Chapter Text
Janus was dead.
For deceit being a word derived from Old French, manifested in a young Thomas Sanders’ mind as a self-defense mechanism, the fact should have been a lie. Sides of an individual's personality could not die, as they were never alive in the first place. In a metaphorical sense, the nature of a person may evolve, and therefore lessening certain attributes to make up their psyche.
That was just the point, however: Thomas had not felt a lick of difference between the last time he had seen Janus, to where he was presently being confronted by Logan. The world had started spinning early on in his logical side’s explanation. He hadn’t registered sinking into the closest chair at the table until he realised Patton was there too, and he seemed taller than usual. Thomas figured his morality was also the source of the reassuring rubbing sensation at his shoulders.
“I don’t feel any different.” Thomas’ voice was hoarse.
“You are able to be deceptive,” Logan said briskly. Thomas wasn’t looking at his face, so he couldn’t see his expression. From his voice alone, Thomas wondered if he was even upset. “The function is still present. It is just… less concentrated, now.”
“How does this even happen..?” Thomas rasped.
Logan’s hands were neatly folded behind his back, so his shrug looked slightly awkward. “We are not sure.”
Somehow, that of all things, hurt the most. A part of himself had just somehow disappeared and no one even knew how it happened? Patton hugged him from behind.
“It’ll be okay, kiddo.” The moral side’s voice sounded scratchy.
“What do I do?” Thomas finally looked up to look Logan in the eyes. His face was a passive mask. Thomas hoped he wasn’t imagining the hint of something disguised by neutrality.
“Carry on as you normally would, Thomas,” Logan said blandly. “Realistically, nothing has changed.”
“Logan.” Patton’s eyes were wide and accusing as he glared at the logical side. Logan did not seem fazed.
“That is the current truth of the matter, Thomas,” he said unapologetically. “This has not affected your life so you should continue to behave as such.”
Patton looked crushed. Thomas couldn’t decipher what to possibly describe the emotions crashing in him like an ocean’s waves against a rocky shore during a storm. He wanted to demand to have more information, or hang his head, cry? Hate himself for not noticing, not reacting, not feeling anything change, what sort of person was he?
“Don’t beat yourself up, kiddo,” Patton said softly. “Please. It won’t help anyone.”
Thomas just barely managed a nod. He tried to say okay, but it came out soundless.
“In other matters,” Logan continued briskly, and Thomas wasn’t sure what he was feeling for his logical side, “we must be returning to your mindscape. There are certain issues we need to address.”
Thomas didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he was able.
Even if he wanted to.
The first strange occurrence, barring the catalyst and elephant in the room, was when Logan and Patton arrived back from talking to Thomas.
Personally, Virgil couldn’t imagine being in their situation, even after the decision was made and agreed upon that they would have been the best options to both support and inform Thomas. Roman and Virgil had stayed in the mindscape. Even before this point, they hadn’t managed to find Remus.
Patton, being Patton, had been distraught all morning, frantic and distressed and the most fragile Virgil had ever seen him. It only made sense because this was Patton — anyone else and Virgil would have assumed they were being impersonated (even though that was kind of impossible now…)
Logan, true to his robotic self, was just as he always was. He had given himself jobs to do, both to help Thomas and aid his sides, and was carrying them out dutifully and indifferently. Virgil wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Virgil wasn’t sure how he felt at all.
He’d curled himself up on the couch for the morning, alternating between idly scrolling through his phone and absentmindedly watching his family. He tried not to think about anything much. He feared that if he did, he’d spiral.
Roman, admittedly, had been a bit of a surprise. The creative side was dramatic and emotionally driven, Virgil knew this. He was either blurting out whatever was on his mind, or too afraid to speak his thoughts when given the opportunity.
Roman, all morning, had been completely silent.
Of course, no one had accompanied him when he left for the Imagination to search for his brother, and he may have at least called aloud for Remus then, but Virgil wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t cried, like Patton, nor had he continued on with his day like Logan. Virgil wondered if the poor side was stuck between the pair’s reactions, unsure of what to do or say.
Virgil had offered Roman a spot on the couch beside him, and he’d wordlessly accepted. He still hadn’t spoken a word, but he’d moved his hand to lightly grip Virgil’s ankle as he stared blankly at the carpet. Virgil wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, but he wasn’t going to kick Princey off.
For once, Virgil could do something for him, and if that was just offering silent grounding support at the expense of a mild disliking for touch, then Virgil would deal.
There was something that Virgil had noticed though, in his quiet reflections, watching Patton and Logan argue back and forth: they were acting quite a lot differently than any other day. This was obviously a given, provided the circumstances and situation at hand, but it was more than simply acting out through a break of routine or shock or grief: they weren’t lying.
At first, Virgil was unsure whether Patton was coming off as snappish and frustrated was due to his emotional state, but something wasn’t sitting quite right with him at how angry Logan was getting in return. As much as he tried to disguise it, it was a well-known fact throughout the mindscape that Logan had emotions, just like the rest of them. He was Logan just as much as he was logic, and Logan had feelings. Logan got angry. And currently, he was the angriest Virgil had ever seen.
At this point, Roman had been shaken from his stupor plainly by the shouting match between Thomas’ head and heart. The creative side was watching them with a slightly confused expression, but his eyes were dull.
Virgil looked between his three family members, his nerves beginning to kick up. The calm, muted balm he’d masked over his mind was beginning to crack and break, and the louder Patton and Logan yelled, the more Virgil’s anxiety kicked up.
He pressed himself to the back of the couch with a muttered, “Fuck.”
He needed a distraction. He needed his headphones — where had he put his headphones? He began to glance around the room, his heart rate further increasing the more he slowly began to panic.
“Hey, Princey, have you seen my headphones?” he asked over his shoulder as he glanced over to the dinner table.
He didn’t get an answer, and instead heard a strange ripping sound over the arguing. When he glanced over, he felt the heat drain from his face.
“Roman!” he cried, watching as the creative side ripped another page from his beloved journal. “What are you doing?”
Roman didn’t answer him, and instead continued to destroy the book he was always bragging about, writing in, fawning over. Virgil couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Hey, stop!” he snapped, lunging forward to yank on Roman’s arm. The prince barely budged. “Hey, dumbass, look at me! What’s wrong with you?”
Roman paused what he was doing to glance mildly up at Virgil, who flinched back with a startled gasp.
Roman’s eyes, usually a flaming brown, an imitation of Thomas’ with additional flecks of fire, were dulled to a horrific grey. Virgil pulled back from him, opening and closing his mouth without any sound successfully coming out. Roman continued to stare dully at him. There was not a hint of his usual dramatic, flamboyant, excitable flare on his face. Virgil blinked and cleared his throat before finally managing to find his voice.
“Roman, it’s okay.” He was never one for reassuring, but if it got the creative side out of this weird emotional comatose, it wasn’t much of a sacrifice. “C’mon, Princey, we’ll bounce back. We’ll work it out as a team, like always.”
Logan somehow managed to raise his voice even higher, and Virgil winced.
“Maybe it might take a little longer than the watch time of a YouTube video, but that’s what family does, right? Bet Patton could go on a whole rant about that.”
Roman didn’t reply. Virgil swallowed and looked down at the half-ripped page of his notebook. He gently clutched Roman’s hand and tried to pull it away but had no luck.
“What’s wrong, Princey?” he asked, trying for teasing and coming out soft. “What’s so bad about the notebook that you had to go attack it, huh?”
Roman looked slowly down at the book. “They are dumb,” he said finally. His voice sounded just as void of colour as his eyes, but Virgil wasn’t sure that made any sense.
“The ideas?” Virgil asked. Roman hummed. Virgil elbowed him in the ribs. Normally, Roman would shriek in outrage, or complain loudly to Patton, or squeal or retaliate or something other than just side there. “Aren’t you always going on about how ‘no ideas are dumb ideas’? I'm not so sure you can have dumb ideas, Princey. Eccentric, maybe. Unique. Weird, probably, but not dumb.”
Roman, in response, gripped each side of the open journal in hand, and tore it straight down the middle.
Virgil watched in horror as the pages fluttered to the floor, scattering across the room. Roman dropped the front and back of the book, which fell to the carpet with sad thumps. Virgil felt for all the world as if Roman had just taken something that belonged to him and ripped it to pieces in front of him.
“Ro… Roman,” he whispered, at a complete loss.
Roman ignored him and stood up, moving for the stairs. Virgil looked between him and Patton and Logan, who were still fighting.
“What— no, no— what? Guys—” Virgil’s hands were shaking. Fuck.
He clenched his fists.
No. He was not going to lose it. He had his friends to care for, to protect. He was not going to lose control of himself, not now.
He stood from the couch and hurried to Patton, gently gripping his shoulder.
“Patton—” he started but was promptly yelled over. He shook the moral side’s shoulder. “Pat—”
And Patton, for all he was cheerful and supportive and loving, pushed him off.
Virgil actually staggered at the force of his push. He braced himself against the dinner table, trying to wrap his head around what was going on.
Roman had made it to the stairs. Virgil didn’t know where he was going — to the Imagination? To his room? To destroy more of his things? Patton and Logan were still yelling—
“CAN EVERYONE JUST STOP?” he roared.
Everyone, by chance, did indeed stop
Virgil glared over at all three of them.
“Knock it OFF,” he snapped. “Do you not think we have more IMPORTANT things to worry about? Do you really think pointless quarrelling is going to help yourself? Each other? Thomas?” He glared at each of his friends, furious. “Get a grip. We have things to do and they do not include picking fights like this!”
It was silent for an indecisive amount of time.
“That wasn’t very nice, kiddo,” Patton said, a frown in his voice. Virgil sighed. Yeah, it probably hadn’t been.
“I’m sorry, Pat,” he said, turning to face the moral side. “But—”
He yelped, his muscles seizing in horror. Patton stared at him, a horrible black having eaten up the whites of his warm, kind eyes.
“What the—” he stumbled back. “Patton—”
“You should be nicer,” the moral side said, his voice cold.
“Patton— what—”
Virgil took another step back and bumped into something. Turning, he found Roman had retreated from the stairs and was now frowning down at him. Virgil warily eyed the sword clenched in his white-knuckled grip.
“Perhaps it would be beneficial to fix that issue.” Now Logan was joining Patton and his eyes were pale and distant and Virgil had no idea what the hell was going on but he did not like it.
“What are you guys going on about?” he asked, looking between his family members with increased panic.
“He needs to go.”
Virgil whipped around to face Roman, his jaw hanging loose in shock.
“What?” he tried to demand, but his voice, strangely, only came out as a hoarse croak. “I’m— Thomas needs me. I thought— you guys wanted me—”
“He does not need you.”
Virgil glanced back at Logan, his head beginning to spin. He was surrounded. Cornered. Trapped, by his own family… but they wouldn’t hurt him. Right? They loved him. Of course they wouldn’t…
The way their eyes made Virgil feel as if he were shrinking wasn’t very reassuring.
“Guys…” He staggered back. The back of his knees bumped into the coffee table. He felt sick. “Pat— L…”
Fuck, he was panicking. His hands were shaking as his breath ratcheted up slightly faster than healthy. A flash of lights reflecting off cold steel caught his eye and he flinched. They wouldn’t hurt him. The four of them were a family. A silly, mushy, overly affectionate and dedicated family who baked cookies on rainy days and shared a blanket spanning the size of the couch during movie nights.
Roman’s sword swiped in Virgil’s direction.
With a cry of which he wasn’t sure was terror or emotional upset, Virgil sunk out, narrowly missing the glinting blade.