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It was a ridiculous oxymoron of sorts, but Anxiety loved exploring.
Virgil had a feeling that somewhere, in some alternate universe, he would hate the mere idea of leaving his small bubble of familiarity and safety. He didn’t think about that a lot, though. It didn’t matter; Thomas had grown up embracing Virgil’s input and warnings. Just beneath the surface of Thomas’ mind, he had dealt with his best friends’ antics and adventures (and was usually tasked with trying to get them out of the problems they got themselves into). He’d wake up and make his way down to the mindscape commons, the imaginary replica of Thomas’ apartment living room. The smell of breakfast would be wafting through the air, along with a steady stream of chatter. Maybe a clang or two.
Virgil was happy.
And he was bored as all hell.
Now, Virgil loved Thomas with everything he was; he was never going to stop helping Thomas. And there were times when Virgil was run into the ground with exhaustion, when he’d spent days and sometimes weeks stressing about upcoming events.
But there were other times when Virgil felt he hardly existed. When Thomas would summon the others and Virgil wouldn’t be invited to the conversation. When Thomas was relaxing without a care in the world and Virgil felt numb with how little his influence was needed.
He loved Thomas and he loved the other sides, but all too often he didn’t feel like he was a part of their comfortable conversations and peaceful musings.
So, naturally, Virgil explored the subconscious.
The idea simmered into existence in his mind when he was scrolling through his phone one morning, curled up on the couch. The television was playing some horror movie. He wasn’t watching, unlike the enraptured Creativity at his feet.
“That’s my cue,” Janus said from across the couch. He stood, placing his book down. Virgil and Remus looked over at him, and Virgil felt Remus tense next to him.
“Thomas!” the creative side chirped, with a wide, toothy grin. “Beat you there, Janny!” He sunk out. Janus sighed. He looked over at Virgil.
“Will you be there, today?” he asked. Virgil shrugged.
“If he wants me,” he replied.
Janus frowned. “And if he does?”
“Then I’m sure he’ll summon me.”
Janus didn’t look happy with that response, but he didn’t argue. He sank after Remus. Virgil remained on the couch.
It was then Virgil wondered what would happen if he knew other sides. Then when Janus and Remus were both needed by Thomas, Virgil could still have company in the empty mindscape.
Then he thought about Thomas’ subconscious.
The pieces just kind of... merged.
Now, Virgil had no idea how to get to the subconscious. He knew it was dangerous, from what Janus had told him. The embodiment of self preservation had never ventured anywhere near the idea of tampering with the subconscious. He hated the idea of the sides hiding in the darkness of Thomas’ mind that would corrupt him if they were ever brought to light.
Remus never said much about it, even when Virgil asked. The first few times Virgil had mentioned the existence of any other sides he’d looked at Virgil like he’d just suggested Thomas should step in front of a moving train. Virgil hadn’t brought that conversation topic up very much around Remus after that, but on the few occasions he’d slipped up, Remus had acted arguably more vehemently. One time he’d taken Virgil by the shoulders and pressed him against the wall he’d been standing in front of. His eyes had been wide with some wild emotion Virgil couldn’t work out. He’d gotten Virgil to swear never to bring it up again. Virgil had listened.
Until now, he guessed.
Now, he really wanted to know what was going on in the subconscious.
He found the basement and sunk down through it. It was strange, like rising up into Thomas’ real living room, except much slower and a little muddled, like sinking through mud.
He rose up into darkness.
Well, it wasn’t totally dark. He could make out the ground beneath his feet. It seemed smooth and clean enough; no sludge or blood or anything as disturbing as Virgil had wondered about. It was weird. But interesting. Maybe Remus wasn’t totally correct when he’d said that the subconscious was a horrible place full of horrible monsters and nightmares.
Careful, he thought to himself. You arrived five seconds ago.
There didn’t seem to be any light sources around, nor anything at all.
So Virgil walked.
A few times he may have seen shadows shifting and moving in the corner of his eyes, but not once was he attacked. No once did he fear for his life. A few times he got a little on edge when he thought he saw the glint of glowing eyes or heard footsteps behind him. But he wasn’t petrified. He wasn’t shaking. He wasn’t any of the things Janus had told him he would be if he found himself in the subconscious.
What if you can’t get out? a voice inside Virgil’s head whispered, and that made him pause. That was concerning. But illogical. Why wouldn’t he be able to sink out or something he sunk into? And he couldn’t test it out, now — he’d just gotten here! No backing out.
He didn’t know when or how it happened, but it must have been a few minutes until Virgil realised there were walls on either side of him. A hallway. Virgil steps muffled into carpet.
He walked to the open room ahead, passing frames hung on the walls, but the environment was still too dark to see anything in great detail.
The living room he emerged into was... not what he expected. It wasn’t a dungeon. It wasn’t rotting and falling apart. It wasn’t smeared in blood and guts.
It was Thomas’ living room, if he never paid his electric bills. It was missing the paintings and a few of the memorabilia on the bookshelf, but it was almost nice , in a way. It felt a little off, if Virgil had to describe it, but it didn’t trigger the huge bouts of anxiety that Remus had told him it would.
Virgil peered curiously at the bookshelf, smiling to himself. Was that one of Thomas’ old school trophies? Who knew that would be here?
“Oh!”
The sound of shattering crockery made Virgil whirl.
The first thing he saw was the broken plate parts scattered across the carpet. He winced. That was going to be a pain to clean up. His gaze moved up to the side who’d been carrying them.
“Sorry,” he said, straightening up. “I shouldn’t be here. I was just exploring, and—”
“Oh, no, no!” the side said, beaming. Virgil tilted his head. Maybe he had naturally bright eyes, but it did look suspiciously like he was close to crying. Virgil hoped not; he was not the side to get caught with in the middle of a breakdown. “You can stay! You can mostly certainly stay, kiddo! Uh, here, don’t worry about the plates, um—”
He gingerly stepped over the mess Virgil had caused him to make, and rushed over to clasp Virgil’s hands between his. Beaming, he tugged Virgil forward. Virgil followed without complaint, but his hands burned where the side touched him. He wondered if that was normal. His friends weren’t nearly as physically affectionate as this side was currently being.
He let himself be led into the kitchen, where the side parted from him in favour of bounding over to the fridge. He had a lot of energy, Virgil noted. It reminded him almost of Remus, with less noise. He wasn’t as loud as Remus. That was.... good, actually. Sometimes the creative side’s antics did get a little much.
He rubbed his hands together, thinking about the strange sensation the hand-holding had left behind. He distantly heard Janus’ voice, telling him to stop fidgeting, and instead opting to shove them into his pockets to cease the nervous habit.
“What would you like, kiddo?” the side asked. Virgil blinked.
“Uh— what?” he asked.
The side leant back from the fridge. “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.
Virgil opened and closed his mouth. “I— you’re feeding me?”
The side’s eyes widened. “You are eating over there, right?”
Virgil’s mind was racing. ‘Over there’? Did he mean... the mindscape? And why was he offering food? Virgil had practically broken into their home. Why was he being treated as a guest?
“Yeah,” he said after realising the side was watching him with round, concerned eyes. “Yeah, of course I am.”
The side relaxed with an easy smile. “Good!” he chirped. “So, what do you want?”
“To eat?” Virgil asked, and the side nodded brightly. “Um, I’m good, thanks. I don’t want anything.”
“You don’t?” the side asked. Virgil shook his head. “Oh.” His shoulders sagged and Virgil was worried he’d upset him, but not a second later he was beaming once more. “That’s okay! What can I do for you?”
Virgil didn’t know how to reply. What was this guy’s deal? Why was he acting as if he owed Virgil a favour? Why wasn’t he even a little baffled about Virgil’s appearance?
“Patton, who are you talking to?” called out a voice from the stairs. Mild panic spiked Virgil’s chest. Of course there was more than one Dark Side. He’d forgotten about that. This strange side had completely distracted him. “You didn’t bring in another stray animal, did you? I have told you before, those creatures are not—”
The new side stopped short of walking into the kitchen. He was tall — taller than Janus, but not quite reaching Remus’ height. He was wearing glasses, similar ones to the ones on... Patton’s face? Was his name Patton? Did the Dark Sides have names? Like Virgil and his friends?
“Ah.” The new side cleared his throat and adjusted the tie hanging loosely from his neck. “I see you’re not a stray animal.”
“Nope,” Virgil agreed.
“Is there any reason that you seemed to have found your way into our side of Thomas’ mind?” the sharp-eyed side asked, a little stiffly in Virgil’s opinion.
“Logan,” the first side hissed, upset. He smiled, though, when Virgil turned to fully face him. “Be nice.”
“I don’t see why I must,” Logan replied. Patton sighed quietly, looking downtrodden.
“It’s polite,” he said, but it was a weak attempt at defense.
Logan rolled his eyes but Virgil jumped in before they could continue; he didn’t want them to fight, especially because of him.
“It’s alright,” he said, shrugging. “I can go. I was just exploring around. I won’t stay.”
“You won’t?” Patton asked.
“Of course he wouldn’t,” answered Logan, speaking as if Virgil wasn’t there. “Why would one willingly want to stay in the depths of Thomas’ mind?”
“Oh, stop it,” Patton said. His voice was light enough but Virgil senses an air of seriousness in his tone. Logan heaved a long-suffering sigh. “You can stay as long as you’d like, kiddo.”
“Virgil,” the anxious side told him. “That’s my name. Just call me Virgil.”
The two sides glanced at each other. Virgil wasn’t sure what that look meant.
“Well, Virgil,” Logan said, as if he was feeling the name on his tongue, “what are you here for?” Virgil frowned. Logan looked exasperated as he elaborated. “What are you going to do while you are here?”
Virgil didn’t feel very comfortable staying for any amount of time, now with this side interrogating him.
“Logan.” Patton was frowning at him. It was honestly kind of a scary look. He didn’t look like the type to get angry very often. He reached for Virgil, curling his fingers — which were startlingly cold — around his wrist and leading him out of the kitchen. Virgil followed him into the living room, where he sat down on the couch beside Patton.
“I’m sorry about him,” Patton said. He fidgeted with his hands. Virgil thought about how to reply, at a bit of a loss.
The sound of a door opening and closing came from back near the kitchen, followed by new footsteps. There was a door back there? Why hadn’t Virgil seen that? He’d just suddenly merged into the house.
“Bad day, Specs?” a voice asked in the kitchen.
“We have a visitor,” Logan’s voice responded. Virgil had a chance to brace himself before he was fixed with yet another pair of questioning eyes. He shifted uncomfortably as the baffled gaze quickly turned guarded. It wasn’t near as bad as Logan, who looked cold and calculating, but the slight sneer on this side’s face didn’t do him any favours.
“Well, that’s new,” he muttered.
“Roman, this is Virgil,” Patton said with a beaming and very pointed smile. The new side rolled his eyes with a scoff. He left the room up the stairs, and Logan swiftly followed.
Virgil watched them go, relaxing now that their hostilities had been taken away, but when he glanced at Patton, he looked... regretful.
“I’m sorry about them,” he said again, looking down at the carpet.
“Do they not like me because... I’m a light side?” Virgil asked. He didn’t like using that term, but it had been coined early on by Remus, and the name had stuck.
Patton gave him a sad look. “If we arrived suddenly in the mindscape, do you think that your friends would be very happy?”
That took Virgil slightly off-guard. What would they do? Remus never liked the idea of the subconscious. Maybe he’d get angry. He’d probably pull out his mace.
Janus was more difficult to read. He had never been thrilled with the idea of these other sides, either. Maybe he’d be disappointed. He’d look at Virgil like he’d done something wrong.
Virgil looked down. “No,” he answered glumly, and stood. “I should go.” He moved for the front door — because there was a front door there, now (where had it been when he’d arrived?) — and heard Patton standing behind him.
“Uh—!” Virgil glanced back. Patton shuffled, looking nervous. “I know today wasn’t a great introduction, or series of first impressions, or anything, but— if— uh—”
“What is it, Patton?” Virgil asked, trying to use the tone that Janus often used on him or Remus when they were stammering too much to make sense.
It must have worked, because Patton brightened, and when he spoke next it was clear, like he had gained the courage to speak. “If you ever want to come back, you’re welcome to!”
Virgil considered that. As unwelcoming as the other two sides had been, he found that he felt safe with Patton. He had this feel about him that calmed Virgil’s often high strung nature, and he looked like he was happy to see Virgil. It wasn’t what he’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t unwanted.
“I will,” he assured Patton, who shone like the sun in response.
Leaving the subconscious wasn’t nearly as hard as Virgil had begun to fear it would be. The moment he closed the door behind him, he thought about sinking out—
And arrived back in the living room, just like that. No resistance, no complications. Clear and smooth, as it always was. He was in the mindscape commons, just as he’d left them. It seemed the others weren’t back from filming yet.
Virgil slowly collapsed back onto the couch and stared up at the ceiling. He wasn’t unable to quieten the chattering thoughts circling his head for a long time.
Visiting the subconscious a second time, he arrived just as he had the first time; no door, just the slowly materialising of a darkened hallway.
“Patton?” he called, peering into the kitchen. It had been about a week since he’d first adventured into the subconscious, so it wasn’t much of a surprise to see that the shattered plates, or mugs, or whatever Patton had dropped had been cleaned up. “Pat? You here?”
He crept into the living room and stopped short.
The third side Virgil had met while in the subconscious — shit, Virgil had already forgotten his name — was sitting on the couch, a half-spilled medicine kit splayed out beside him. He was in the middle of clumsily wrapping his arm in white bandages with his free hand. Virgil quickly averted his eyes from the nasty looking wound running along the side’s arm.
He must have made a sound, because the side looked up at him, noticing him for the first time. He caught Virgil very pointedly looking away from his arm.
“This world isn’t exactly just abyss and darkness,” he explained, rather snottily. “Unlike your perfect little world of light, we have to deal with prowling creatures that do this on a daily basis.” He lifted his arm for emphasis.
“Things that... do that... are outside?” Virgil asked, feeling his anxiety spike.
“Well, not today,” the side said flippantly. “I’ve already dealt with today’s demons.” He finished wrapping his arm and stood, stalking up to Virgil, who realised with a silent hiss of annoyance that he was a whole head taller than Virgil. “Apart from you, it seems.”
Virgil scowled at him. “I’m not a demon,” he protested. “And I wouldn’t do something like that.” He pointed to the side’s arm, who huffed. Virgil couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed or skeptical.
“I suppose not,” he muttered.
Roman, it turned out — and that name definitely sounded familiar now that Virgil had heard it again — left every day to scout for subconscious monsters. Apparently they were a mix of Thomas’ fears and doubts. He had a way of talking that made Virgil feel like he was doing something wrong by existing. It wasn’t particularly pleasant to listen to.
Roman had finished packing up the medical kit and turned to shove past Virgil when he’d frozen suddenly, staring intently down at him Virgil had stared back, completely baffled, and thought about asking if he had something on his face.
He must’ve, he quickly decided, when Roman dumped the kit on the dinner table (causing the lid to crack open and everything to spill out again) and seized Virgil’s chin in a startlingly strong hand.
Virgil’s first knee-jerk reaction was to instinctively punch, kick or headbutt the side in self defense and escape, but he was still so caught off-guard that he remained frozen. This left him to stand there uselessly and endure whatever attack Roman was going to inflict on him.
Nothing more happened, though; no piercing pain of a blade nor blow of a punch. All Roman did was slightly tilt Virgil’s head and study him with uncomfortably focused eyes. He didn’t even look like he wanted to start a fight. All of the anxious side’s personal bubble alarm bells were ringing off the hook, though.
“Are you wearing concealer?” Roman asked finally. As he spoke, he lifted Virgil’s chin (almost gently, which was weird) up, still searching his face.
Recovering from his initial shock, Virgil pulled out of his grip and looked away grumpily. He didn’t reply.
“You cannot blend,” Roman told him.
Virgil shot him a withering glare. “Thanks.”
Roman scoffed with a roll of his eyes, but this time he was smirking. Why was he smirking? What had Virgil done? Should he leave? Go find Patton? Was this going to come back to bite him? Was he doomed to be subjected to teasing from all angles now about how he was—
“Let me do it for you!”
Virgil blinked, wondering if this was still the same side standing before him. “What?” he asked slowly.
Roman nodded seriously. “Yeah. You really need a good lesson on makeup.”
Aaand Virgil’s walls were shooting back up. He rolled his eyes. “Peh,” he spat, turning away. “Whatever.”
“Why do you wear it?” Roman asked curiously, and Virgil paused. What was this dude’s deal? Did he hate Virgil or was he curious about him? “You don’t exactly need it. All it really does is cover up your freckles.”
Virgil stared at him, unable to reply. There was too much to unpack there — so much — and Virgil did not have the energy to start.
Roman took his silence a different way. “You don’t like them?” he guessed.
Virgil looked away, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. “My friends... tease me for it.”
Of course, that was the sugarcoated version. Remus had erupted in laughter the first time he’d seen the little spots kissing Virgil’s nose and cheeks. He’d rummaged around in Virgil’s draws before finding his makeup kit and laughed even harder. Janus had been attracted by the noise, and while he hadn’t outwardly reacted beyond the twitching of his lips, his cheeks had gone pink with amusement. Remus had ended up breaking the pallet he had been holding in his grip, by accident. Virgil hadn’t had the courage to replace it, since.
Roman was staring at him, with widened eyes as if Virgil had relayed the whole story out loud.
Virgil shrugged. “I—”
“You don’t need to do that here.” Virgil stared at Roman, wondering if he was taking him so off-guard on purpose. The other side shrugged, as if he could read the incredulity on Virgil’s expression. “No secrets, down here. You don’t need to cover anything up.”
Roman grinned at him. Virgil studied his face, expecting to see malice or mockery. He didn’t, so he offered a shy smile in response.
Roman turned back to clean up the dinner table of spilled bandages with a nonchalant shrug. “But, since I assume you’ll be going back soon, I’ll let you and your disgraceful guise be.”
Virgil scowled, ready to snap a retort, but he realised Roman was grinning. He deflated, unsure of how to react. Roman shot him a smirk. “At some point though, I’m gonna have to give you a full makeover.”
Virgil’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Ha.”
The third time Virgil returned, he found Logan sitting on the armchair beside the couch.
“You’ve come back, then,” Logan said without looking up. He seemed to have better spatial awareness than both Roman and Patton.
“Where’s Patton?” Virgil asked nervously, uncertain about spending time alone with this cold side.
“He’s not here at the moment,” was all that Logan offered, which didn’t solve much. Virgil scowled.
“Figured that much,” he muttered. Logan didn’t provide him any sign that he had heard, or was listening.
Virgil scuttled forward, looking curiously around the room. He had left pretty much as soon as his conversation about makeup with Roman had been over. True to his word, however, he hadn’t put on any foundation when he left his room. The others hadn’t been in the living room; he figured there was a video going on. He’d been secretly glad, but then simultaneously (only mildly, mind you) disappointed when he found Roman wasn’t in the subconscious living room (what had been the point in being without makeup if the guy wouldn’t even see it?)
The sound of rustling paper tuned Virgil back into the present, and he watched as Logan flipped a page of the rather large book he was holding.
“What are you reading?” Virgil asked.
Logan looked up, looking distantly surprised. “It’s a fascinating piece of text about the intellect of other animals. There’s a theory that the sonar dolphins use could be transferred to sand dollops as some kind of writing. Of all the alien species on earth, dolphins pose incredible investigative capabilities as establishing some method of trans-species communication could be applied to actual alien species, should humankind ever encounter any.”
Virgil was a little lost, but what Logan continued to talk about did indeed sound interesting. So Virgil sat, captivated, and listened as Logan rambled on about marine intelligence and strange research into certain fish species.
In the middle of Logan’s excited ranting, he seemed to catch himself. He stilled abruptly, going rigid, and blinked spastically. He slowly closed his book and tore his gaze from Virgil’s.
“You do not need to listen to any of this,” he said.
Virgil tilted his head. “It’s interesting,” he said honestly. “I like the way you describe things.”
Logan looked startled. “You do?” Virgil nodded. Logan frowned thoughtfully.
“It’s calming,” Virgil said.
Logan smiled — the first time Virgil had seen him — and continued. “Well, there are multiple hallucinogenic fish species that produce effects that’re highly unpredictable but...”
Virgil sat comfortably and was more than happy to listen to the logical side talk on.
They must have sat like that for hours, Logan lost in his explanations and Virgil lost in the overloading of facts and information and Logan’s calming voice.
Movement caught Virgil’s attention and he looked up to see Patton walk into the room. He brightened when his gaze spotted Virgil on the couch. “Happy to see you back, kiddo!”
Virgil ducked his head, secretly mutually pleased. He watched in the corner of his eye as Patton rummaged around in the kitchen. “Do you uh... need help?”
Patton paused, looking over at him, and he saw Logan glanced up, too.
Patton beamed. “I think it’s been a while since everybody helped out with dinner. Logan?”
Logan smiled and put his book down. “Frankly, I agree.” He glanced over at Virgil, a silent invitation to follow him as he headed into the kitchen. Virgil happily complied.
The next few hours were filled with cooking and washing and dodging around each other in the kitchen. At some point, Roman returned and disappeared up the stairs. He came back down, stripped of the gaudy armour he had had on, wearing a clean shirt and bright smile, and joined them.
Virgil was baffled. This was... so domestic. It wasn’t anything like he had expected the first time he’d adventured down here. No sharp teeth being bared at him, no curses or horrible monsters being set on him.
Virgil stepped back to let the others take control of dinner, and simply watched them. They moved so in-sync, so naturally with each other. It reminded him so much of home, how compatible they were.
That made him frown, though. Why did the others hate these dark sides? They weren’t... scary, or mean. Just cautious. Careful. Virgil couldn’t blame them; he wouldn’t have been too thrilled to have a new side barging into his living room.
But now... they looked at him as if he was any other dark side. It was almost unnerving, how they acted like him being there was nothing different from routine. Maybe they were weird, and that was why the light sides didn’t like them.
“There.” Patton leaned back from the oven, satisfied.
Virgil rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe I should head back, now." It had at least been a few hours. Chances were that the others had finished now. Maybe they were wondering where he was.
“Awe,” said Patton, his face falling. Virgil’s heart clenched in his chest and he wondered why he cared so much about keeping that smile on the other side’s face.
“Quite alright,” Logan said, stepping forward. “It is ideal that you retain a steady, daily routine in order to stay healthy. If... you’re sure you don’t want to stay for the dinner you helped make?”
Virgil shot him a smile. “I’m sure. Thanks.”
“Make sure you come back sometime soon,” Roman said, moving forward to put his hand on Patton’s shoulder. “I still have to give you that makeover.”
Virgil rolled his eyes and flipped him off as he walked out the door, hearing laughter behind him.
He arrived in his room, the place he’d sunk out of, earlier in the day, and stretched. He was ready for a nap.
His stomach grumbled, and he sighed. The smell of the dark sides’ dinner must have gotten to him.
Alright, he decided as he headed for the door. One snack.
Logan wouldn’t be happy with him, he thought with a smile as he made his way downstairs into the empty living room. He had mentioned in one of his rants about the importance of a healthy diet. Sorry, L.
He almost considered leaving the lights off — he could see well enough in the dark (he must have adjusted well to the subconscious) — but then decided he didn’t want to accidentally break something and wake the others up.
So he flicked the light on.
And was greeted with the scowling faces of two very awake light sides.