Work Text:
Prompts: So I’ve recently binged all your SS fics practically and I know you SWAMPED in prompts, but if this sounds like something you could enjoy creating I’d love to request a promt as well:
Set in your SS Butterfly Project, could we maybe get Virgil reacting to all the sides (specifically L and Ro) learning to heal, and bouncing between helping sooth everyone’s anxiety over all the changes? I’d just love under appreciated Virgil helping in the moments in between the healing process if that makes any sense…
I appreciate the he*l out of you regardless if you take this prompt or not; and you deserve all the kindness the world has to offer you. ❤️ - mylgbtbabies
I would take any fic where somethigns off and virgil knows it. Someone: Im sure its fine!! Virgil: Idk man Im anxiety my spooder sense be tingly. - anon
If you're taking requests for Sanders Sides uwu can I ask for something Virgil-centric? I just love the emo boy - anon
An Odd Concept I've had for a while, that I'd like to use as a if requests are open: Roman brushes his hair as a coping mechanism/stress reliever, the Method and Rhythm of it calms him down and it just feels nice. After Angst of Your Choice, another side (or many) who has discovered this brushes his hair for him and runs their fingers through it, just generally pampering him like they all did for Virgil in Unfurl And Fly/Soar. Whether you write this one or not, thanks for all of your stories - anon
Healing isn’t a linear process.
It’s messy, it’s hard, and no one should expect it to be anything otherwise. Humans are complicated, more often than not brains are absolute garbage, and trying to navigate everything on your own is difficult. Really difficult.
So is learning how to ask for help.
Virgil sighs and leans back against the couch as Roman continues to type on his laptop. He risks a glance up at Princey to see his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. Every so often he’ll quirk his eyebrow in the way that means he just made a hilarious typo and has to go back. Virgil hides a smile as he turns his attention back to his phone. Can’t intrude too much on the process, that’s not how it works. He glances up to make sure no one’s coming down the stairs and shifts his weight again.
“Are you alright?”
There’s Roman, taking care of everyone else first. “I’m good, Princey, just trying not to fuck up my spine.”
“…do you want to come sit up here with me? I won’t mind.”
Virgil cranes his neck back, letting a slow and lazy smile come across his face. “Nah, ‘m good right here. You just make with the typey typey, okay?”
Roman smiles too, victory achieved. “Okay.”
“That’s my Princey.”
Virgil isn’t humble enough to not feel the little rush of pride at seeing a quick flush spread to Roman’s ears as he turns his attention back to his laptop. Suppressing a chuckle, he starts mindlessly scrolling again, getting sucked back into whatever’s contaminating his dash this time. What’s this about a k-drama…?
“Oh! There you are!”
Patton might not notice the way Roman startles, but Virgil does. He looks up and quickly shakes his head as Patton comes the rest of the way down the stairs.
“It’s work hours, Pat.”
“Oh, I thought—“ Virgil gives him a look that he knows Patton understands as Roman is setting the rules here, and he nods quickly— “well don’t mind me, I’m just getting a drink.”
Roman relaxes slightly as Patton bustles in and out of the kitchen, then a little more as Virgil reaches up to squeeze his hand.
“Thank you,” comes the quiet mumble.
“I gotcha, Princey. Work hours are your thing, I’m happy to help.”
Sure enough, a few minutes later, when Logan comes down the stairs carrying his computer, he takes one look at them in the living room before his mouth drops open slightly.
“Is it…work hours?”
“Mhm,” Virgil says, letting his head loll back, “you wanna join?”
“May I? I can be quiet as well.”
Virgil looks up at Roman. Roman glances up, smile softening when he sees it’s Logan, and gently pats the sofa next to him. Logan smiles too and yeah, okay, Virgil’s fine with his edge lord image fading slightly if it means he gets to be fond at watching these two nerds be gentle with each other.
The two of them start to type on their laptops, Logan’s constant murmurs of what he’s working on an amusing contrast to Roman’s silent yet expressive face. Virgil keeps the barrier there, warding off Janus and Remus when they try and drag the others into the dramatics—if anyone, especially Janus, tries to deny that he’s as much a part of it as Remus is, do not under any circumstances believe them—to keep the nerds safe.
After a while, when Virgil re-emerges from whatever deep dive he’s gone on this time—and yeah, he might be looking to pirate that k-drama, maybe—he realizes there’s no more typing. He looks up, a little concerned, only to be incredibly glad no one else is around to see him melt at the sight on the couch.
Roman’s laptop lies partially closed on his lap, the screen just touching the tops of his knuckles. His head and shoulders are angled toward Logan and his eyes are closed. Logan’s glasses are slipping slightly off his face, his head on Roman’s shoulder, eyes closed, lips parted slightly as his hair falls back into his face. His laptop has been set on the coffee table, somewhere safe.
Virgil shakes his head, standing and carefully taking Roman’s laptop from him. He saves whatever’s on it and sets it next to Logan’s. Then he takes the blanket from the back of the couch and carefully drapes it over the two of them. He slides Logan’s glasses from his face and undoes the top button of Princey’s collar. Can’t do for them to have a red mark, after all. And he sits back down to keep watch.
Sometimes, when they’re doing better, they ask for more. Roman comes to him sometimes and asks, very very quietly, but he does ask, for Virgil to come sit with him by his room. Virgil happily takes up residence in the warm spot in the hallway next to Roman’s room, right where the big windows are, soaking in the warmth from outside as Roman closes the door gently behind himself.
Something that everyone had to learn pretty quick once Logan and Roman started reaching out was that both of them are extremely private people. On the surface, it might seem like they’re different—and if they’re being honest, they certainly thought they were very different—but they aren’t. Not really. Roman hides behind being too much, Logan hides behind not being anything. Whether or not anyone actually knows them without any of the facades is up for debate.
Except each other. They…they…know each other.
Virgil would be lying if he said he isn’t a little jealous of how close the two of them have become. There are soft smiles they only have for each other now, little brushes of their hands against each other’s as a constant way of saying ‘I’m here, I see you, are you alright?’ And sometimes it’s Virgil’s job to sit outside one of their rooms as they try and hold each other steady.
Their company feels better than their solitude and it’s up to them to decide where that line is.
Today, Virgil’s just keeping an eye on Roman. Fielding off anyone who comes to knock on his door, glaring away the more persistent ones who don’t seem to understand that Roman needs his space right now, kindly fuck off. Logan comes around the corner and immediately understands and he sees them murmur quietly to each other when it’s time for dinner.
When he watches Logan, it’s a little harder. Because poor Logan is so used to pushing himself to the side to be able to make decisions, to help do things, that Virgil has to remind everyone involved that no, Logan’s enforced a boundary that means he doesn’t want to be disturbed right now, he’s allowed to do that, let’s leave him be for now. Left brain boys have to stick together.
But the others, to a certain extent, are easy. They care about Roman and Logan as much as Virgil does, and if it’s to help them, they’ll do whatever they have to. Protecting them from themselves…that’s another story.
Logan is too fucking good at pretending he’s fine. He’s too good at pretending he doesn’t have emotions, that he doesn’t care what’s going on unless it’s the absolute most illogical thing that’s happening. So, sometimes he has to work a little harder to get Logan to admit it.
“L,” he mutters as the others continue to argue, “check-in.”
“I’m fine.”
Janus shoots him a look as he continues to argue. Virgil tugs gently on Logan’s sleeve.
“No one’s gonna be mad if you say you aren’t, bud.”
Logan shakes his head firmly, eyes still trained on the way Patton and Janus are insisting that they’re the one right.
“Hey,” Virgil says softly, making them take a step back, “I need you to look at me, L.”
“What is the purpose of this?”
“You’re seizing up again.” Logan looks down at his hands, sees the way they’re shaking as Virgil gently runs a finger over the back of one of them. “It’s okay, bud, you’re gonna be fine, you just have to let yourself not be for a moment, okay?”
Logan risks a glance at the others but they haven’t noticed anything. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. Judging by the way Janus is being more dramatic than normal and Roman has turned so his back is facing them, they’ve noticed something’s wrong and are purposefully not noticing anything else.
“Logan,” Virgil calls, “do you need a minute?”
Logan’s mouth opens, closes, then he nods sharply.
“Okay, thank you, I’m really proud of you for saying that. Can I sink you out?”
Another sharp nod.
Virgil sets his hand gently on Logan’s elbow and sinks them out, right outside Logan’s room. He nods to the door.
“Do you need to be alone for a moment? Or do you need me with you?”
Logan looks at the door. His hands shake again. Virgil sees them twitch toward his legs. Then he looks at Virgil and oh, okay, no, Virgil’s definitely coming inside.
“Come on,” he says, guiding hand still on Logan’s shoulder, “just through here, okay? I’m gonna get you a glass of water.”
Logan looks small, Virgil decides he doesn’t like that. He presses a glass of water gently into Logan’s hands, watches as he drinks the whole thing without complaint, and then carefully sets one of Logan’s fluffier pillows into his lap for Logan to hang onto.
“Do you want to sit here for a moment?”
Logan nods, then buries his face in the pillow and breathes. Virgil closes his eyes and starts to breathe too, keeping it slow and steady as he breathes in, then out, then in, then out. When Logan’s breathing starts to hitch, he opens his eyes and scoots a little closer, wordlessly offering a shoulder. Logan takes it after a moment, his face still buried in the pillow even as his head comes to rest on Virgil’s shoulder.
“Let it out, bud,” Virgil murmurs into the crown of Logan’s head, “don’t try and keep any of that shit in you. It’s just me.”
Watching Logan cry isn’t fun. He doesn’t recommend it. But it’s much, much better than the alternative.
“Hey,” he calls again, a fresh glass of water in his hand, “drink, bud, it’ll help.”
Logan drinks, a little slower this time, as Virgil settles back on the bed, one leg folded under him.
“Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want me to distract you?”
Logan shakes his head. “I…do not think distraction would be helpful.”
“Okay. Do you want me to give you the logical reason why this is fine, or the emotional one where I tell you how much we care?”
Logan sniffles.
“Both it is, then.” Virgil scoots closer, ready if Logan needs to lean against him again. “Despite the fact that your role is Logic, no one expects you to be entirely logical. You are a person, you have feelings and emotions, and they are as much a part of you as Logic is. Trying to deny that isn’t logical, nor productive. The reason you are who you are is equally due to both of those things.”
He softens his voice as Logan leans toward him again, smiling at how shamelessly Logan is asking to be comforted.
“And that’s why we care about you,” he mumbles, ignoring the heat rushing to his own face, “because you’re you. You’re…prissy and stuck-up and a know-it-all and it’s perfect, L. You’re our braincell and you’re fucking ours. You’re—you’re not going anywhere.”
Logan’s arms still grip the pillow tightly even as his head nudges its way under Virgil’s chin. Virgil smiles and lets him, only realizing he’s absentmindedly nuzzling Logan’s hair after a minute.
The others will be fine. Logan just needs a moment to check out.
Roman, on the other hand, fucking sucks at letting himself ask.
And yeah, Virgil’s not too proud to admit he still feels sick at how much he’s fucked that up for him. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try and fix that now.
Princey’s gig as Creativity isn’t misplaced; Virgil’s equal parts impressed and dismayed at how well Roman’s managed to get himself what he needs without directly asking for it, be it a favor, a piece of feedback, or a conversation.
The one thing he can’t do that with is touch.
Roman needs physical contact like he needs water. He may run hotter than a goddamn furnace but he somehow manages to look cold. Watching him sit himself apart from everyone else hurts now, especially when Janus comes and confesses that he can hear how much Roman tries to insist that he doesn’t need affection from the others.
So, they built a system. Some with Roman’s knowledge, some without. Roman goes to them for comfort when he needs it, but sometimes, when he really needs it, it’s up to them to figure out just how much.
Remus knows his job when it comes to this. His brother is Roman and you don’t get to be a Dark Side without Janus as a dramatic caveat. He’s well-versed in blackmailing self-sacrificing idiots into taking care of themselves.
Remus finds Roman when Roman’s sitting alone, off to the side, staring out into the expanse of the Imagination. He sits down, brushes their shoulders together, and frowns when Roman apologizes and shifts further away.
That’s the first indication.
He suggests they go bother Patton, or sneak out to the field and practice cliff jumping. If Roman’s alright, he’ll roll his eyes and propose an alternative, or agree and they’ll scamper off. But instead, he smiles softly and says no thank-you, politely inviting Remus to stay if he likes, but he’d rather not move.
That’s the second indication.
The third one comes when Remus carefully—really carefully—prods at Roman to see how obvious Roman’s dazed state is. He’s barely there.
Time for reinforcements.
Who gets called depends on who’s around. Since Remus is usually the first one in the chain—although that responsibility does get bounced around—everyone else’s schedules make absolute consistency difficult.
Today, it’s Janus.
He sits on Roman’s other side, pressing their shoulders together. If he’s alright, he’ll lean into him, or at the very least, tolerate it. His presence is strong, enough to coax down his shields and that’ll be the end of it. But today, he scoots away from him too, another apology on his lips.
They exchange a look over Roman’s head.
No one banters quite like Remus and Janus, and sometimes that’s all it takes to pull him out of his head. Sometimes it’s an offer to go flounce around an abandoned castle, and there’s a small smile on his face as they leave.
Not today.
As a last resort, Janus reaches out and gently calls to him.
“My prince, are you alright?”
Sometimes it’s enough.
Not today.
“Alright,” Remus declares, getting up and clapping his hands, “time to pull out the big guns.”
Sometimes he’ll get up and walk with them, sometimes he won’t. He has carried him through the Mindscape before, but it was only once. And that was when he couldn’t actually move and they’d had a murmured conversation where he gave him permission to.
Today he gets up and follows them, confused as to what’s going on. They march him straight to a door and Remus knocks on it.
“Roman’s upset,” he says as soon as the door opens.
Virgil smiles and steps aside, letting him come in. Sometimes it’s a waiting game, sometimes Remus pushes him inside. But today, Roman bows his head and walks inside, letting Virgil close the door behind him.
Sometimes it’s a protest. Sometimes it’s a: ‘this really isn’t necessary,’ or a ‘do we have to do this?’ When that happens he indulges Roman, meets every quip with one of his own until he can knock Roman off-balance with well-placed sincerity and use his distraction to steer him to the bed.
Sometimes it’s an apology. It’s an: ‘I’m sure you’ve got other things to do, I can just go,’ and he shakes his head, tells Roman he’s more than happy to spend time with him. That no, he’s not being rude, that he all but asked for Roman to come. When that happens, he normally clams up, stays quiet, until he relents and gathers Roman up into a cuddle by the door.
Sometimes it’s silence. It’s a bowed head, curled up like a frightened animal, braced for punishment. It’s the moments where the gap between Light and Dark feels uncrossable. It’s the moments where the anger is disappointment, where the frustration is indifference, until he speaks first and murmurs that no, Roman’s not in trouble, he’s not here to lecture him, he’s hurt and he wants to help, as he takes Roman into his arms.
Every time it’s a fight.
It’s knowing that he can’t win because of course, he can’t win but this isn’t something he’s supposed to win but he can’t show weakness but he won’t have a choice because it’s the slow, patient kill that speaks of nothing but kindness and care but Virgil has enough to worry about and he doesn’t get to dump all of his problems on Virgil but he knows he wouldn’t do this if he didn’t care but he cares about everyone and Roman isn’t special but he knows that doesn’t matter and he needs this but it makes him want to rip all of his skin off and start over but then he’d get blood on his carpet and that wouldn’t be very polite either—
Virgil guides him to the couch with a hand on his back, sitting him down and bringing two cups of tea to the table. He cups Roman’s hand around one to gauge how warm it is and if his fingers grow too red, he sets it aside. He sits next to him and carefully reaches out.
Here she is, sitting right next to him, and yet he’s almost nowhere to be found.
He needs to relearn how to ask for comfort, for reassurance, for what he needs, but the wait hurts them both.
I’m trying, I’m trying, I promise, I’m sorry—
It’s alright, I’m right here, just ask, that’s all.
When he finally reaches out, Virgil snaps and bundles Roman into his arms. He tucks Roman up against his chest, letting him wind his arms as tightly as he needs to, guiding one leg, then the other, over his. Roman lets out a little whine as he tucks his face into the crook of his neck. He cards his fingers through Roman's hair and smiles as the poor prince melts into his arms.
The familiar protective instinct swells up and Virgil finds himself wanting very much to wrap him up in his hoodie and keep him safe from the universe.
He keeps his breathing even, hoping his heart doesn’t begin to race from the need to protect the Roman. This is for Roman, this is what he needs, to chase away the worries of the world and be safe.
Sometimes they fall asleep like that. Sometimes Roman needs to cry and he hushes him tenderly. Sometimes he seems convinced that if either of them lets go they’ll fly apart.
It doesn’t matter.
If he feels the safest with Virgil’s arms around him, his head on his chest, his heartbeat in his ear, the world could be on fire and he would not leave his side.