow Remy’s lead for once. And they’d figure it out together.