Chapter Text
When Patton awoke it was to sunlight streaming in through the patches of his blinds, many spotlights that danced along the ground and stung his eyes. He squinted at the light, closed his eyes, and turned over in his bed away from the sight. As if on its own, his body drew in a long, deep breath and slowly released it. He didn’t need to look at the clock glaring at him from his nightstand to know he had slept most of the morning away. Despite the part of himself screaming at him to get up, that he wasted the precious daylight he’d been gifted, that he should be awake and making breakfast (or at the very least, brunch) for the other Sides, he curled deeper into his sheets and shuddered at the chill running across himself.
He could remember when he used to get up at the same time every morning, always with a smile, always with a little excitement in his chest at having the chance to start the day. At some point, the excitement, the readiness that accompanied his mornings, had drifted away to only be replaced by a listlessness in his heart.
(He couldn’t stop the small twitching of his lips as the irony crossed his mind, for what kind of a heart can he be if his own is filled with an emptiness that can’t be filled?)
He can’t quite pinpoint when exactly the enthusiasm he’d had for each new day had disappeared, when it had faded away into the abyss, but he does know that it can be traced back to whenever he began waking later, when the time on his clock switched from enticing and optimistic to simply cold and nauseating. It had been around the same period that sleep had begun to elude him, that no matter how early he went to bed, no matter how many special tricks he tried to pull, no matter how much he wished he could simply fall asleep like any other Side it never came. It didn’t help that the moments he did sleep were too short, too sporadic, never lasting more than a couple of hours at a time and always filled with some sort of nightmare or thought that plagued his waking mind.
All he truly knew is that a never-ending exhaustion plagued him despite his best efforts to escape it or push it away. A tiredness rested in his bones, and a weight pressed down on his shoulders and eyelids, and an ache always seemed to throb around his head. He tried his best to hide it when he was with any of the others, for it wouldn’t do them any good to falsely worry about him when he could handle his problems on his own.
(What was there to hide though when he never saw more than one of them at a time? If anything, the recent argument had made it easier to hide his apathy and restless mind.)
Of course, he had no right to be harassing any one of them with his worthless thoughts and his empty emotions, not when so many of them had their own issues to be dealing with and working out (many of which could be traced back to him, he realized).
Virgil, the literal embodiment of anxiety and unrelenting apprehension, had been experiencing extreme amounts of tension, nerves, and irritation since the wedding. He hadn’t even been a part of the conversation, of the argument Patton had sparked, and yet he had seen the aftermath of it all. Virgil was angry with Patton, this much he knew, if the avoidance and silent treatment had given him any hints. He could see the looks Virgil gave him when he thought Patton distracted, an ire that couldn’t seem to be quelled, a rigidness that never disappeared, and bits of alarm hidden well underneath his fury. Patton’s smile always felt forced when he glanced at him, and he could barely hide the sinking feeling in his chest when Virgil would turn away.
Logan, the one always ready with an answer to their dilemmas, had been pushed to the side in favor of letting the argument run on longer than it should have. They- no, he had shoved him away believing that if he could go a little longer without logic everything could be fixed, that his points could be made, that he could show that he had helped to make the right call. He hadn’t though (he knew that now, he did) and he’d only caused the literal voice of logic and reasoning to be ignored; he made the choice to stay ignorant when being informed would have proved more beneficial. Even when he had disappeared, to be replaced by Janus there to guide them back onto the right path, the damage had already been done. He couldn’t even tell when Logan had been replaced, only that one moment Patton was pushing him away and the next Janus was standing before him, his staff in hand ready to protect Thomas from his own morality. All Logan wanted was to be listened to, desperate to be heard and taken seriously, and all Patton had done was add fuel to the fire, burn more bridges than craft them. Patton wasn’t even mad when Logan gave him clipped responses to anything he said or asked, and he knew that he deserved the aching in his chest when Logan refused to look in his direction. It was his fault, of course, and it was only natural he dealt with the repercussions.
Remus, the Side he’d thought for the longest time not including would be helpful, (And how awful is that? How horrible a Side he is forever considering him worthless.) still believes himself to be nothing but vile thoughts, disgusting images and lude pictures that will forever haunt Thomas and his every waking day and nothing more. Patton sees now, with time as his wisdom, that he was wrong, that repressing Remus won’t help Thomas or any of the others, yes, but that some of his ideas have merit as well. Roman isn’t all encompassing, this they know, and Remus enjoying and supplying darker content isn’t a bad thing; for anyone to thrive, they must take part in and understand both aspects of their creativity, the dark and the light. Thomas is older now, no longer the child Patton wishes he still could be, and as such, so is his content, and Patton oh so hoped he could have realized this sooner. Perhaps he could be here on the other side, in the light with all of the others, instead of below. (Maybe if he had come to this realization sooner, he could’ve had a say in their most recent argument. Maybe he could’ve offered another solution that they had overlooked, but Patton had been so quick to disregard him and push him away that he did nothing but cause more grief and hurt.)
Janus, the one who had shown him the error of his ways, displaying the harm he’d caused Thomas and the others all with a mere flick of his staff, still regarded him with unease whenever they met. Though part of his function was deceit (and Patton had to admit that he was an incredible liar) that didn’t make the other Side’s true thoughts about him any less obvious, his tells all too clear even to him. He could see how Janus’s back seemed to stiffen, how the smile pulled across his face appeared just a little too tight, or how his fingers fiddled with the edges of his gloves, always pulling them down despite their perfect presentation. He always tried to make conversation with Patton, always polite and conversational, but Patton could see the deep-rooted uncertainty beneath his calm facade. He still doesn’t trust the others- no, him, but Patton can understand. (Afterall, who would be so quick to trust someone who had pushed you aside most of your life?)
Roman, the one who suffered the most from the wedding, the one he had damaged most of all, hadn’t left his room since the argument had taken place. He can’t blame Roman for hiding away, what with all of the vicious statements that had been thrown around or the barbed comments that had been set out. (And wouldn’t he have done the same if he’d been in Roman’s position?) No, it made perfect sense for him to hide himself away for fear of being hurt more. He’d broken Roman into pieces, told him that everything he did was wrong no matter how hard he tried. All Roman wanted to do was help Thomas, be the hero he thought himself to be, and all Patton had done was screw with every idea he’d come up with, shoot down whatever he created, and shattered his dreams and livelihood. He could see now in hindsight (and what a truly cruel thing it was) that Roman believed everything to be his fault, that trusting Janus, choosing the wedding, all of it had been because of his too large dreams, that if he had repressed his creativity and ego a little more things would’ve turned out for the better (and if only Roman could see that it was all Patton’s fault and not his own, that he was the one who brought this hurt on everyone). All Patton had done in the argument was convince Roman that his negative thoughts were correct, that every little thing he and the others had told him had been a lie. If he had realized a little bit sooner what was wrong, maybe he could’ve mended the broken a bit, but what’s done is done. Roman had hidden himself away, and Patton (like a coward) had yet to even knock on his door.
And then there was Thomas. Patton wasn’t even sure where to begin with Thomas, his core, his center. He’d tried to do everything right his entire life, tried to keep Thomas on track, tried to make the right calls and decisions so that Thomas might end up alright in the end. It had been so much easier when he was younger, when right and wrong could be divided by a simple line. Over time, however, the line he thought so strong, so sure, had been erased, and now instead of clear-cut colors on either side, it left a muddled mess in the middle and uncertainty in its wake. He’d thought the wedding had been the right call, he really had, but after the argument they’d endured, when the truth finally came to settle on the playing field, he’d only hurt Thomas. He had pushed his boundaries too far and damaged the one person he’d promised forever to protect. (How could Thomas ever find it in himself to forgive him for that, for not only hurting the other Sides but his very being as well?)
How, then, could he ever possibly burden them with these thoughts running rampant in his head, with this indifference that had settled itself in his bones when they had so much worse to be dealing with? In fact, he didn’t even deserve to be feeling this way when they had to handle issues and hindrances created by his own lack of tact. He had no right to be feeling any sort of sadness or emptiness when his problems could never add up to theirs, when their feelings must be more real than his own.
Patton opened his eyes, rolled onto his other side, and stared at the spots of sun that danced on his carpet. He sighed once, a long thing that dragged throughout his body and seemed to carry a new weight with it. Pushing with his arms, he sat up in his bed, his eyes still on the floor as he folded his legs in a crisscross fashion and grabbed one of his plushies to press his face against.
Perhaps his feelings could never amount to theirs, and perhaps his hollowness could never hold the same amount of weight as the problems he caused to scatter amongst them, but maybe…
Maybe he could help to fix them.
If he could go to each of them, if he could help them in their plights (with their own issues and worries that he’d only helped to create), then maybe things will be alright again. Maybe they can finally be a family again, and they can have meals together, and watch funny movies. Maybe, if he does this, the void within himself will finally fill and he’ll begin to feel something once more. (Maybe he can finally be happy again.)
It’s worth a shot, he finally decided. Afterall, if this doesn’t fix things, this will only prove himself right in the end, that he’s more trouble than he’s worth. If this doesn’t work, he can make the final call that’s been lingering in the back of his mind for some time now, one he’s been too frightened to fulfill until now. If nothing works, then at least he’ll know he had no reason to wait as long as he did.
Rubbing at his eyes and brushing a hand through his hair, he stood, the plushie thrown haphazardly on his pillow. He took one look around his room, at the clothes strewn across the floor, at the boxes of memories piled into one corner, at the desk chair stuffed with broken toys and stuffed animals he had yet to mend back together, before working up the courage to enter his bathroom and look presentable for the day.
Even if it took all of his energy, he needed to at least try one final time to make things right.