Archive of Our Own

“Tell Thomas… he can finally get some… sleep.”

~

“Keep Thomas safe, will you?”

~

“I love you guys”

~

“See you.”

~

“Tell me about the stars, Logan.” 

~

The host towered over him, half-kneeling before his quickly weakening form. It physically hurt to do anything.

“Take the pill.”

IthurtIthurtsIthurts It hurts… It doesn’t… I’m fading… I’m dying… It’s quiet… 

I’m not alone.

“Thank you.”

~

Logan opened his eyes and shot up in bed with a loud, painful gasp. 

Damn it. So I’m still alive.

His door was the first thing in his line of view. He held out his hands in front of him, winced at how badly they were shaking, and carded one of it through his hair. It came out wet. Sweat covered his hair, his face, his body, and seeped into his clothes. If it weren’t for the rapid and obvious rising and falling of his chest, one would think the logical side was fresh from a relaxing shower.

As Logan scolded his heart rate to slow down and begged for his lungs to allow him the slightest taste of oxygen, he replayed the events of his dream in his mind. It was the same sequences he’d been seeing for months, whether he was asleep or awake; but the last part of his dream was… new . Him fading in front of Thomas felt so tangible, so real; as if he’d be able to feel his host’s tear-stained cheeks on his fingertips if he just closed his eyes and reached forward--

But no. He was still here, in his room, with no one around. It was just another day of being alive, unfortunately.

As Logan executed and repeated the same breathing techniques he used on Virgil whenever the other suffered an attack, he thought this day might be a good day to at least try to get up. If luck would have it, maybe he could roam around the barren mindscape, however weak he was. Who knows what it’d look like by now?

With a tingling body covered uncomfortably in dried sweat, Logan pulled the haphazardly-strewn sheets off of him, allowed his legs to dangle off the edge of the bed and his feet touch the floor, put on some shoes (he didn’t know why he even bothered to but he guessed a little change of pace wouldn’t hurt), gripped the edge of the bed with his hands, and hauled himself up; ready for the surge of dizziness that would inevitably wash over him--

Only it didn’t. The room didn’t dissolve into Van Gogh’s swirls, nor did it send his gut lurching in response to a light feeling in his skull. He was upright, and putting aside the ragged breaths from his still vivid nightmare, he felt fine. He felt better than he did in months, actually. Now that his mind was clear enough, he was finally able to take a good look at his non-blurry room-- wait, was I wearing these glasses when I woke up? 

Logan distinctly remembered the room being a mess when he last remembered. It was his relentless clawing and thrashing that made it so, after all. How hypocritical of him to think of Roman as childish for choosing to attack every part of their mindscape with his katana in his moments of grief. Now, as his eyes roamed his quarters, the room looked… spotless. The laptop was neatly opened on his desk, whose clutter was somehow organized into a nice little corner of the wooden surface. He walked further, taking note of his new-found strength, and noticed how his bulletin board was back up on the wall, without a single note and document missing or out of place. In fact, it seemed there were more. His filing cabinet lost that dent from where he threw his laptop at, and when he struggled to re-open one of the drawers he was met with even more documents, most of which he’s not sure he recalls. 

He was thoroughly confused now as he circled the four corners of his room, but his eyes got caught on one last thing--his calendar. Logan flipped through the months and his eyes widened as he stared at the big block of numbers indicating the current year.

It’s been two years.

Logan silently cursed. He had just gotten his breathing to settle again, yet it seemed it had no plans on giving him a break. He had no idea what it meant, what everything meant. Had he been asleep for two years? Had he gone unconscious? Was he still alone? Would the rest of the mindscape look different too? Was the last part of his dream really just a dream?

Or was it real, and he actually died, and had just returned once again two years later? 

If so, then wouldn’t that mean the others were--

Crash!

Logan jumped at the loud sound that seemed to have originated from the kitchen; from outside his room . Instinctively, his mind began generating various possible reasons for the unlikely sound. Perhaps a gust of wind moved through the cupboards, though he was almost certain there was no possibility of a breeze coming through except through the imagination, and well, he knew that was impossible now. Maybe the pots and pans lost their balance on the shelves; it wasn’t that far off of an idea--

His stream of thought was cut off yet again, but this time by a series of faint noises from the same place of origin. He approached the door and rested his ear against it. After careful listening, he figured out that the noises were voices, and voices meant people. The logical side flinched away from the door as if it was on fire. He felt his pulse picking up once again as his ears continued to tune in on the sounds. Terrified, he put his hand on the cold, metal doorknob, swallowed, turned it, and pushed. 

The sounds grew louder with every step down the hallway; but Logan didn’t even need to hear them to become a quaking mess as he traversed the short distance from his room to the common area, because he was sure he saw a green door right across from his, then a red one beside that, then purple, then yellow across it, then a lighter shade of blue beside the brightness of the yellow, then finally his. The smell of pancakes was hitting his nostrils and the banter still wasn’t stopping. He hadn’t even gotten fully out of the hallway when his eyes locked on a certain area of the mindscape, and he found his feet frozen in its spot. 

He wasn’t sure if he was dreaming, but he could see the kitchen, the coffee brewing in the coffee maker, the mess of utensils and appliances in the sink, the small swirls of steam that escaped the already done pancakes and the slightly thicker puffs coming from the ones still on the pan, and he could definitely see three figures standing in close proximity to each other.

There was definitely no mistaking it. It was Patton flipping the pancakes, asking Janus beside him reptile-related questions as the latter poured himself a mug of the bitter drink, refusing to answer. Remus was behind Jan, holding a small, restless, white lab rat by its tail, ready to slip it into Deceit’s back pocket. 

Logan probably would have fainted on the spot had Remus not held his gaze.

“Oh, hey! Looks like Mr. Sand-nerd is tardy.”

Janus and Patton simultaneously whipped their heads back to look at Logan as well. There were a googolplex of images whizzing past his head at the moment, but he fought through it and approached the others cautiously, still not quite sure if this was all a dream.

Patton’s high-pitched yelp at the rat scurrying through the floor was enough of a distraction, he guessed.

“Remus, what on earth were you doing with a rat ?” Janus asked as he eyed the rodent scampering down the hallway, only for it to be gone in a snap of the duke’s fingers.

“Well, if Logan hadn’t showed up, then that rat would have been having a blast in your pants right now.”

Logan was sure everything they were talking about were pretty standard as far as Remus went but the fact that the last time he heard anything close to a normal conversation felt like ages ago was causing him to tune out every little sound in hopes that it would keep his tears from spilling right before them.

“Coffee’s ready on the counter, Lo. I have to say, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you up past 6:30.”

Patton was sounding a bit muffled to his clouded mind but Logic got the gist of his statement and glanced at the kitchen clock. 8:45 am. It was almost nine, and if his memory served him right, a certain royal should be awake around this time--

He heard a door opening then closing, and right on cue, Roman appeared out of the hallway, brushing his hair, of all things. Logan was just thankful it wasn’t a sword he was holding. Roman had taken a seat on the sofa and conjured a small mirror to set down on the coffee table as he eyed Logic and spoke. “ Sweet mother of Romulus, Logan, what is your hair? You couldn’t possibly have just woken up?”

Logan was too preoccupied with distracting himself through pouring and stirring his coffee to crank out a decent reply. Luckily, Janus was kind enough to answer for him while he attempted to tame his hair and clothes into something more presentable, after a sip of coffee first, that is.

“I don’t know why it’s such a surprise that Logic woke up late. I’d kill to see a single day Virgil wakes up before nine.”

“You’re in luck, Jan. I’m--” yawn-- “up and running with five minutes to spare.” Anxiety had now gone straight for the fridge, rubbing at his eyes as he scanned the contents and finally settling for a carton of orange juice. He poured himself a glass and settled for a clean spot on the counter.

“Huh. Too bad I didn’t get to actually kill anyone before this day came.” Janus opted for sipping his coffee next to an awfully silent Logan in the dining area. Deceit glanced at the logical aspect beside him and took note of how his eyes seemed to flit between each and every one of them rapidly, then back to his coffee. Maybe Lo just wasn’t used to waking up late.

Logan must’ve noticed Janus looking, and, much to Jan’s surprise, blurted out a question. “Janus, what year are we in?”

Logan was finding it odd that no one else seemed to be as bothered as he was. Everyone was having a seemingly normal conversation. Through quick observations and a few inferences, Logan realized none of them seemed as shaken nor aghast as him. Not to mention the fact that everyone’s presence right now was so welcome but so foreign to him. He was aware of how ridiculous he must’ve sounded when he asked about the year, and even more so when Janus answered it correctly without missing a beat.

“I apologize, Janus, but one last question. What has Thomas achieved recently?” Now, for some reason, Logan had a vague idea of events from the past 2 years, even though he was certain none of them were present for any of those; but for the sake of his own curiosity and sanity he really just needed anyone to confirm his suspicions. Never mind that his deceitful counterpart was looking at him with such a questioning stare.

“Oh, a lot to be honest. He won Viner of the Year not a year ago, started a YouTube channel, did a lot of collaborations, gifted his parents a nice little holiday in Honduras for their anniversary just the other month-- Logan, what is this even about?”

In conclusion, we’re updated on the missed twoyears, but no one else seems to have any recollection of… those events.

Logan wasn’t sure if that information helped in any way. “Do not worry, it was only a simple experiment. Thank you for your cooperation Janus.” Logan knew Deceit wasn’t entirely convinced with his answer, but Patton setting down a plate of hot pancakes almost directly in front of them, unknowingly acting as an icebreaker, was a godsend.

That was until he disappeared the very second Logan took a whiff of the sweet-smelling breakfast. He could practically feel all the color draining from his face in the span of seconds. Suddenly, his eyes were flitting about rapidly, his bottom was off the seat, his feet were trekking the floor, and his mouth was moving as if it had a life of its own.

“W-where did Patton go? Why did he disappear? Where is he? Why-”

“Woah! Settle down, teach. Padre was just summoned. It’s filming day, remember?” Roman’s hand was still clutching his brush but his eyes were burning into Logan’s own glassy ones. He hadn’t even realized when he had gotten from the dining area to the living room.

“Yeah, chill out Lo. Why do you think I woke up at this ungodly hour? I thought you kept timetables of these things?” Virgil had gotten off the kitchen counter by then and was standing in front of Logan, still holding the glass of juice, staring at him as if Logic had just vomited out a hundred falsehoods at once. 

The logical side could feel everyone’s eyes on him, but it was the terribly obvious absence of another set of eyes that was wrapping around his head and digging through memory lane until it wormed its way to his core and set off an earthquake in him. 

Thomas was filming a video, they say? If the host’s logical aspect was in a dire sense of confusion and instability, then he wondered how Thomas was now, seeing one of his sides again after two long years. After realizing that Patton, who had no idea whatsoever of the events that just transpired was up there alone with a host who did, Logan decided he’d escape everyone’s piercing stares, gulp down the stone in his throat, and follow Patton out of the mindscape.

The 4 remaining sides all agreed Logan acted a bit strange, and Remus joked about how Logan “might just have the hots for Pat” , a statement everyone visibly cringed at. Not a few moments later, they felt a tug coming from outside of the mindscape, prompting Remus to pull Roman up and out by his collar, Janus following through with a groan, and Virgil begrudgingly setting down his unfinished glass and popping up last.

For Logan, the day seemed longer than it should have been.

~~~

Don’t get him wrong, Logan was delighted, elated, about all of them being back, alive, and here ; so much so that it knocked the air out of his lungs and it physically hurt to breathe. But they were here now, gathered around their little living room, watching Star Wars: The Force Awakens, late into the night, and that was what mattered. 

Logan counted and recounted the heads present in the room. One… two… three… four… five… six, including himself .

He could easily see everyone. He could feel the sleeve of Virgil’s hoodie brushing against his arm, Patton’s knee on his from where Morality sat cross-legged beside him, the frills on Remus’s clothes tickling the nape of his neck from the back of the sofa, hear Janus’s grumbling as he tuned out the rather conspicuous suggestions from the duke, and he could see Roman sitting on the ground below him. There was absolutely no reason for Logan to feel less than adequate.

Then why did his breath still hitch when Janus moved from uncomfortably sitting on the arm of the couch to laying on his stomach on the ground beside Roman? His original position must have caused great discomfort to his spine and he had every reason to pick the ground, as there was no more space on the couch. There was nothing wrong with the deceitful side laying on the cold floor, with his capelet askew and hat off his head and legs at an odd angle- stop.

Logan closed his eyes for the briefest moment and willed the unwelcome imagery away. When he opened them, he found Virgil beside him stifling a yawn, then trying his best to keep his eyes open for the film, and giving up and letting them slip shut. Logan was grateful for the loud sound effects coming from the TV, otherwise they would’ve heard his shuddering breaths as he subtly placed the back of his hand in front of Virgil’s nose, desperate to feel the puff of air coming out from it. The anxious side’s head decided to find shelter on Logan’s shoulder. Logic did not dare move for fear that if he did, the weight on him would leave.

“I love you guy--” Logan, no. Stop.

Remus behind him lost his balance from the couch’s head, and the sound of Remus’s body falling to the floor jolted Logan so much that Virgil snapped awake as well. Roman chortled at his brother’s misfortune for a solid two minutes, and everyone else did the same; all except Logan, whose attention was being stolen by the nasty mental image of the duke’s sunken cheeks, frail form, pale face, dark eye-- Enough of this, please.

The bright glow of blue and red emanating from Kylo Ren and Rey’s lightsabers as they fought did a decent job of keeping Logan’s senses directed at the screen for quite some time; until Roman inevitably became too invested in the sequences and started mirroring their actions with his hand and an imaginary, non-existent as of the moment, sword. Logan knew Roman well enough to not poke fun at such actions, but he couldn’t help but silently hope for the peace of his mind as it figuratively filled in the royal’s empty hand with a sword, bringing him back to the thrashed mindscape, and sounds of the prince’s loud, hoarse voice filling the walls-- NO, STOP.

Logan noticed how his breaths began to get deeper and quicker with every passing memory. If it wasn’t so dark, he was sure everyone would’ve noticed how crumpled his tie was now from constantly fiddling with it, how messy his hair had become from running his hands through it, and how sweaty his palms were despite the obvious lack of reason for being so.

When Patton got up nearing the end of the film to grab a glass of water, it took every ounce of strength in Logan not to make a sound from the sudden lack of a persona and the huge empty spot on his left side. It physically strained him to keep his eyes on the television and not towards the kitchen. 

Logan knew what the symptoms of a panic attack were, but he thought if he kept denying it, maybe it wouldn’t push through. He was lucky everyone decided it was time for shut-eye after Star Wars. The logical side bit his lip and breathed as quietly as he could through his nose, however challenging it was when his lungs were screaming for air, until he saw with his own eyes that everyone was safe in their rooms. The second he was through his own door, the dams broke open, his vision blurred, his knees gave way, his chest ached for oxygen, and his mind went haywire. 

He suffered through a nightmare that night, as he did every night spent alone before he died, and as he will for every night after they came back alive.

~~~

They've been noticing a few changes in Logan. They weren’t necessarily bad changes; just… odd ones.

It was Patton who pointed out that Logan seemed to spend more time in the commons recently when he knew the logical side as someone who used to stay cooped up in his room overworking himself for hours and hours on end. Patton honestly didn’t mind the company in the commons, especially when the nostalgic pull of his room became too much for him to bear. The moral side looked back on all the times Logic stormed back into his room when all of them got into too much of a ruckus, but now Logan stayed put, for as long as he could, uncaring for how much noise the rest of them threw at him.

The twins noticed too how Logan seemed to always take note of their trips to the Imagination nowadays. Not only that, the side even waited for them at times; ending up as an exhausted-looking ball of logic curled up on the couch, his nth mug of coffee cold on the table, laptop still open, and glasses askew on his face, even when the pair returned in the late hours of the night. 

They woke him up once, if only to get him up and into his room; but a cold wave of worry washed over them when Logan awoke with a slight gasp, hands immediately out to grasp at Remus’s sash with notably shaking fingers, eyes wide as an owl’s, and a breathy rendition of “Are you two okay? Where have you been?” uttered like rapid fire.

A nightmare then, they supposed. Even the embodiment of logic couldn’t be immune to those. They gently coaxed him into his room after and encouraged him to get some rest.

Janus, like Logan before, loved the quiet and solace of his room too much to spend a lot of time out of it; but on the rare occasions that he did lately, he always seemed to catch the logical side staring at his door from where he sat in the dining or living room, only to swiftly bow his head back down, away from Deceit’s stare to sip at his coffee, again.

He was never seen without a mug of it these days.

Virgil always loved conversing with Logan. Janus was fun to talk with too but Logan’s monotone way of debating was just more tolerable than having his and Janus’s talks end up in a petty hissy fit every damn time. Virgil knew Logan was never one to suddenly abandon or shift a topic of conversation, even if it was a topic not of his interest, but recently the nerd just appeared so unfocused. He kept switching subjects, he talked quicker, he replied with less words and asked with more, he was shifty in his seat, especially when they were on the couch, and are those eyebags or is he just wearing eyeshadow now too? Not to mention he kept cutting their conversations to randomly ask where Janus was, or who were summoned, or when Roman and/or Remus were coming back, and if he was sure Janus was really still in his room.

Maybe if he slowed down with the coffee he’d be less jittery, Virgil thought.

Before Virgil could point out his worrying caffeine intake one day, Roman showed up, looking disheveled and worn out, as he always did when he came from the Imagination. Seeing the prince like that wasn’t unusual; so witnessing Logan’s fingers holding his tie in a death grip as the eyes on his pale face stared at the sword Roman mounted on the floor sparked the slightest bit of concern in the anxious and fanciful facets.

It was probably just the coffee.

~~~

Janus woke up earlier than usual. Not that he minded the fewer hours of sleep, but it was just a shame he couldn’t get himself to obtain more when there wasn’t really anything he needed to get done today. Funny how the side who boasted of self-care sometimes forgot to do so. Might as well get up, then.

Gloves, capelet, and hat on, the half-sleepy side exited his room, unsurprised to see the space empty, headed straight for the kitchen, and boiled himself some coff-- tea. He’d have tea today. The deceitful facet was a fan of silence but even he had to admit the mindscape got boring when there wasn’t anyone else in the vicinity. He relished in the sounds of the kettle as the Earl Grey brewed, then again in the subtle sounds of pouring when the drink was finished. He turned his back on the kitchen counter, leaned on it, and closed his eyes as he took a sip--

“Hey Jan-jan,”

“Remus, please, I- I don’t know what’s happening, tell me you’re going to be alright, please.”

“Ro? Jan? Tell Thomas… he can finally get some… sleep.”

“Remus n- wait! ”

The movie-like scenes ended when Janus opened his eyes as he felt a hot pain burst through his thigh. The cup was only half full now, and he realized that the pain he felt came from the other half of that cup’s contents staining his pants. He took in one deep breath, then two, and a couple more, staring at his shaking hands as he attempted to set down the cup without any more spills. He quickly grabbed a towel, muttered to himself as he stood on weak legs while he wiped at the searing patch, and tried to process what exactly that was he saw.

Right on time, Remus entered the kitchen too, eyes widening and lips curling up into a familiar grin as he eyed the conspicuous wet spot on Janus’s dark trousers.

“Woah! Dee, if you wanted to get it on with yourself in the kitchen you could’ve just said so. I’ll leave you alone, but I could help if you want--”

Janus cut Remus off by throwing the used towel at his face. Remus sniffed the soft cloth as it fell on his hands, identifying the mysterious liquid as tea, then moved his sight to the half-empty cup of the same drink sitting on the counter. 

“You have six arms and you still manage to spill a cup of tea?” Remus waved off the droplets that decorated the floor as Janus continued to lean on the counter, hands gripping its edge with a clear sheen of sweat coating the human side of his face as he avoided Remus’s gaze. 

“What happened to you, Jan? You look like you just saw an elephant fuck an otter right in front of you.” Remus took note of how Janus still wasn’t looking at him, choosing instead to keep his stare locked on the ground.

“Are your intrusive thoughts usually this… vivid?” Janus asked as he felt himself tremble slightly.

Remus’s breath got caught in his throat. Him getting them was one thing, and he knew it was perfectly normal for others to get them too; but seeing Janus this disturbed by one was something he should definitely be concerned about.

“Uhm, well, mine are. Can you define ‘disturbing’ for me?” He was hoping Janus would at least spare him a glance, but Deceit’s eyes landed on everything in the kitchen except Remus.

“Seeing somebody… die--”

“Dyyyying their hair?”

Janus breathed in deep once again, closed his eyes, gulped, then opened them again to finally, finally look at Remus.

“I saw y- someone die… in someone else’s arms.” Janus rubbed his face with his palms, as though the image would be erased if he pushed hard enough. “It was so vivid, Remus. I was awake but I could see it… as if it was happening right in front of me.” The duke could see how the usually composed side’s elbows shook as he leaned back on the counter again.

A spark of recognition ignited in Remus as he listened to what Janus saw, but he figured that’s not what Jan needed at this moment.

“Intrusive thoughts really do be like that sometimes, Jan. I think you better get some more sleep. You’re not usually up this early. You know how Virgil gets when someone outdoes his edgy eye bags.” 

Janus pushed himself off the counter with an exhausted huff and nodded in consideration of Remus’s words. “Yeah, you’re probably right. That was probably nothing. See you later, Remus.”

“See ya, double D!” Remus waved animatedly as he watched his deceitful counterpart sluggishly walk back into his room. The second Janus was out of view, the arm slumped back down onto his side and the grin was wiped off his face.

Remus himself was no stranger to such vivid, sinister imagery, but by Bundy’s tapes, he would never wish the same things on the other sides. He replayed Janus’s words in his mind as he stood there alone in the kitchen, only mere minutes before someone else inevitably woke up as well. 

I saw someone die… in somebody else’s arms.

He was Dark Creativity himself. He shouldn’t be bothered by such a ridiculous thing; yet he shivered anyway as he realized where that spark of recognition earlier came from.

Janus didn’t need to know that Remus had been seeing the exact same thing for 2 nights now; only that the ‘someone’ dying was himself, and the arms he was dying in was Roman’s. 

No one had to know.

~~~

“Logan, man, if you’re really pushing that I can’t sit the next video out, then at least give me some leeway to use contemporary slang in the debate that’s gonna be in it.”

“Very well then, Virgil. You have minimal freedom to use a few slang words for the duration of the debate.”

“Cool.”

Virgil allowed himself to plop down on Logan’s bed as he glanced at the logical side who was busy typing away at his laptop on his desk. Thomas informed them that the next video would involve only him and Logan, which was the only reason he was conversing with Logic in the first place.

They could’ve easily just talked about it on the couch, where Logan already was anyway, but for some reason the nerd greatly insisted that they move to his room before Virgil could even get his bottom on the soft cushion. Hey, at least Logan’s bed was comfy. The two of them continued talking about the upcoming video. Virgil was more complaining than discussing, but Logan didn’t seem to be bothered at all. 

As they chatted, Virgil allowed himself to glance around Logan’s room. He was impressed, actually. He didn’t know how Logan managed to keep his room so crowded and overflowing with boards, files, notes, charts, and tables, yet still keep it so… organized. Anxiety took note of how he didn’t just have a schedule for all of Thomas’s endeavors, but also a schedule for all of his sides. There were their summoning scheds ( So I’ll be summoned again tomorrow, got it. ), Roman and Remus’s time slots for their Imagination trips, hell, even their waking times were plotted meticulously on the chart. Virgil took pride in the fact that only his square had no time on it and was instead marked as “unpredictable.”

It was bordering on creepy, but who was he to judge what the job description for being Thomas’s logical side meant?

Their discussion was cut short when they heard a loud knock on the door, timed to the tune of a song neither of them probably knew. Logan hadn’t even answered yet when the door opened up to reveal Remus.

“Oop-- didn’t mean to crash your party, and honestly I was expecting more, but can I borrow Logan for a quickie?” Remus’s head was through the door, with one hand on the doorknob and the other planted on the wall outside, looking at Virgil and Logan interchangeably as he waited for either to answer.

“What for, Remus?” Logan asked he swiveled his office chair to face Creativity.

“Weeeell, Roman and I have a few ideas for future scripts but we keep not agreeing on shit. I keep telling him we’ll lose viewers if we don’t spice things up so I screamed at him and he screamed at me too but Janus was getting tired of our ‘incessant fighting’ and begged me to get a third party on the matter that wasn’t him sooooooo will you help us?” 

Virgil honestly thought Remus said all of it in one breath.

“I’d be glad to help you out, Remus, if Virgil doesn’t mind our discussion being postponed until later?” Logan was standing up now and looking at the anxious facet, waiting for his reply.

“Yeah, it’s cool. Knock ’em dead, specs.”

Logan gave Virgil a tiny nod as acknowledgement as he began to walk out the door with Remus. Before he could fully leave, he stopped for a few seconds and turned around to speak with Virgil again. “You will still be here when I return, correct?”

Virgil striked the question as odd, but chalked it up to Logan not wanting to have to hunt for him across the entire mindscape after. “Sure, man. I mean, I got nothing better to do anyway.”

Logan huffed out a breath at that, left, and closed the door. He really has been acting weird lately, hasn’t he? With nothing else to do but wait, Virgil found himself messing with the logical side’s sheets. He probably wouldn’t mind, it was already a mess when he got there. Virgil didn’t take Logan for the type to be shifty when asleep but the messed up sheets were saying otherwise. He somehow occupied himself by counting how many papers were pinned to one of the bulletin boards minutes later (there were exactly 27), and then tracing the subtle tiling patterns on the floor another few moments after that, humming a little tune from The Nightmare Before Christmas as he went--

“Jan- fuck it! We’re coming in now!”

A broken door. A figure in yellow and black, splayed on the floor, unmoving.

“You all really don’t care, do you?”

“I just – oh god, I’m so sorry –”

A hand on his jacket, a tear on smooth scales.

“Keep Thomas safe, will you?”

“I promise.” --

Virgil pulled his legs off the ground and back onto the bed with a gasp. Whatever that was lasted for only a few seconds but it left his head throbbing as though it had been pierced through with an ice pick. He let his aching head fall onto his hand as he calmly tried to steady his breathing. He was sure the figure in his vision was Janus, and he knew the figure holding him was himself; but the question was why.

He jumped when the door clicked open again for Logan to get back inside. Virgil was too busy soothing the pain in his head and breathing properly to notice how relieved Logan looked to just see Virgil. They continued their conversation almost instantly; Logan never liked wasting time, after all, but Anxiety found it significantly harder to concentrate with such an unpleasant image echoing in his head, so vibrant he would’ve mistaken it for a memory.

What the fuck was that?

~~~

It wasn’t easy being the creative side. Did they think ideas just... magically came to him out of nowhere? 

The prince found himself wandering the Imagination again. This space almost felt like an extension of himself if he was going to be honest. He could easily brainstorm for ideas in his room, or even ask Remus or Logan for help, but Roman felt like he wanted to be alone this time. Only this once. The space never seemed to end, which was a relief for Roman since he didn’t feel like stopping in his tracks anytime soon. The sceneries kept changing from lush, green grasslands and miles and miles of flowery meadows amidst sweet, misty air, to mystical, mysterious forests teeming with woodland critters and unimaginable flora, to the vast, colorful, vacuous expanses of outer space. 

Right now, it was a savanna. The bright sun tickled his face, not too hot to burn but warm enough to soothe the dull ache in his senses. There were a fair number of trees, flat top acacias with umbrella-like canopies spread wide apart scattered amongst the tall, yellowing grass. It smelled of greens, dust, dirt, nature, and earth. He ran with the various wildlife he encountered, feet keeping pace as he swung his sword at a few heightened blades of grass, only stopping at a nearby stream to splash fresh, refreshing water at his face as he knelt in front of it, shaking the droplets off his hair afterwards.

He gazed at his reflection in the rippling water and waited for the miniscule waves to still. As his reflection formed clearer and clearer on the crystal lake, Roman did a double take when he saw a peculiar object beside and behind him. Roman quickly whipped his head back, and sure enough, the structure was there. His first thought of course was “why would there be a door in the middle of a hot savanna?” but as the prince stood up to gaze at the odd object, he came to admire its flamboyant design. It was the most elaborately ornamental door Roman had seen with its golden swirls jutting out of the deep maroon wooden base, leading down to a gilded door knob. Despite the awe-inspiring motif, Roman still found the whole ordeal weird.

Well, this was the Imagination. No limits, he guessed.

Roman decided there’d be no harm in pushing the door open. When he did, he took a second to simply stare in awe as he was greeted by a room fully comprised of mirrors. It resembled an infinite maze, where every turn, every dead end, every wall and, woah, even the ceilings were all just unending paths of reflective glass. He walked around, seeing tens and hundreds of his reflection looking back at him. 

Roman continued to walk forward, letting himself get lost in the maze. He had time. He only stopped minutes later when he noticed something odd in one of the mirrors. 

He walked backwards a tad bit, stopping in front of that one mirror whose reflection didn’t seem to mirror his actions. That Roman merely stared at him, standing straight as a pole no matter how much Roman moved in front of it. A noise suspiciously resembling a sob sounded from behind him, breaking his trance and causing him to swiftly turn around to be met by yet another mirror, only this time there were 2 people in it. He moved closer as he stared at the princely figure in the reflection with its back turned to Roman, cradling another figure in his lap. He figured the sobs were coming from this image, and that the trousers on the figure being cradled looked oddly familiar… until the figure looked up from the prince’s shoulder.

Remus. It was him cradling Remus .

He heard even more noises, and he turned his head and body towards his left to yet another mirror where he saw another image of himself charging at a yellow door with muffled sounds; as though the image was trapped in the deepest depths of a cave. He saw a slight sliver of black and yellow through the broken down door, the faint projection of Janus’s face shortly coming to mind.

The third mirror was to his right, and, unsurprisingly, it was Roman in it again, but this time on the couch, a seemingly asleep Virgil resting on his shoulder, with the faintest touch of pain grazing his features. It was a bit blurry, but a closer look at himself in the reflection confirmed that “other Roman” was holding back tears in the scene unfolding before him.

The last one got him turning 180 degrees for the sole reason of the image releasing ear-piercingly loud sounds, a complete contrast to the three other images surrounding him. He gazed at the mirrors, hands roughly on his ears to block out the pathetic sobs that were coming from Patton as he shakily held someone in his arms, and the heart-wrenching, painful screams coming from… coming from…

From him.

Roman’s knees gave way as a quick, sharp pain shot through his head, and suddenly “other Roman” was gone from Patton’s arms. He turned quickly to see Virgil gone from his side too, then Janus from Virgil’s hold, then Remus from Roman’s.

The royal screamed as he grabbed his sword and broke through every mirror, allowing the cursed reflections to crack and shatter, hopefully not just from the space but from his mind as well. The cries still echoed in his ears with every broken reflection. Roman’s scream died down as he realized his sword finally pierced through the door. He grunted as he continued to slice through, breaking it down into splinters bit by bit, the golden ornaments laying on the ground slowly losing its luster. When he passed through, he was no longer in the savanna, but back in the safety of his room, and the door and its remains were gone.

His breaths were still heaving and the faces of he and his fellow sides fading were still fresh and vivid in his mind. He shakily sat on the edge of his bed right in front of his bedroom mirror, sword forgotten on the ground, eyes staring at his own, real reflection, which finally mirrored his own unsure actions. 

If those weren’t memories, nor daydreams, nor ideas, then what were they?

He made a mental reminder to tell Remus to clean up the spillover from his side of the Imagination. It was the only possible explanation he could think of.

~~~

Nostalgia, Patton thought, was simultaneously addicting, and a pain in the as-- cheek. A pain in the cheek. His room was cluttered again. Sometimes he didn’t notice that the trinkets and memoirs were already piling up, covering the entirety of his room, until he was already drowning in them; which was why he was busying himself today with cleaning up.

It wasn’t easy. He kept getting distracted by every little item his eyes landed on like Thomas’s medals and certificates from elementary to high school, his old plushies, recent or ancient playwrights, and pre-school drawings; but he still eventually got halfway through after a few emotionally compromised hours. 

Right now, Patton was rearranging his shelves, particularly his library of moral philosophies. The others always had a brief look of disbelief on their faces when Patton mentioned an author from his collection or a quote from a book. He didn’t get how it was so hard to understand that the literal embodiment of morality could have space up there for philosophical knowledge. Sure, he still got confused, and sometimes the words overwhelmed him, but the ideas were still there in his head-- thud.

A book fell. It was maroon with a hand-sketched illustration of a simple house in the woods as its cover. 

The Embers and the Stars
A Philosophical Inquiry on the Moral Sense of Nature

Erazim Kohak

Patton almost lost his hold on the book when he felt a strange, dull pang in his chest upon looking at the word “stars.” His free hand unconsciously went to clutch at almost the same spot where the knot in his cardigan rested on his shirt.

This happened quite a lot-- him picking up on sudden, foreign emotions that weren’t his. He usually didn’t mind nor pried, as the others, including Thomas, valued their privacy quite a lot, but he couldn’t help but identify this latest one as something… different.

It was a feeling alright, but it didn’t feel like it was coming from him, or Thomas, or anyone. He re-read the title up until the word “stars”, and sure enough, the twinge came back slightly sharper. Patton frantically reached for his catalogue of human emotions and tried to pinpoint which one this was. He closed his eyes and zeroed in on the sensation, tried to pick it apart. He sensed a lot of fear, tendrils of anxiety, a quick pinch of panic, a heaping of paranoia, a few shakes of sorrow, a smothering of fatigue, heapings of melancholy, and the slightest, almost non-existent sprinkle of passion. 

He reopened his eyes feeling as if he’d just held his breath for days, returning to his catalogue, but even as he scoured it cover to cover he came out blank. It almost felt like a remnant of a sensation, and not an actual one.

He needed a break.

Dusting himself off, he stood and left his room, cringing a bit from the distasteful way the clutches of nostalgia let go of him every time. He shook it off, walked down the hallway, and saw Logan scribbling away at his notebook as he glanced at his open laptop on the dining table next to a steaming mug. Patton frowned at that. He was certain that wasn’t Logan’s first one today. 

“Hi, Logan! Go easy on the coffee, teach. I know how much of it you’ve bean drinking lately.” Patton mussed up Logan’s hair slightly, which Logic immediately redid the instant the moral side passed by him and slipped into the kitchen.

“I assure you Patton, this is all to keep me in adequate condition to carry out my duties. Do not worry over my intake.” Logan replied, eyes never leaving the screen and paper.

Patton could tell him off for this, but the phantom pang in his chest came back and his desperate need for a distraction overpowered his plan to scold Logan for his unhealthy habit. “Well, just watch out for yourself, Lo-lo.”

With his chest feeling heavier than it should, Patton not so easily slipped into his well-practiced routine of grabbing the pan, bowls, spoons, mixer, flour, butter, eggs, and all the other ingredients and materials he might need. He could practically bake with his eyes closed by now. Patton allowed himself to hum a little tune as he worked, pouring ingredients into a large bowl and getting to work with mixing it before eventually pouring them into little muffin tins. For some reason the weight in his chest wasn’t leaving, but he only silently hoped that it would go away as soon as it could.

After he popped the filled tins into the oven, Morality cleaned the counter up and eventually hauled himself to sit on it afterwards. He could clearly see Logan from where he sat. He saw how Logan fiddled with his tie, a tick they all noticed he’d gotten lately. He also kept checking his watch, occasionally biting his lip as he did. Patton really didn’t mean to notice so much, but he also saw how Logan kept turning his head back to glance ever so often at the hallway. Patton subtly followed Logic’s line of sight as he looked back yet again, and it seemed it was Janus’s room he kept glancing at. He couldn't think of any reason he would, though.

Odd. 

The smell of the blueberry muffins as it continued to cook in the oven was filling the air now, and Patton always loved to take that in, closing his eyes and tilting his head slightly back as he did. A few sweet-smelling seconds later, he opened his eyes again as he heard the quick scraping of metal on tile. He locked his eyes on Logan, who was now frantically grabbing his laptop, pen, and paper, before practically sprinting back into his room.

He stared at the empty seat for a good while with his brows furrowed, a hand on his chest as the weight continued to fester, until a loud ping shook him out of his trance. Something about the scent of the blueberry muffins he adored felt wrong when he took them out of the oven, but a little taste of the pastry was enough to convince him that nothing was out of place.

Well, except maybe for everything about Logan a few minutes ago, and come to think of it, for the past few weeks.

~~~

Logan knew he looked undoubtedly suspicious slamming his laptop shut, grabbing his stuff, and running for his door in less than a few seconds, but the very second he registered the sickening scent of the blueberry muffins hitting his nose his head ached from the speed it took to take him tumbling down into memory lane yet again, and he already knew what was coming next. He couldn’t let Patton see him like this.

In his room, he hugged a pillow tight to his chest as he gasped, shook, and heaved for air, again. He couldn’t count how many times he’s been through this in the span of days. He did try to stop himself from spiraling into an attack, but he could still smell the muffins, hear the trashing of the dining room, feel the coldness of the floor, taste the bitter taste of death on his tongue, and see everyone, everyone’s fading flashing before him. 

The sheer emptiness of his room mocked him and reminded him of that excruciatingly long period of time of being terribly alone with only his thoughts and memories to accompany him. It  trapped him in a loop of wanting to be with them, risking him being bombarded by painful memories, or wanting to stay away but risk being choked to death by the suffocating tang of "alone." There was no winning.

He was well on his way down the curve of his attack minutes later, airways finally opening up to receive its well-awaited taste of undisturbed oxygen, vision returning from its blurriness, trembling beginning to cease, and fingers uncurling from his own palm, when he felt that familiar tug. He was given almost no time at all to make himself a little more presentable before he was standing in Thomas’s bedroom, where the host was walking around in a little back and forth path, forehead creased as he flipped the page of their latest script.

“Hey Logan, I just needed some help regarding the cohesion of the flow of dialogue in this bit from paragraph seven, line thre-- woah , hey are you okay?” Thomas had stopped pacing and was staring at his logical side whose tie was undone, hair a mess, glasses smudged, eyes red, cheeks tear-stained, and palms littered in small, crescent-shaped marks. Some were even slightly bleeding.

“Pardon me, Thomas. It would seem you have summoned me only mere seconds after a moderately severe panic attack.” It shamed Logan greatly that he had to admit to his own host that he was fresh from an attack, but there was no point in hiding it when his appearance practically screamed “not okay” at him.

“Uhm… Logan, why don’t you… sit down for a while while I grab a few bandages?”

“What for, Thomas?” Logan already made his way to the bed. He couldn’t deny how weak he still felt, so Thomas’s offer was more than welcome.

“Logan, look at your palms,” Thomas shouted from the bathroom as he rummaged for his first aid kit. 

Logan obliged and held his hands out, eyes growing wide and lips forming into a soft “o” as he looked at the little moon-shaped wounds on his palms. He hadn’t noticed that his fists were clenched that hard. Thomas finally came back with the first aid kit and promptly sat on the edge of the bed beside Logan. He was about to reach for Logan’s hand when he felt that same barrier prevent his own hand from getting any nearer. Logan sheepishly understood, and instead grabbed the kit from Thomas and got to work on his own with cleaning the dried up blood, applying antiseptics, and covering the marks in small bandages to keep it unexposed, in total silence. 

Thomas didn’t really need Logan to tell him what happened. He already knew what it was; but even though Logan seemed uninterested in talking about it, the host still tried anyway as he carefully put the supplies back in the kit after his logical side was done tending to the minimal injuries.

“Do you mind telling me what triggered it?” Thomas now had both feet up on his bed as a silent invitation for Logan to loosen up and make himself more comfortable; yet he remained seated rigid and still with his feet planted firmly on the ground and hands neatly on his lap.

“I would, but I fear my reply might sound too… illogical.” Logan’s eyes were trained at his bandaged palms, and Thomas thought of how different the Logan now seemed from the Logan he knew years ago, before the incident.

“Aw, bud, panic attacks don’t have to be logical. Anything could trigger it, but I totally understand if you don’t want t--”

“Well, actually… it was triggered by… Patton... baking muffins,” Logan paused for a while, fingers starting to pick at the bandages that had just been placed on his hand, “which was one of the things we were talking about the night he… the night he faded. ” Logan picked up on what he was doing and tried to reposition the bandage he had slightly peeled off. Thomas looked at him in understanding, although Logan didn’t dare to meet his eyes.

“O-oh. Have you, uhm, told them about it, Logan?” Thomas saw how Logan seemed to freeze at that, fingers stopping over his bandages, nails just barely scraping its surface, breath hitching in his throat.

“No.”

It’s been months since they came back. Thomas shivered at the thought of exactly just how much torture these past days have been for Logan now that he knew how badly that incident scarred him; and especially knowing that no one else knew. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of this not being the first attack, or the fact that he might have been getting nightmares, or how awful it must feel to have those horrid scenes constantly plague his mind.

“Logan, look at me for a second. You have to tell them.” 

Logan softly whipped his head in Thomas’s direction, eyes glossing over just the tiniest bit and bottom lip trembling almost unnoticed. “I-I can’t. They don’t remember, Thomas, and I rather keep their knowledge and recollection of those events to that extent as I believe that would be the wisest decisio--”

“Logan, how long are you gonna let yourself suffer in solitude? Don’t you think they’ll ever find out? Don’t you think they’ll at least question you? I’m sure the others must have been noticing some things and knowing them, they will eventually confront you for it, Lo.” Thomas paused for a while, watching and waiting as his facet took in a few deep breaths before continuing. “Don’t you think it’s about time they knew about the pills? The sickness?”

Logan’s hands stopped scratching at his bandages and flew to the sheets, unconsciously gripping it as he absorbed what Thomas had asked. His entire body seemed to grow heavier and the air felt a fraction colder as he thought of what to say. Logan shifted his legs to face Thomas better, and began to explain.

“Thomas… I apologize for not clarifying sooner, as I thought you already had the correct idea regarding your previous situation, but I need you to comprehend that you were never sick. ”

Thomas blinked at him once. Then twice. His lips stayed slightly parted as he kept his eyes on his logical facet, his previous statement still lingering in his ear.

“I-what, but the medicin-- ”

“You were misdiagnosed, Thomas. I would’ve told you the soonest I could but unfortunately the medication kept you from seeing or hearing us, and eventually kept us from appearing out of the mindscape at all.” Logan stopped, but Thomas still remained silent, staring at the logical facet, silently urging him to continue. “We were never meant to make ourselves known. You may not remember this, but as toddlers we all informed you that us appearing before you was an accident, and it was true. Everyone has the capability to have such distinct personifications of their individual facets, but not everyone will comprehend such an idea in the real world setting. The human mind can only fathom so much, and hearing a grown man admitting that there were 6 other people only he interacts with that no one else can see? Of course he’d go for the only answer that would seem possible-- a disease. Frankly, I wasn’t surprised when I heard about the diagnosis, but I am telling you right now, Thomas. You do not have Schizophrenia, you never did, we are real, we aren’t hallucinations, and I still do not blame you for anything that occurred.”

Logan hadn’t noticed when Thomas had begun clutching a spare pillow to his chest, nor when Thomas stopped looking at him. They were silent for a good few seconds; Thomas picking at the loose threads of the pillow case and Logan absentmindedly tracing the wrinkles in the sheets, until the host cleared his throat and spoke.

“I guess that’s… something to hear about, but I don’t think anyone else is going to understand, will they?”

“No, I believe not. As far as your family and friends are concerned we were hallucinations, ones you’ve been cured of, and as for your viewers... you’re merely that brilliant of an actor to ‘play six roles all by yourself’.” Logan managed to squeeze out a hint of a smile for Thomas, who gladly gave a slightly brighter one in return.

“But I’ll still have all of you, right?”

“Correct.”

“Then I think that’s good enough for me.” The smile on Thomas grew wider, and Logan may not have been aware of it, but his own lips curled up slightly further as well. “Are you doing better, Logan?”

“Ah, yes. I am feeling significantly less distressed than a while ago, and I would be more than willing to help you out now with the scrip--”

“Actually, you know what Logan? I got this. You go get some rest. You need it, bud. Besides, Virgil doesn’t like having another resident racoon around so you better clear up those bags of yours.” Thomas nodded in Logan's direction, and Logic’s fingers unconsciously went up to his mouth as a yawn escaped him.

“Well, if you insist, Thomas. I wish you a proper night’s rest.” Logan stood up, adjusted his tie, and pushed his glasses slightly higher up the bridge of his nose.

“You too, Logan; and I meant it when I said you have to go tell them eventually.” Thomas looked at his own logical facet with a semi-stern look in his eyes, not allowing him to sink down before he gave out a reply.

“I will… consider it.”

“Fair enough. Bye, Lo.”

“Good bye, Thomas.” Logan sank back down into his room, chest surprisingly lighter than usual, and stared at his open laptop and unfinished notes on his desk. He was about to return to his desk chair to continue his work but a yawn decided it was best to disrupt his short trip there.

This could wait. I have time.

Logan was still pretty certain he’d be plagued by nightmares again tonight; but maybe this time he wasn’t so scared. The moment his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light.

~~~

Well, he was right. He did still have a nightmare. It was quite unsettling to see Patton fade but in the exact same manner Janus did, except that it was Remus holding Patton, and Virgil beside him in his dream. The absurdness of the nightmare helped calm his nerves, but it didn’t mean he still didn’t wish for a few more hours of rest. He fell out of sleep approximately 5 times last night and oh, what he would give for just a couple more minutes of shut-eye. He still had to move eventually. With a groan, Logan hauled himself up, winced at the dull pain that shot through his temples, tidied his appearance, removed the bandages from his now scabbed over marks, applied just a tad bit of powder under his eyes, and stared at the laptop and notebook again.

No. Coffee first.

It wasn’t surprising to see Remus, Janus, and Patton all awake. It was all according to schedule, after all. He revelled in the glorious constancy of that tiny little detail. In fact, it would seem he was the late one. Again. Janus and Patton’s voices could be heard all the way across the hallway from where they were seated on the couch, debating about moral ideals, of all things. Logan supposed it made sense for the two to butt heads often regarding the topic. In fact, it’d be more chaotic if they didn’t communicate about it; he just wished they’d do so a little bit quieter because his head was beginning to throb even more from the noise.

Hey, at least he was reassured of their presence.

Completely ignoring the two’s bickering about the significance/insignificance of law in a society (Logan was not in the mood to adjudicate the two, thank you very much), Logan quite fuzzily headed for the kitchen, poured himself a mug of the bitter drink, and took a spot on the dining area beside Remus. Any place was better than anywhere near the one-on-one debate club in the living room; or maybe the throbbing in his head was just bad enough that Logan just plopped down on the closest seat available. He took one sip out of the mug, then propped his elbow on the table and cradled his own aching head with that hand. 

“Terrible night?”

Logan didn’t bother to move his head to look at the owner of those words and risk paining his cranium even more, but he could still tell out of his peripheral vision that it was Remus beside him who said it.

“To my distaste, yes.”

“Mm, yeah, same here, Logatitties.” Remus sipped a bit of his unidentifiable drink and rubbed at his eyes. Only then did Logan tilt his head in Remus’s direction to squint at him, noticing how disheveled and unkempt the other looked. He was sure the dark bags under the duke’s eyes weren’t all make-up, his moustache was, quite honestly, a weird mess of facial hair above his lips at the moment, hair all over the place, and maybe even the slightest bit paler-- Oh god, not this again.

“What’s your excuse?” Logan wasn’t really interested, he just needed anything to take his mind off the awful memory that just attacked him.

Remus’s mug-bearing hand stopped halfway to his lips to make way for a reply weaved between yawns. "Oh you know, faceless ghouls, naked monsters, blood baths, death-related nightmares, the usual." 

The phrase “death-related nightmares” struck Logan as unusual yet familiar. It seemed like something he should really be giving more attention to but his head was aching, his eyes were slipping closed, and he was just… so… tired…

SLAM!

The loud sound that came from the hallway snapped the sleepiness out of both the logical and creative side’s eyes; Logan’s head slipping from his hand and Remus almost spilling the liquid all over himself. Janus and Patton had gone silent too, opting to turn their attention to the angry-looking anxious facet that had just exited his room earlier than usual, slammed the door shut, and stormed down the hallway and straight towards Remus.

Virgil’s jacket was half off his shoulders and they were certain the dark bags under his eyes were not eyeshadow this time as his features were scrunched up into that of exhaustion and seething anger. The harsh sound created by Virgil rotating Remus’s seat to face him made everyone else grit their teeth and it stayed that way as he grabbed two handfuls of the duke’s suit and pulled upward; staring at Remus with a deep, seething flame burning in his irises.

“Remus, I have no idea what the fuck you’re doing but I’m pretty sure there’s no other way to explain what’s happening and I am begging you to stop whatever the hell it is!”

Roman had joined the scene now, having been woken up by the loud noise and thundering voice coming from Virgil. He remained hovering in the hallway as he eyed the scene in front of him. He was about to pull Virgil away from his brother but Janus shot him a look telling him to stay put for a little while longer.

Remus was staring at Virgil with wide eyes, hands over the anxious persona’s fisted in his suit, breath slightly quivering under the heat of Virgil’s stare. “V, I do a lot of crazy shit but I don’t think I know what you’re sayin--”

“Oh, like hell you don’t. How else am I supposed to explain the same nightmares over and over again, huh?!” Virgil’s face had inched closer to Remus but the fury in both his gaze and voice only grew more.

Logan wanted to step in and take the role as mediator but Virgil mentioning “nightmares” dropped a pebble of dread in the pit of Logan’s stomach, weighing him to his seat.

“Nightmares? V, I know I’m the Intrusive Thot but I swear I have nothing to do with whatever you’re experienci--”

“I am sick and tired of seeing the same three people, including me, dying in my fucking dreams Remus! Stop i-- ”

“ Am I one of them?! ” Remus’s face was now turned away from Virgil and facing Logan yet his questioning, fearful eyes were locked on the anxious facet whose hands shook from where it was buried in Remus’s suit and eyes blown wide from the duke’s question.

“W-what?” Virgil moved slightly further away from Remus, grasp on the suit loosening but still there.

“Am I one of the people you see dying? Do I die in Roman’s arms?” 

Logan couldn’t believe what he just heard. He stared on as Virgil quickly let go of Remus, unconsciously taking a single step back, the anger in his features gone and confusion taking place in its stead.

“How did you--”

“You guys see those too?”

Virgil, Logan, and Remus all faced Roman whose own fatigued and haunted expression only showed to be obvious now. Logan’s thoughts were running at a mile a minute. Do they remember now? What do they know? Should I say something? Should I interfere? How did they remember? When? What do I do what do I do what is happening breathe Logan, breathe--

“I’ve been seeing the exact same things but I figured it was either Roman or Remus--”

“Why are you putting the blame on us? It’s not like we’d give ourselves those flashes!--”

“I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep in weeks-- ”

“Oh Pat don’t look so innocent with all your feelings, you might as well have been projecting on us!--”

“Hey, hold on now let’s not fight, you all know I wouldn’t !”

All five of them were locked in a messy, heated argument in the commons while Logan stood isolated just inches away from his previous seat. Fingers were being pointed all around, more at the twins than anyone else. Logan could pick apart how distressed and bone-weary everyone looked even as they screamed, groaned, scoffed, and gasped their lungs out. Voices were piling on top of each other, running in a race to see who’d be heard the clearest until eventually the sounds all welded together into a loud, deafening blur that assaulted Logan’s ears and left him digging his palms into the sides of his head just to try to filter them out. He didn’t know anymore which voice belonged to who but he could feel the sheer confusion, anger, terror, debilitation, worry, shock, and sarcasm as more and more noises flooded the room.

“Stop, please,” Logan tried to say as he remained hunched over by the dining area, eyes scanning every furious side to see if anyone would hear him.

“I said stop.” He tried saying it a little louder, but their chaotic orchestra of voices drowned out Logan’s feeble, shaking note. 

“I would never make this up! Is that how much of a liar you think I am?!”

“It doesn’t make sense that we’re getting the exact same scenes--”

“You think I have a clue?!”

“What about the Imagination, huh? I told you to clean up spillovers from your side--”

“Fuck you for even thinking I’d be capable of pulling off this sick of a joke--”

“Everyone, can’t we all just talk about this?--”

“Don’t make me squeeze the answer right out of your throats--”

His breathing was picking up and moisture was beginning to bead at his eyes but the others had no intention of stopping any time soon. 

“Please, enough.” Logan was a good few feet away from them but somehow the walls seemed to be closing in on him, however nonsensical that seemed. It felt like they were just centimeters away from him when in fact they weren’t. His vision was blurring around the edges and his feet felt like it’d been super glued to the cold, unforgiving floor. If he were as strong as Roman or Remus maybe his head would be crushed by how hard he was squishing it in between his palms.

With sweat fogging up his glasses and eyesight that was beginning to cloud, Logan wasn’t sure who pushed who, but someone definitely did. Whoever that shoved side was was flown a few inches backward from the huddle of bodies in the center of the living room but soon charged back in. Another figure seemed to be pulling a couple of people away from each other and failing, but the volume of their argument was only getting louder.

“Everyone stop it now, please.” Logan tried speaking over them again but to no avail. The space got even smaller, hotter, louder, and if Logan could he would’ve curled in on himself like one of those three-banded armadillos from the nature documentaries. He wondered if it was possible to faint from hypoxia as a figment of one’s imagination, cause he was sure he wasn’t getting any oxygen at the moment.

“Please!” His heart rate was shooting through the roof, and he was more bent over now than hunched. He was picking up on slivers of words and phrases from their jumble of sentences. 

“You… in my arms!” “You just left!” “... screaming and sobbing...” “It hurt!” “...faded...” “floor...unmoving...” “ died. ”

Every word that registered in Logan’s mind felt like a stake ripping open a curtain that he had carelessly thrown over his memory bank. Every phrase threw in a painful image whose edges sawed through his mind and cut through his chest, releasing all the breath he had in his lungs and all the life he had in his heart. He was shaking terribly. He knew it. He couldn’t feel anything anymore from head to toe but he was certain about what he looked like. 

He breathed in deep once, shuddered as he slowly let it out only to all too rapidly take in more air than he needed until it physically hurt. All Logan wanted right now, was a way to claw out of the dark, suffocating walls and into the bright, open space. 

The noises kept assaulting him, the memories continued beating him up, the oxygen did not stop leaving him, the shaking never ceased, the tears flowed on, the walls were all around him, and everyone, everything was screaming at him from the outside and the inside and he just-- he can’t-- he needed to --

“I said STOP!”

In less than a second, the maddening throes of the orchestra halted, and all that was left to be heard was Logan’s small, gasping song. 

He didn’t know that his eyes were squeezed shut or that everyone had stopped arguing and talking; cause in his mind everything was still so, so loud. He did feel like he was moving, though. In between all the fog in his mind he could register a few murmurs, whispers, muffled voices. Logan felt like he was somehow gliding in air; as if he was in motion but also not. Then he felt himself come into contact with something soft, then there was a slight, timid burst of warmth on his shoulder and a garbled voice speaking somewhere off the distance.

When he opened his eyes, he realized that the softness was the couch. He was on the sofa now. The warmth on his shoulder was a hand; Roman’s hand, and the voice was Virgil who was kneeling right in front of him, eye levelled with his own.

“Hey, Lo-- keep looking at me Logan, that’s it. Can you hear me?” Virgil’s voice always had a sort of deep roughness to it, Logan thought, but for some reason his vocal waves right now soothed a bit of the panic festering in him. He tried to choke out an answer but his throat felt like there were marbles stuck in it right now, so Logan settled for a frantic nod.

Someone left. Logan hated the fact that someone was gone from his line of sight. Absence meant uncertainty, and uncertainty meant Logan didn’t know, and Logan hated not knowing. He felt a pair of hands uncurling his palms, and his mind shifted its focus to the warmth enveloping his cold fingers. 

“Lo, can you breathe in for four seconds for me?”

He obliged. That someone who left came back. They’re present. Good. The person was holding a glass of water now. Logan didn’t want any more people to leave. He needed, wanted to see all of them here, not gone.

“Good. Hold it for seven seconds, Lo.” Virgil was counting as he held his breath. He failed at the fifth second due to a hicc that snagged his lungs. Luckily, Virgil was patient enough to restart at the four-second inhale. Logan got it on the second try.

“You’re doing great, Lo. Exhale for 8; just like you did with me, remember?”

Ah, yes. Logan remembered when he had helped Virgil through panic attacks in their adolescence. How could he forget? That sure explained how excellently the anxious side was handling their current situation. 

It took another few cycles and a couple of minutes of Virgil counting along with his breathing, but eventually Logan calmed down. 

Once he could breathe again, he tried to get a few words of thanks out but the effort only made his throat itch and burn. A glass of water was offered to him shortly after. He followed the hand holding the drink and realized it was Janus who had left earlier to grab it. Logan gratefully took it and downed the whole glass. If he was oblivious to the dryness of his throat a while ago, he was hyper-aware of it now. The water felt like a refreshing waterfall in the middle of a barren desert on his pipes.

He could see all of them better now. Not to mention he felt disgusting too with dried tears staining his cheeks, a running nose, and little dribbles of saliva drying at the corner of his lips; but try as hard as he did, Logan couldn’t find a single thread of disgust on their faces. He always imagined a few scoffs, laughs or expressions of contempt or antipathy on the others’ faces when this day came but he couldn’t read any of those on them. Maybe he really was just that bad at interpreting emotions.

“How are you feeling, Lo?” It was Patton. The moral side had taken Virgil’s spot in front of Logan and had a hand on his knee. Logan found himself unconsciously anchoring himself on that small bit of touch.

“I am… in a less distressed state than before, Patton. Thank you.” 

Patton gave Logan a small, firm smile and a soft squeeze on his knee. Someone must’ve noticed how his hands were still trembling slightly as he clutched the now empty glass in his hand ‘cause seconds later Remus was gently taking it from him.

“Not gonna lie, you scared the shit out of us, Specs Ed. You wanna tell us what happened?” Remus subtly waved the glass out of existence as he looked at Logan. The logical side was slightly entertained at Patton’s unamused look knowing they just lost yet another glass due to Remus’s habit of making things disappear into thin air.

“O-only if you want to, of course!” Roman quickly butt in, waving his hands in front of Logan quite exaggeratedly, as Roman always did. Logan appreciated the gesture, but he knew it would do no one good if he withheld his knowledge any longer. He looked at them one by one, each standing, half-kneeling, kneeling, or sitting around him as he stayed seated on the couch, eagerly waiting for a reply from him. Logan cleared his throat and spoke.

“I know what’s been happening with everyone. I know what those images you’ve been seeing are, and I’m going to need everyone to not say a single word as I explain everything. ” 

A look of nervousness grazed everyone as they looked at each other briefly. Their stares came back to Logan, Roman gave him a nod of assurance, Logan took one deep breath, and started his explanation.

“Whatever you’ve been dreaming about or seeing or feeling, those weren’t daydreams, visions, spillovers, or intrusive thoughts. They were memories from two years ago, and they were undeniably and regrettably real. ” Logan could practically feel their breaths catching in their throats, but he only took their widening eyes as a sign to carry on.

“Thomas told a psychiatrist about us, and lacking any better explanation for what we are, he labelled us as ‘hallucinations’, diagnosed Thomas with Schizophrenia, which may I clarify he does not have, a terrible misunderstanding, and sent him home with medication to somehow ‘cure’ him. Unfortunately, that meant Thomas could neither see nor hear us, making me or any of us unable to inform him of his-- our ordeal. A few weeks later, we started to witness the adverse effect of the medicine on the six of us.” Logan paused to take a long, shuddering breath. “We started to fade, one by one.” Logan was no expert on color or aesthetic, but he was certain everyone’s pallor lightened by a couple of degrees. “Remus was first.”

Logan’s eyes caught a glance of Remus gripping the end of his sash tight, eyes glossed over just as much as Roman’s beside him. The pair appeared to be looking at Logan at first glance, but if one traced their line of sight it’d be obvious that they were staring into nothingness, as though they were watching a movie being played out in front of them that only they could see.

“It was unsettling to see Remus gradually behave less than his usual bubbly demeanor as the days passed, and even more so to see him losing more and more of his strength. You stopped duelling, merely because Remus could not physically do so anymore. One afternoon you collapsed into Roman’s arms and--”

“Faded,” The twins said in unison, breaking Logan off and continuing the sentence for him. It was a rare sight to see both Creativities, especially Remus, deeply bothered by the same stimulus. Logan wanted to scold them for disregarding his plea to not say a word for the duration of his talk, but he supposed it wouldn’t matter. It was a lot to take in, and who was Logan to deny them any outlet of frustration, or any emotion, for that matter?

“Janus refused to exit his room or even unlock his door after that. You were in there for days--weeks without any indication of your presence inside, until we heard a noise, prompting Roman to break your door down. You were-- ” Logan had to close his eyes for a while, mind not ready for the images that grazed him. He reopened them when he heard slight shuffling, and he was greeted with a shaken Deceit leaning heavily onto a wide-eyed Patton as he took deep breaths; both his human and snake eyes staring intensely at the ground.

“--Lying on the ground, unmoving. I’ve been seeing this for a while… always thought they were just intrusive thoughts.” Janus sounded breathy as Patton rubbed small circles on his back from where they stood. 

Virgil, now balancing himself on the arm of the couch, had begun fiddling with his jacket, clicking his tongue every once in a while, twirling his fingers in the hoodie strings, exhales shaking every once so often. “I saw and felt you fade in front of me, Jan. You took off your glove and clutched my jacket tight and then… you were just… gone. ”

The fingers furiously messing with the strings came to a halt, but the unsteadiness of his hands were still hard to ignore. Virgil moved from his original spot to actually sitting on the cushion, leaning against the arm. Logan shifted slightly in his seat as he tried not to get too affected by Virgil’s choice of a place.

“You were next Virgil, and you were right there. ” Logan’s voice wavered as he said his last two words, eyes glossing over slightly as he saw Virgil putting his hood up, hiding his face from everyone and shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. 

Roman’s expression warped into something akin to anger and fear roped into one, breaths picking up pace as he slowly regained his memory. “You were reading a book, then you just slept! Right there! And I remember me, Patton, and Logan already… knowing what was happening but not being able to do anything about it until you just disappeared and… and-- aargh! ” 

Logan visibly winced as Roman desperately turned his back on them and ran his hands through his hair frantically, releasing a loud, quaking huff of breath as he recalled how terrifying and harrowing it felt to have two sides die in his hold. 

Logan gave the entire room a once-over, his lenses zoning in on every side. Only Roman was left standing by now, pacing the commons back and forth. Remus had taken the empty spot beside Logan, head in his hands and elbows on his knees, fingers kneading through his hair and pulling ever so slightly as he took in every scene he missed. Janus wasn’t doing any better seated on the floor, leaning by the foot of the sofa with one leg pulled up to himself and the other stretched out as he wondered whether it was a blessing or a curse that he was one of the first ones to fade. Virgil was on Logan’s other side, both legs now pulled up to his chest and chin buried in his knees as his fingers picked at the loose threads of his ripped jeans. Patton was half-kneeling somewhere in front and between Logan and Virgil, having not said a word the entire time; only staring at nothing with a hand on his chest and an unreadable expression.

“Each and everyone’s dea-fading caused me to experience indescribable sentiments, but Roman’s brought the most excruciating pain to my chest and the most amount of emotional tears to be shed. Not basal, nor reflex, but emotional tears; because… because I--” Logan hicked once, both as an unfortunate aftereffect of a just-finished panic attack from a while ago and because it pained him to say the next words. “--because it was my fault.”

All five sides simultaneously turned their heads from their respective places to look at Logan with different expressions. He began to pick at the small, scabbed-over crescents in his palms, thinking if he could bear to carry on, until Remus took one of his wrists and pulled it away. Logan looked at him with so much uncertainty in his eyes, but the duke only offered a soft squeeze to his hand and a reassuring smile, the best one he could manage in their perturbed states.

“Logan, why would you think that?” It was the first time Patton had spoken in a while, but Logan took note of how his hand was still heavily laden on the middle of his chest.

“Days before Roman faded, Thomas saw me. The three of us thought that that situation yielded positive news but we later found out that it only sent Thomas into a panic, unhealthily and wrongly increasing his dosage himself; and I witnessed how much more pain Roman was in than the others... and no matter how else I try to look at it I still end up blaming myself-- ”

“Logan, don’t. It wasn’t and never will be your fault. Promise me you won’t.” Roman had stopped to stand in front of Logan, looking at him with a deep weariness in his features, and Logan was reminded of how Roman committed to saying “hi to the others” for him back then in the softest, pain-laced voice. Logan wasn’t really sure if he could hold up to a promise of not blaming himself when this whole time that was all he’s been doing, but maybe he could just try.

“I will do my best, Roman.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Roman sent a half-smile his way, and Logan tried to give one back as well. He knew there were still a few miles to run with his tale but if you asked him, he already wanted to halt in his tracks and turn back. The sorrowful expression on Patton’s face at the moment wasn’t helping either.

“I was the next one, wasn’t I Lo?” Patton had stopped half-kneeling and was already seated with one hand anchored on the ground, the other holding on to the knot in his cardigan, and his legs folded to the side, but his gaze settled on no one.

“Yes. Do you remember anything?” Logan was honestly quite anxious to hear Patton’s answer, mostly because he wasn’t certain if he could still carry on speaking himself.

“Until just a few minutes ago, I couldn’t remember a single thing; but the whole time I could feel it. I could feel what everyone felt during each fading, and that period of time in particular, that long stretch of time where it was only the two of us left in the mindscape, anxious, paranoid, desperate, tired, hurt, and frightened, wouldn’t leave my chest. I kept wondering what this was, and now that I remember everything from our breakdowns, to me getting weaker everyday, to us sleeping side by side on the couch, to our last conversation about muffins off all things, and even how you talked about the stars ‘till i fell asleep for the last time, it just hurts even more-- ”

Patton was sobbing uncontrollably now, which Logan understood all too well. Huh, Logan understanding feelings; that was a first. It must be unbearable to hold in that sheer amount of human emotion in such a small vessel; the heart was merely the size of a fist, after all. Logan took it upon him to stand up on wobbly legs, cross the short distance between him and the moral side, kneel down to his level and take the crying side into his arms as he dampened Logan’s shirt. As Patton continued to bury his head in the crook of Logan’s neck, the logical side decided to proceed while running his hand up and down the other’s back in an effort to soothe him.

“The next day I woke up alone on the sofa, I was devastated. I am not proud to say that I was expectant of my death, but what more could I ask for when I had no more purpose nor company in Thomas’s mind? At my weakest point, when I was certain I was nearing my last breaths, Thomas stopped, and I was still there. ” A single tear escaped Logan’s eye, but he was quaking just as badly as Patton. He couldn’t see the others, but he was sure they were all staring at them right now. “I stayed here in the mindscape, weak, broken, tired, mad, going insane and wanting, needing death, alone but still alive , for six, painful months, until Thomas summoned me, not aware of a single thing that occurred. I explained, and begged him to take one last pill… and he did. I woke up two years later, only to find out that none of you remembered. I was the only one left to bear the weight of all the horrific memories, unable to tell anyone as every single little detail alarmed my mind, pricked at my chest, drowned me in fear, stole air from my lungs, and it just-- I just --”

Logan told himself he wasn’t going to cry anymore, but he didn’t even notice when he and Patton’s roles reversed, with his sobs muffled into Patton’s shirt and the moral side, face still caked with tears, shushing and rocking him ever so slightly, like a father would a child. As he carried on sobbing and unconsciously spewing apologies and rambles as he went, Logan barely registered when another set of arms wrapped around him, then another warmth, another weight, then another body. 

Everyone was huddled around him now, completely enveloping Logan in their heat and protection, a silent statement of their presence; very much real and very much there. It was a mess. Everyone had tears flowing down their cheeks, only some were expressing their anguish more audibly than others. Hands were buried in fabrics, glasses smudged, mouths dry, breaths heaving, sleeves wet, bodies shivering, throats barren, and voices hoarse.

Unlike before, no one spoke; even as someone wiped the last tear off their face moments later, finally unlatching from the last body, exhausted and drained, the room remained voiceless. In the aftermath, all six sides remained compressed on the floor of the common area, no one quite wanting to let go or move, only basking and relishing in the feel of everyone’s physical presence, of each other’s breathing. They were a warm mess of limbs on the cold, cold floor-- the same floor that bore witness to the horror Logan and everyone else went through in the span of months. They could all feel the fast, erratic beating of their hearts, especially Logan’s, but they waited in comfortable silence until all their cardiac rhythms calmed down, one in sync with the others, a non-verbal sign of life.

“Logan?”

“Yes, Janus?” Logan looked up to pay attention to Janus from where the logical side was leaning on someone’s back, it was Virgil’s maybe, the softness of the jacket confirmed it. He saw Deceit take off his glove, his hat positioned carelessly on his head, then look at Logan directly in the eye. 

“We’re not going anywhere. We promise.”

Patton looked at Logan too now, using the sleeve of his cardigan to wipe off the annoying smudge on his lenses. “You’ll never be alone again, Lo-lo.”

Their words were enough to make Logan cry again, but he didn’t have the energy to do so for a third time. However, he did feel a strange sensation wash over him, like the gentle rays of spring sunlight thawing the ice on a frozen brook, warmth taking over the frost in his chest as he hopefully locked their promise in the forefront of his mind.

“Thank you.”

There were a couple seconds of blissful silence, until he felt Roman swiftly shift from where he was laying his head on Remus’s leg to sit up and sort of shake his hands along with his shoulders and crack his neck, much to everyone’s amusement.

“Alright, alright. Everyone close your eyes.”

“Oh, what are you up to now, Princey?” Virgil asked as he sniffled slightly, eyeing Remus who was now leaning back with his elbows behind him to keep him up.

“Maybe he just doesn’t want to us to see him with his perfect hair looking so imperfe-- ”

“Rem, shut up and just do it!”

Remus mocked Roman as he resentfully complied and closed his eyes with the other five. The others waited for a while, curious and a tad bit anxious about what the prince had up his sleeve, until they all simultaneously felt the chill from the hard ground fade away, replaced with soft, cushiony comfort that took care of most of the cold. When they opened their eyes, the coffee table that sat in the middle of the commons had been carefully repositioned far from them to make way for a large mattress that spanned almost the entire living room (it wasn’t that big of a space to begin with, anyway). 

“Really, Roman?” Janus asked he lifted up one of the snake-skin patterned blankets, putting it up to his face, seemingly content with the feel of the cottony fabric against his scales.

“I know it’s still far from night time, but Thomas isn’t awake yet anyway, and Sandman knows when he’ll wake up, and we have nothing scheduled for the day, so… why don’t we just take the rest of the day off?” Roman was busy gathering pillows to his side as he spoke, with Patton, already wrapped in a puppy-patterned blanket, joining in to help.

“I mean, I think we all kind of need this quiet time, right kiddo-- oomf! ” Patton’s words were cut off by someone, presumably Remus, throwing a pillow right at his face. 

The moral side, not caring for whoever it was that threw it, grabbed the nearest pillow near him by its casing and blindly tossed it across. The pillow hit Virgil, who wasn’t paying any attention, knocking him over and accidentally pulling Janus down with him in the process. Janus, as a means of payback, grabbed a particularly long pillow and whacked the laying side in the torso. Virgil’s shifting somehow pulled a galaxy-themed blanket from under Logan, causing him to tumble down into the small mound of pillows Roman had piled up face-first.

Smiles and laughter slowly bubbled up from the group as they continued their little play time. They were fully aware of the fact that they were full-grown adults, but it wasn’t often that they got to let go and have a bit of collective fun. It reminded them of their days in the mindscape years ago as little children, causing light mischief everywhere as they messed around and played in their makeshift playgrounds, half-assed pillow forts, or colorful childish landscapes. Come to think of it, Logan confirmed that their toddler and childhood days were the last times he’s had this much fun. 

The others took note of how large of a smile Logan had on his face right now as he shielded himself under a blanket from Remus’s attacks and attempted (and failed) to take revenge on him with a slightly smaller pillow. They’d never point out the beauty of that smile and laughter if it meant it would stay. 

They didn’t know how long they sat there having their chaotic pillow fight, but eventually their energy died down (they weren’t so young anymore, after all), leaving all of them panting as residual laughter took over them; each of them positioned on the large mattress differently but still staying in such close proximity to each other. They stayed up for a few more hours, telling stories, listening to music (Logan took note of how diverse everyone’s tastes where), throwing around a few good-natured insults here and there (the twins seemed to be good at this sort of thing), and munching on a few pastries Patton had made beforehand. 

They were grateful Thomas didn’t bother to summon any of them the whole day. If that decision had anything to do with his and Logan’s talk the previous night, then Logan was ever-so-slightly grateful for their host. It was still quite young into the night when fatigue dawned on everyone; what with the entire day being a rollercoaster of emotions tuckering out everyone’s mental, emotional and physical states. 

Logan remembered how yawning was contagious, and he saw the living proof of it when everyone joined in on the unconscious chain of yawns that started with Logan and ended with Patton. They all eventually settled into comfortable positions on the mattress: Virgil practically smushed against the foot of the sofa, happy with the feeling of safety the makeshift wall brought; Janus just right beside him, hat, gloves, and capelet already folded neatly elsewhere; Patton next to him, already taking off his glasses and snuggling deeper into his blanket; Logan to his left trying to smoothen out the creases of his pillow out of habit; then Remus already fast asleep and softly snoring while splayed out on his spot; then Roman who was annoyingly but still gingerly placing a peach and eggplant-patterned blanket over his brother. He didn’t know why he even bothered to make a design as such just for him.

If Logan was being honest, he was a bit terrified of falling asleep; fearful that everything that had occurred right now was just a dream, and that he’d wake up alone again in his own room. His eyes flitted to every sleeping side, taking in the sight and feel of his... family around him. He was the only one left awake now; it wasn’t easy telling your own mind to keep quiet, but when Patton shifted in his sleep to turn and face him, Logan took in a single deep breath, and replayed their promise in his mind.

“We’re not going anywhere. We promise.”

“You’ll never be alone again, Lo.”

It was the first time Logan slept without a single nightmare. 

When he woke up the following morning, he admitted that a slight sliver of panic wormed its way through his body as he felt the cold seeping in from where the blanket was thrown off his leg, but when he saw a still very much there and breathing Patton beside him, unlike the last time he slept beside him like this, the panic dissolved into thin air, even more so when he placed his glasses on his face and saw that not just Patton, but everyone was there.

It was a start.

It wasn’t and wouldn’t be easy; they all knew that. Fear and trauma were never known to leave overnight, but they were slow, gradual, and patient; and Logan was more than grateful for their not-so-subtle, subtle ways of helping him heal.

Roman and Remus invited Logan to their duels every once in a while. Logan definitely still winced every time one of them fell, tumbled, or was injured. He even came this close to hyperventilating once, when Remus took too long to get back up, Logan scrambling to get to his side after 5 long seconds on the ground. Both of them were there to reassure him they were both fine the second Remus was up, and they breathed and laughed together. The next session, they offered to teach Logan how to handle a weapon, which Logan cautiously but interestingly accepted. They went easy on him, and Logan never got to even a tenth of the two’s skills, but seeing the logical side not flinching but instead amusingly commentating on their battles a few duels later was certainly worth it.

Janus kept his door open for weeks, save for when he slept, free for Logan to peer through any time of the day (when Janus wasn’t in the commons, at least). The logical side gave his best effort to resist looking through, as in the back of his mind he knew Deceit would be in there, safe and sound, but there were still days when the slightest itch out back grew strong, festering in the grooves of his brain and sinking in his stomach, making him unable to resist making the quickest check. Whenever Janus caught Logan peeping his head in lightning quick through his invitingly open door like a terrified gopher, it always made him chuckle; and more often than not Logan’s visits would end in Jan calling him in for a game of chess on the floor of his bedroom, with Logan seated cross-legged in front of him, taking white, and Janus laying on his stomach playing black. He loved witnessing Logan get more comfortable and lax seeing Janus with every match; and he counted it as a success when weeks later, Logan passed by and closed Jan’s door himself without a single peek.

Virgil didn’t know why he didn’t see it sooner, but apparently Logan had a habit of reading as well. Granted they were interested in drastically different genres, but Anxiety still found it interesting to see Logan, with his laptop and notes abandoned on the coffee table, deeply entrenched in a novel as he sat back lazily on the couch. He rapidly closed his book shut and sat up stiff as plywood when he saw Virgil approaching with his own book in hand, but the anxious facet only shook his head fondly, laughed, and took his place beside him. Yes, that exact spot. It became a habit between the two of them. No words; only the two of them reading in a silence side by side, sometimes with drinks in hand, or earphones plugged in. Sometimes one of them would fall asleep. Whenever it was Logan, Virgil made sure to stay put until he woke up, ready to greet him when he woke up. When it was Virgil, Logan tried to calm his own nervous heart and continue his reading, unable to leave his spot. Weeks later Virgil woke up to see Logan gone. He turned his attention towards the kitchen where Logan was making tea, stared as he carried on his task cool as a cucumber, then walked back to greet Virgil with a  “Good afternoon,”only to head back into his room without batting an eye. Virgil couldn’t say he wasn’t proud.

The duel watching certainly helped Logan a lot, but Roman still noticed how wary Logan acted when someone accidentally broke a plate, ripped a chair, or even just screamed; no matter how good-willed or silly the shout was (these things happened in the mindscape way more often than it should). So, Roman invited Logan out of his room one late night, with everyone else asleep, and into the kitchen. He could tell by the look on the logical side’s face that he was confused when he conjured up towers and towers of plates, glasses, and utensils in front of him, and even more so when he handed Logan one, instructing him to throw it. Logan didn’t understand at first, but Roman was telling him to trust him, so he did. It jolted him of course; sending his hands flying to his ears the second the plate crashed onto the floor. Roman, bless his royal soul, asked if he wanted to continue, and he could’ve said no, but something about the activity tickled at his insides and made small bolts of electricity run through his veins… so he said yes, and threw another, soon going through the whole pile. Roman considered himself lucky to see Logan’s smile this close, and he hoped it’d stay.

For Patton, it was a little more challenging; considering his fading was one of the deaths that shook Logan the most. There were days where only mentioning anything about stars caused Logan to freeze in his spot, or days when Logan couldn’t bear to eat or look at Patton’s baked confections. Patton thought to invite Logan to bake with him, then. Nothing much, only cookies whose sugar content made Logan’s nose scrunch up in disdain. The result wasn’t perfect, but even Logan had to agree they tasted great. They did it more often, talking about puppies and Newton’s Laws, philosophers and scientists as they baked more complicated recipes every session. It took a while before Patton dared to suggest making muffins, holding his breath as he waited for Logan’s reply. The brightest smile grew on Morality’s face when Logan nodded. If Logan suggested they top the muffins with some decorative star-shaped sprinkles later on, Patton didn’t say a word. The fondness in his eyes spoke it for him.

Thomas pitched in, too; holding movie nights with all of them at least once a week, or when their schedule allowed it, at least. Sometimes when he summoned Logan alone, he’d ask how he was, and every time Logan answered “adequate”, the smile on his face grew wider and the glow in his eyes grew brighter with each passing visit.

Logan used to think it was a mistake, accidentally breaking those rules before. He told himself he’d regret it someday and thought he actually did come to regret it the second he was left to himself in the mindscape years ago; but as he stared at the newest addition to his wall of clutter ( organized clutter, mind you)-- a board filled with only pictures of their strange little family, images of the six of them with Thomas from corner to corner, replacing his chart of their waking times and the twins’ schedule of trips to the Imagination, he thought maybe bending the rules back then wasn’t the worst idea after all.

“Hey, Lo! Get over here and tell these twins that none of their ideas are plausible before they rip each others’ necks off!”

Logan chuckled at Virgil’s voice from outside his door, already grabbing some pen and paper as he listened in on the ruckus going on outside. “Give me approximately one minute and thirty seconds!”

Well, there were a few minor setbacks, I suppose, he thought to himself as he straightened the centermost photograph containing all of them, including the host, gathered on and around the sofa, smiles wide as day, eyes crinkling at the corner, bodies bent and stretched into wackiest poses they could, and faces morphed into the zaniest expressions at the camera.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Logan Sanders wasn’t alone.