Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s a rat in the cell. It’s not even a cutesy one with fluffy fur and bright perky eyes, the kind that Patton would happily squeal about and the kind that’d cause Logan’s eyes  to spark with interest. Logan wouldn’t admit it but he loved rats. If given a chance, he’d rattle on for an hour about how smart the little critters were. 

Virgil also liked them. He guessed it was because he could relate to them. Rats were creatures that were feared and despised by most, seen as dirty vermin that should be exterminated and kept under control. As the personification of Anxiety, it was quite easy to feel a kinship with them.

Roman, however, was a different story. He grew uncomfortable at even the mere mention.

“Pah! Dogs are much more noble creatures!” Roman said once, folding his arms against his chest in a classic princey pout. 

“What about the rats in Ratatouille?” Virgil snarked back, “wouldn’t you say Remy’s dream of becoming a chef is noble?”

“Th--that’s different!” Roman threw his arms in the air, “It’s Pixar!”

But the rat in the cell isn’t a well-groomed, domesticated rat. It’s a huge, massive thing. Like maybe the size of a small cat. It’s unkempt fur brushy and bristly. It has sharp red eyes and pointy yellowed teeth. The rat tears through Virgil’s dinner with ease. He thinks maybe he should do something about the rat. After all, he hasn’t eaten in who knows how long.

He tries to do so.  The slightest inch in movement causes the rat to unleash a screech in his direction. It’s an ear-splitting sound and so Virgil stays put. For this rat is a creation of Remus. Who knows what eldritch atrocities the rat is capable of. 

He has never understood Roman’s hatred of rats until this moment. He wonders if Remus has ever sicced a pack of rats on his brother. Did Roman manage to fend them off? Or did the rats overwhelm him, gnawing on his flesh and eating him alive? Of course, death is a very temporary thing in the Mindscape–but the twins’ realms of imagination make it feel anything but temporary.

God, Virgil wants to throw up just thinking about Roman being eaten alive by rats. It’s too dark even for him. That thought can’t belong to him. He’s been in Remus’s realm for weeks now. His influence must be infecting Virgil’s function, decaying it. 

Virgil hopes this isn’t affecting Thomas negatively. He already fucked up once by ducking out. He refuses to allow it to happen a second time. Not when this is for the sake of the others.

The rat is still busy gnawing at the bread. It looks close to breaking its’ damn teeth on the thing. No wonder, it’s stale and hard-as-a-brick. Virgil could’ve used it as a projectile and knock out his imprisoners if it came to it. He wouldn’t. Not after the deal he’s struck with them.

Virgil shivers, pressing further into the corner of the cell he’s in. He’s curled up in an almost fetal position, desperate to conserve as much warmth as he can. Prickly goosebumps cover his skin. There’s no fierce, biting winter wind. No snow, no ice and yet it feels like a literal tundra inside the cell. 

“Oooh, I’m so excited,” Remus had said, arms flaring out in a way that is too familiar, too Roman-like, “I’ve always wondered if we could die of hypothermia. Oooh, ooh! They say in the final stage of hypothermia, victims’ bodies feel unbearably warm--isn’t that fascinating?” 

Well, he hasn’t reached that stage yet, so that has to be good, right? Although freezing to death isn’t that bad. Especially compared to the other things Remus has put him through these past few weeks. Things like facing a zombie apocalypse as the last survivor and playing “hide-and-go-seek” in an inescapable maze with a flesh-eating cryptid entity. So yeah, death by hypothermia? Not that bad. 

He hopes Remus grows tired of using him as a plaything soon. Maybe Deceit will step in soon and demand Remus to quit it. Virgil knows he’s close to his breaking point. Close enough to where he’ll do anything if Deceit will save him. He hopes he can hold onto his resolve. If not him then for Thomas’ sake.

It’s the only hope he can cling to at this point. He’s literally Anxiety, it isn’t like he has optimism in spades. He’s not expecting to be rescued from a hole he dug himself.

Virgil hasn’t slept much these past few weeks. Not that he gets good sleep in general. His life motto is “Never Resting, Always Worrying.” 

Still, even he has to succumb to sleep and face the nightmares that await him there. Lately his nightmares have been centered around Roman, Logan and Patton. Namely, their reaction to the stupid stunt he pulled.

“What are you doing?!”

“What needs to be done.”

“Virgil, please--”

“Don’t call me that. It’s Anxiety to you, got it?”

“Anxiety. I do not understand. Can we not discuss this together and work things out as a group? Based on past events, it is best--”

“We can’t. It won’t work, not this time.”

“Why not?” 

“Because I’ve realized something, about how a bunch of clueless morons you guys are. You act like everything can be solved in twenty minutes like a cheesy sitcom but real life? It doesn’t work that way. And I was wrong to think it could.”

“Virgil, wait! Don’t leave--”

But he did. He left them, head held high as he walked into awaiting jaws of Remus and Deceit.

Now he’s alone in a cold, dark cell. His only company? A rat that is one second away from biting his hand off. The worst part is that it’s all his fault. He doesn’t get to feel sorry for himself. He doesn’t deserve that privilege. 

He inhales shakily as he reaches to clutch onto the necklace around his neck. He’s always worn it, keeping it underneath his shirt and out of sight of the others. It’s a simple black cord with a pendant of his Stormcloud emblem hanging on it. He holds onto the pendant, rubbing his fingers across the cold metal. It grounds him, keeps him from unraveling. Ironic, considering the gifter of the necklace. 

He counts silently to himself. One, two, three, four, hold breath. One, two, three, four, five--his composure breaks, a sob rattles his throat. He grips his necklace tighter. Again . One, two, three, four, hold breath. Good! Now hold your breath for seven seconds. One, two, three, dammit. He closes his eyes, his heartbeat accelerating. He can do this, he must do this. He has done this, and he will do this again. One, two, three, four--he keeps going.

Several times, he messes up again. He’s used to this--it’s kinda his thing to make mistakes. In thirty years, he’s learned to keep moving forward regardless. Even when everything inside of him screams to give up. Patton would probably put some positive spin on that. He’d pat Virgil’s shoulder and tell Virgil how proud he is of him. Logan would rattle off some beneficial statistical facts. Roman might sprout some admirable speech. Just thinking about them makes him feel like a worm on a hook–it’s like a sharp pain stabbing into his intestines that he can’t squirm away from.

He misses them. He misses Patton’s warm hugs and his soft, gooey cookies. He misses Logan and his rants about astronomy. He even misses Roman--loud, noisy prince who gets on his nerves with his bravado and flights of fancy. He never thought he’d get used to their acceptance. Get used to seeing them look at him with love, like he actually possesses worth and value. For the longest time, he waited for things to drift back to normal. Back to the insults and the shunning. All alone in his room as the others’ laughter of joy from outside taunts him.

“You can’t tell me you honestly think this whole ‘charade’ will last forever,” Deceit told him, “it’ll be less painful if you end it on your own terms, then if an...outside force ends it on their own. ”

Virgil had believed him. He still believes him, even now. It’s better for him to be the screw-up like always than for the others to know the truth. The others will never forgive him and he can live with that. He has to. 

Screeeeeeech.

Virgil’s eyelids fly open, hands flying to protect his face. His immediate thought is the rat. It’s attacking him. Surely his meager prison meal isn’t enough to satiate its hunger. Except he realizes three things. 

The first thing is that the rat is gone. He doesn’t know where it went. It could’ve disappeared into the shadow realm as far as he knew. The second thing is that the door to his cell is open. It’s an old creaky door with rusty hinges because of course it is. Remus wouldn’t have it any other way. 

The third thing he notices is Roman.

At least, he thinks it’s Roman. Bright light from the outside pools into the cell, causing a stinging sensation in his eyes. They need time to adjust to the change in light. Still, he forces himself to squint up at the silhouette in the doorway. Its’ broad, imposing, larger-than-life stature is unmistakably Roman

All of Virgil’s fears and what-ifs melt away at the sight of it. Because Roman is here. He’s here and somehow, in some way, Roman would make things right again.  A sliver of hope runs him. Weak and thin, but still present. He shouldn’t be disarmed so easily. It has to be from exhaustion, he thinks.

The hope doesn’t live long. A second dark figure appears behind the first, shattering the illusion. Remus’ wide-eyed grin meets his slackening pale face.

“Viiiirgil! I have a boy toy for you!” He crows, “I hope you’re into humping nearly-dead corpses.”

Unceremoniously he punts the first figure into the cell.  Virgil hardly has time to react before the cell door shuts with a loud clang. He rushes to the still form on the ground as an ocean of panic swells up inside of him.

Is Remus messing with him? This can’t possibly be Roman lying face-down on the ground. Roman whose complexion is whiter than his uniform. It can’t be. It has to be a construct, something Remus created to fuck with him. Both figuratively and literally, knowing Remus. God, he does not need that last image in his head right now. He tries to ignore it, to attach himself to any other drifting semi-coherent thought than that one.

Help. Construct or not, Virgil has to help this Roman. He’d do anything to help the Core Sides. Something Remus and Deceit know too well. He wouldn’t doubt if they are watching from a secret camera. They’re probably stuffing their faces with greasy popcorn and cackling at him at this very moment.

Virgil rolls him onto his back. Brown bangs drenched with sweat hang down in the Prince’s face. They barely cover the bruise forming around his right eye. Little cuts nick the sides of his cheeks, likely from a knife or a sword. The angry red slashes also decorate his arms and legs, fabric of his uniform torn along with it. Roman’s white tunic has a high collar but even it can’t hide the ring of green-black forming around his neck. Did Remus try strangling him to death?

He can hardly focus on that however. His eyes drift further down the prince’s tunic. He realizes with a start that it’s a lot more red than it should be. The red isn’t from Roman’s sash. He lifts the tunic away, trying to ignore how it’s almost pasted to the wound. The wound, well. It’s bad. He curses, throwing off his jacket without a second thought. He presses it against the wound, trying desperately to stop the blood wound. God, please don’t let this be his Roman. Please let this be some twisted, cruel prank by Remus. Please, please, please.

“Roman, wake up!” Virgil says. Silence. “Princey, I--I swear I’m going to steal your Disney VHS Collection if you don’t wake up right now.”

It’s such a weak attempt at a threat, but Roman’s eyelids flutter open at it. His eyes are unfocused, looking around in a bewildered way before settling onto Virgil. His mouth forms a small ‘O’. His eyes so wide and glistening, alit with a dazed wonder.

“Virgil,” Roman says, managing a weak grin, “You’re alive.”

Virgil’s heart lodges in his throat because he knows without a doubt it’s Roman. His stupid heroic, obstinate, foolhardy idiot of a prince. No way Remus could perfect such a carbon copy, right down to the barest of micro expressions. 

“What are you doing here? They promised they wouldn’t hurt you and the others--” Virgil shuts his mouth, horror seizing him at his own words.

Deception and Intrusive Thoughts. Why had he ever trusted in their words? Remus who lives his existence always doing and never thinking.  Or in Deceit, whose very name defines his character? The answer is very simple, of course. It is always the answer to all of his problems; Virgil had let his irrational fears get the best of him.

Meanwhile Roman’s grin grows wider, gleeful even.

“Hah,” He manages before descending into a coughing fit, “K-knew you weren’t the bad guy.”

“How’d you...how’d you know I wasn’t the bad guy?”

“I couldn’t make the same mistake twice.” Roman stares at him. His eyes hold such a firm, unyielding conviction that Virgil almost wants to turn away. He doesn’t.

Okay, yeah it hurt a lot back then. Back when Roman flung barrages of insults in Virgil’s direction. As Creativity, Roman knew how to craft insults that hurt worse than any sting of the sword. Even though Virgil has long since forgiven him, it still hurts at times. Especially when the two fall back into their old ways of bickering and mean taunts. It’s far too easy for them to do that than to play nice.

Still, Virgil knows even then he deserved them. He’d given Roman no reason to trust him. Sure being the bad guy had been an act but even pretending can hurt. He knows this better than anyone. He wants to argue Roman and the others made a mistake believing Virgil could be anything more than the bad guy. Especially once they knew what he’d been hiding from them.

Virgil swallows, the lump in his throat refusing to dissipate.

“I--I’m sorry,” He says, the words rushing out of him, “I was an idiot, I panicked--”

“Shh,” Roman hushes, his hand clasping on top of Virgil’s. He cranes his neck upwards, doing his best to maintain eye-contact with Virgil, “Don’t apologize, my stormy knight. The blame is--is all on me, I’m afraid.”

“What?”

Roman gives him an indecipherable, anguished look. 

“It’s all my fault. I failed you, I’m sorry, I should’ve been able to--”

“What are you sorry for?” Virgil presses.

“To..save you. What kind of,” Roman coughs again, “prince am I if I can’t save my loved ones?”

Oh... Ohhh . Remus and Deceit didn’t capture Roman? But that would mean...Roman went after him. That shouldn’t be as big of a surprise to Virgil (considering Roman’s heroics) but it is. Did Patton and Logan even know what Roman did? Or did he trudge in without a plan, armed with only his goal in mind?

“You idiot,” Virgil hisses, and immediately regrets his word choice when Roman flinches at it. Virgil presses down on the wound harder, “Roman, I am not worth the trouble--”

“Virgil,” Roman interrupts, grasping his hands as tightly as he can, “I’d die a thousand deaths if it meant seeing you safe and sound.”

Roman’s declaration takes him off guard. It’s not necessarily the words but the glint in the other’s eyes. It’s not a case of Roman being facetious and overly dramatic. Virgil knows he means them. He knows and it scares the hell out of him. 

He changes the topic abruptly, “Remus did he--”

“It’s not the first time my wretched brother has bested me,” Roman said, his mouth forming a thin, tight line, “I’ll be--be fine--”

Roman coughs and coughs, his whole body trembling with exertion. Virgil watches helplessly. Red speckles fall from his mouth. Roman sags, his grip on Virgil’s hand loosening.

“Like hell you’re fine!” Virgil hisses, “Roman, damn you, stay with me!”

Roman smiles at him. He looks like he wants to say more, but his eyes close shut and his hand falls away from Virgil’s.

“No, no, wake up! Wake up!” Virgil demands, shaking the prince to no avail. The only thing that keeps Virgil from completely breaking down is the faint yet stable heartbeat coming from Roman.

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

The mantra runs through his head to the rapid beat of his heart. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But Virgil can see now that his actions had been selfish and caused harm rather than good. Roman is hurt. He has to do something to make this right. Even if it means doing the one thing that drove him down here in the first place. 

Virgil’s the type to overthink things to the point of insanity. Not this time. With anger swelling in his veins, Virgil grabs hold of his necklace and rips it off. As he stares down at its broken clasp, light ripples through his body.

He forgets about the pain; it’s always worse the longer he suppresses it without any release. The pain hits him like a steamroller, flattening him down to the ground in an instant. It’s prickly and piercing like needles. 

He bites back a cry, sharp fangs digging into his gums. His face burns and he reaches for it—wanting to claw it off when everything goes dark. He jerks his hands away as knives dig at his back, tearing apart flesh. No, not knives. Long, spindly black limbs sprout from his back, stretching and elongating. They twitch and flail of their own volition, sending another crashing wave of pain his way.

He fights against it, growling as he sits up. His vision clears, eight pairs of eyes blinking away bright white spots. He takes a shaky breath, hunching in on himself. It’s been so long since he’s taken this form. Too long. 

Virgil tries to ignore how his lungs breathe in air more freely, how he is able to fully stretch out his spindly limbs rather than feel them writhe beneath his skin, how his vision is brighter, more clearer.

He looks down at Roman, scowling. He doesn’t have the time to dwell on it. He reaches out for Roman’s prone body–

ItSy BiTsY LiTtlE PriNce, WOulD loOk aLl niCe wrAppEd uP iN A WeB? 

Virgil freezes, hands curling into fists. “NO!” He growls, “NEVER!”

He knows it’s one of Remus’ wild intrusive thoughts, probably sent to torment him specifically. It does not have a physical form, but he can still sense its presence hovering over them.

ItSy BiTsy liTtlE PrinCe, sPit on hiM and mAke hiM aCiD?

Virgil’s hands pull at his hair as he tries to block out the intrusive images. But he can’t do that. If...if what Logan had said is true, it only gives it more power. He has to continue on in spite of the Intrusive Thought. He can’t let himself get distracted for Roman’s sake. He grits his teeth, letting go of his hair as his hands fall to his sides.

itSY BiTSy PrINce, noTHiNG leFt bUt sAsH anD tUNic?

Virgil ignores it, carefully gathering Roman into his arms. He draws himself to his full height, his legs dangling several feet in the air, on spindly spider limbs. His head almost hits the ceiling of the small, cramped cell. He looks down at the rusty cell door, bares his fangs and...vomits acid onto it. There is no other pleasant way to go about it. The acid turns the padlock into nothing within seconds. He taps a foreleg against the cell door and it screeeeches open.

“Itsy bitsy spider comes out the waterspout.” Virgil mutters sardonically, skittering as fast as his spider limbs can take him. The intrusive thought is silent. Perhaps it has run away to warn Remus. Virgil does not care.

In Remus’ realm of the Imagination, there is very little rhyme or reason to its rules. The few rules it has are nonsensical--like that of a twisted grotesque Wonderland. But there is one thing and that is unlike Roman, Remus prefers stories where the bad guys win.

Lucky for Virgil, he just so happens to be a bad guy. 

Chapter Text

Virgil scuttles through the dungeon, ambling past tortured souls who screech and moan at him from within their cells. A mangled claw catches onto Virgil and he hisses, whacking it away with a spider limb. Roman makes an incomprehensible pained noise, stirring a bit in Virgil’s arms.

“ Fu Uck .” Virgil curses, his tempest tongue slipping out. He leans down to briefly kiss Roman’s forehead, “ ShHUsh, Princey. G-go back to sleEP. ”

Roman is getting worse and no matter how far they traverse the dungeon, there appears to be no end in sight. Virgil’s not a clueless moron. He’d known this to be a possibility. A nightmarish dungeon that stretches on until eternity with no defined boundaries is right up Remus’ alley. He’d hoped to find the exit and trample through the rest of Remus’ realm without ever having to encounter the dark side.

Of course he, of all people, should’ve known better. 

“ REMUS! ” Virgil yells, tempest tongue coming out in full force.

“You rang-a-dang?” Remus’ nasally voice chortles to the left of him. Virgil stumbles a bit, swinging wide to pin him down with one of his limbs. He catches only thin air. 

Another chortle rings out, this time to his right. “Ahaha! Well, well, well it looks like somebody crawled out of the wrong side of their egg sac this morning!”

“SHUT uP!” Virgil demands as he takes another swipe at nothing.

“Make me!” Remus sings out, his voice bouncing throughout the dungeon.

 Virgil clutches onto Roman tightly, his multiple eyes searching for a glimpse of gaudy green. He cannot allow himself to get flung into a rage. That’d be playing right into what Remus wants. His flimsy flippant remarks are as lethal as taking one of his morning stars to the head. 

He breathes in, concentrating. Not on Remus’ useless jabber but the vibrations of his movements. From the short, sudden spurts of vibrations, he’s popping up all around Virgil. Appearing in one place to taunt him before teleporting somewhere else. He just needs to wait long enough for the right moment. He bares his fangs in feigned frustration, intentionally striking at nothing. Remus laughs at that, continuing to rattle on.

“Too slow, Mind-Failer! Whoa is that my bro? Is he dead? Did you kill him after getting it on like female spiders do with their mates--urgk!” Remus yelps as Virgil knocks him into the bars of a cell, hard. He crashes onto the cement ground with a sickening thud. The agonized cries of fictitious prisoners ceases to a halt. Silence reigns for a moment.

“Ha. Aha. AHAHAaHA!” Loud, cankerous laughter. Remus heaves for breath, his lips curled into a grin despite the blood droplets dripping his face.

That’s the thing that always gets under Virgil’s skin; how unfazed Remus always is about everything. It’s also rather hard to enact vengeance when your opponent is too busy laughing on the ground. Of course, he shouldn’t pursue vengeance—it won’t help Roman. Or at least, not right now as he hovers close to death. Virgil can feel Roman’s clammy skin, too cold. He shouldn’t feel this cold.

 “I’ve always wondered if we could die of hypothermia.” Remus’ voice echoes in his mind. Remus who never thinks about consequences and just acts. Who thought it’d be funny to beat his brother to a pulp and give his nearly-dead corpse as a present to Virgil. That’d been his downfall, his mistake. Because now Virgil’s angry and he isn’t about to do much thinking about consequences either.

“ I sAId sHUT uP !” Virgil screams, unable to contain it much longer.

Remus’ grin widens. He throws his arm back, his morningstar materializing in his hand. A long black spider limb slams into his wrist, forcing Remus’ grip on it to slacken. Another three pin down Remus’ remaining limbs. Virgil hovers over him, black grime running down his cheeks in streams.

“Ooh, kinky.” Remus wiggles his eyebrows, flippant as ever.

Virgil hisses in response.

“Y’know, I missed you,” Remus says suddenly, as if they’re two old friends catching up at a coffee shop, “I thought the zombies would work—I worked hard on getting the right amount of corpse deterioration too—but of course it was always gonna be my bro, wasn’t it?”

“ W-w h a -what?” Virgil rasps, taken slightly aback.

“You feel better now, don’t you? Like after taking a huge dump?” Remus asks, “Take it from me—you can’t repress who you are. Not forever.”

“ W-wh- w h-w-w-w —” Virgil’s voice gives way to shrill, clicking noises. He can’t speak, at least not anything intelligent. His chest burns, a bubbling inferno of agony.

 Because it’s even worse than he’d imagined. It had been more than just blackmailing him back to being the bad guy again. They didn’t want Virgil back; what they wanted was to unleash the monster that had been hidden deep inside of him.

And if they wanted the monster, then so be it. A gangly spider limb presses against Remus’ esophagus without a second thought. 

“Ha, ah, aha-grfk!” Virgil presses down harder, cutting off the Duke’s screeching laughter.

“Gee, Dukey, wonder if you can die by asphyxiation?” Virgil seethes, the anger consuming his entire being. 

He thinks he might see a flash of fear in Remus’ eyes. Good , he smirks. Remus wheezes and gurgles, attempting to claw at his throat. It’s a fruitless endeavor because the limbs already pinning down his arms and legs prevent this from happening. 

A dark, oily sense of satisfaction curls up inside Virgil’s stomach. A part of him has missed this. The wild, feral part that has never become completely domesticated through warm cookies and gentle hugs. It has been caged up far too long. It is free, it has been set loose and ready to wreak havoc. 

Remus looks like he wants to say something. Maybe beg, plead for Virgil’s mercy. Or perhaps spit in his face, scream obscurities at him. Remus doesn’t do any of that because he’s too busy gasping for air like a fly caught struggling in a web. Virgil is the spider, lurching over his helpless prey. The fire in Remus’ eyes starts to die down as his eyes roll back, his form going limp--

“ ENOUGH!”

Virgil blinks, jolting backwards. Then he blinks again, this time a bitter laugh slipping loose from him. Deceit is there, standing in front of Remus. Multiple sets of hands outstretched towards Virgil like that stupid Jurassic World meme with Chris Pratt and the velociraptors. 

“Anxiety, what a pleasure--” Deceit begins.

“Janus, cut it with the bullshit formalities,” Virgil interrupts, baring his fangs. Delight curdles in his chest at the flinch that evokes from the snake-faced side. 

Janus exhales deeply, his posture uprighting itself as a cane materializes underneath one pair of hands. His fingers tap against the head of the cane. It is of course a dreadfully gaudy glittering gold depiction of a striking cobra.

“All of this is going exactly according to my plans.” 

Virgil narrows his eyes at that. For as much as Janus lies, he can tell the truth. He’s just selective with it, choosing to divulge it only when it benefits him. The problem isn’t determining whether he’s lying or not. It’s attempting to uncover the cryptic twisted-as-hell meaning laced in his words.

“What, isn’t this what you wanted?” Virgil spits, “Didn’t you want the big bad spider again? The prince wounded to the point of death? Thomas’ core sides in turmoil? Leaving you the perfect moment to slither in and take reign?”
“Oh yes, this is exactly what I wanted!” Janus exasperatedly throws out a hand, “Damaging both halves of Thomas’ Creativity when his livelihood is utterly dependent on it! Ramping up his anxiety to make him unable to function and complete minimal tasks, yes, yes because we know my whole function revolves around self-destruction and not self-preservation.”

“Then what did you want?!” Virgil snarls, rising to his fullest height, “What did you expect was going to happen after--after what you and Remus did to Roman?”

Janus’s face slackens at that. He turns his back from Virgil, crouching down at Remus’ side. He’s open and vulnerable for an assault. Virgil could strike him down and be on his merry way. But he holds his ground, refusing to be the first to attack.

The deceitful side pulls Remus onto his lap, a hand absently stroking the silver streak in the Duke’s hair. There’s a giant red angry mark on Remus’ throat but otherwise Remus appears fine. Virgil glances down at Roman’s own bruised neck and doesn’t feel guilt in the slightest.

“I doubt you’ll believe me, but I had no part in what happened to Roman,” Janus says, his head turned enough so that only his snake eye is visible to Virgil, “You know Remus never thinks about the consequences of his actions--he just does. It’s completely excusable.” 

“So what? You’re a lamb? Completely pure and clean of all sin?” 

 “Did I say that? I miss the part where I proclaimed myself holy and righteous beyond reproach.” Janus snarls, poised and ready like a cobra before a strike. “I don’t do what’s right, I do what’s necessary and needed for Thomas.”

“And this,” Virgil seethes, uncovering Roman just enough to allow Janus to catch a glimpse, “was necessary?” 

Janus stares blankly at the sight of Roman’s battered form. “He’ll heal.”

“Oh, so that makes it all fine and dandy then? The ends justify the means?” 

“You wouldn’t understand--”

“THEN MAKE ME!” 

“FINE!” Janus snaps, “I WILL!”

Except, he doesn’t elaborate. The two glare at one another, awaiting one another’s move. Venom swells beneath Virgil’s gumline, ready to burst forth. Janus’s jaw tightens as he continues stroking Remus’s hair. If it hadn’t been for Roman’s and Remus’s respective detrimental states, they’d already be at each other’s throats.

At long last, Janus lifts one of his many hands to reveal a broken black chord with a stormcloud emblem hanging from it. Virgil keeps himself from recoiling at the sight of it. It’s more than just a necklace after all. It was his chains of imprisonment and key to unleashed freedom all in one.

“Do you know why I gave this to you?” Janus asks, swinging it around carelessly in the air.

“Yeah,” Virgil’s lips curl, “To control me, to have the Big Bad Anxiety doing your every bidding?”

“Ding, ding, ding! Absolutely astoundingly correct, Virgil,” Janus says, clapping with his free set of hands, “I believe you’re putting our dear Logan out of a job.”

Virgil hates how there is never a right answer to Janus’s questions. Much like a haughty teacher he holds the answer above the other person’s head and makes them feel all the more stupider for it. It makes Virgil want to rip his throat out for it.

“Cut the bullshit, just tell me!” Virgil growls.

Janus huffs, rolling his eyes. “I gave it to you to help you feel brave.”

What the fuck? 

“Oh, don’t act like you weren’t terrified of how Goody Four-Eyes would react knowing you were the personification of his nightmares,” Janus continues, running a gloved hand against the jagged edge of the lightning bolt, “Be honest, you wouldn’t have revealed yourself to Thomas without it.”

“Like you know a thing about honesty.” Virgil weakly retorts, “I would’ve, I mean. I am--I was supposed to scare Thomas into doing things to keep him safe.”

Janus looks at him, his expression smooth and flat like an iron-pressed shirt. No indications of any messy emotions that gave away hints to his psyche. Just another thing that pisses Virgil off about Janus.

“Don’t act dumb, Virgil, it really doesn’t suit you,” Janus says, swinging the necklace back-and-forth. Virgil watches it as if hypnotized by it. Perhaps he is, he wouldn’t put Janus past it. 

He remembers the day Janus pressed the necklace into his hands, making Virgil’s fingers curl over the jagged edges of the emblem.

“Here, this is certainly not for you, wear it. The others won’t understand, they’ll always despise you but this way, you have a chance of making them listen.”

With it, they had listened. Not all the time, not completely, but they listened to an Anxiety in a softer, more contained form. In ways that they’d never listen to an Anxiety that scuttles on eight legs. 

Virgil scowls, jerking his gaze away from the necklace. Instead he focuses on the grimy floor of the dungeon. “Okay, let’s say you gave it to me to feel “brave,” how the fuck does that change anything?”

Janus lets out a long drawn-out sigh, his fingers tapping against the emblem of the necklace, “What am I to Thomas?”

Oh, this is an easy answer.
“Deceit.” 

“Yes, yes, of course, but I’m more than that, and you know it,” Janus stares at him, “Say it.”

“Self-preservation.” Virgil says with gritted teeth.

“Precisely, and as Self-Preservation, it is my responsibility to…conceal the things Thomas doesn’t want to acknowledge and to look out for his best interests. When he realized that you existed within him, it was something that he could no longer ignore.”
“So what, you made me more palatable?” 

Janus’s hand tightens around the necklace, “My intention was for him to listen to what you had to say.”

He absentmindedly smooths out a wrinkle in Remus’s tunic with a free hand, “But I did not consider the consequences.”

“What do you mean?” Virgil asks, a chittering noise in the back of his throat. None of this is making any sense to him. 

“Before today, when was the last time you took off the necklace?”

Virgil’s spindly limbs mantle upwards. “It doesn’t matter.”

“So then, I take it that coughing up blood and having fits of dizziness as being completely normal?”
Virgil’s theoretical heart comes to a halt. “H-how?”

No one had seen that. He made sure of it–sinking out at the first onset of nausea. It is possible to get physically sick from anxiety. So of course such a phenomenon would be inflicted on Virgil, the parabolic manifestation of Thomas’s Anxiety. He just hadn’t wanted to worry the others about it.

Janus winces, a grimace taking hold of his face. “Don’t lie. Deep down, you’ve known all along the cause of it and it has nothing to do with your role as Anxiety.”

“I didn’t care. All I wanted was to be n ORMAL . And–and not t HIS .” Virgil hisses.

 There is a shift in Janus’s face, a twitch of something Virgil isn’t able to identify, “While I relish in playing the role of the villain–I have as much power as any of you. I can only conceal what Thomas refuses to acknowledge.”

Janus’s hand holding the necklace clutches it with a tight fist, “Have you ever wondered what it means for Thomas to accept you–all of you?”

“Thomas–the others, they wouldn’t understand–”
“Is that the truth? Or is it a lie borne out of your own fear?” Janus asks, standing up as he cradles Remus close to his chest with one pair of arms, “How will you ever know unless you show them the real you?”

Janus raises the necklace up high in front of him, the black chord frayed and tattered. Then his hand releases it, dropping it towards the floor. But the necklace never reaches that destination; mid-air it disintegrates with a poof of black smoke.

Then with a slight bow and a flourish of his cane, Janus syncs out with Remus. Virgil’s limbs tremble in silent rage.

He already knew the moment he yanked off the necklace and tore out of the dungeon cell, his fate had been sealed. He was never, ever, going to be able to confine and compress himself into an agreeable visage again.

Not without Janus’s help, certainly. 

Seeing the necklace disappear into nothingness solidified this.

“Vi–virgil?” Roman murmurs. His eyelids are fluttering, attempting with all their might to open. It would be endearing if it wasn’t for the circumstances.

“Hey Princey, it’s time to go home.” Virgil says, perhaps for the last time.

In front of him is the exit, finally. A swirling, spiraling black and white void. Whether it’s by Janus’s doing or not, he doesn’t care as long as it leads to the mindscape.

With a deep breath, Virgil walks into it. Things become weightless, dizzying, before everything shifts into a bright, visceral focus. Virgil’s multitude of eyes snaps shut, unable to handle the abrupt exposure to light. He shudders, his spindly limbs stumbling into the couch of the mindscape’s living area. There are alarmed shouts notifying Virgil that he is not alone.

“Virgil?!”

“Is that Roman–”
“Roman needs help, NOW. ” Virgil interrupts, his words feeling heavy in his mouth.

He still has not opened his eyes. He has no idea of how Patton and Logan are looking at him. Is Patton terrified? Is Logan examining him, analyzing him like a fascinating insect?

Someone approaches and in spite of himself, Virgil’s spindly limbs curl around him, arching upwards in an aggressive manner. A soft hand touches his shoulder, their nails blunt and rounded. There are soft words that spill out of them, a questioning tone in their voice.

Something about taking Roman from him? Virgil thinks that is what they ask him. So he nods and lets Roman fall away from his grasp. 

‘Roman is finally safe.’ Virgil breathes out, his limbs swaying unsteadily.

It is his only warning before he collapses unceremoniously onto the floor.