Chapter Text
“Fine!”
A door slammed and Logan flinched from where he was hiding under his bed. Roman and D didn’t argue often, or, at least, they didn’t often argue where Virgil or Logan could hear them. They both knew how sensitive the subject of raised voices and heated disagreements were to the two boys. Logan just wished that Virgil was home. His elder brother had been taken by Patton to get a tooth checked out and Logan was sure that his brother didn’t need the additional stress of knowing that their uncles were fighting on top of everything else that was going on. Logan clicked the screen of his phone off and slid it out from under the bed to avoid the temptation of texting his protective brother. The phone lay, staring up at the ceiling, and Logan stared at it, immediately regretting putting such distance between himself and that magical communication device.
He didn’t even know what the two adults were arguing about. The moment the shouting had started, Logan had tensed, listening to the noises that rose and fell downstairs. The argument had heated up in moments and Logan had first buried himself beneath his blankets and then, after the shouting didn’t quiet down, he’d dragged the security of the fabric into the security of the cramped space under his bed. Normally, he would’ve opted for a closet, but the underside of the mattress was closer and now he was hesitant to leave his little hovel. He didn’t hear anyone shouting anymore but the occasional slamming noise of a cupboard told him that someone was stress cleaning or cooking and that someone was probably Janus. He wondered absently if the two adults had forgotten that he was in the house. They were usually so good at schooling their emotional outbursts, but the past few days had been somewhat stressful. Roman was reaching a point where he had to decide whether he wanted to cut back on his career hours to be with the boys more or not.
The topic was touchy with Roman, though he tried to hide it. The fact was that he was envious of Patton’s connection with the boys at times. He buried himself in his work as a heavy distraction but now, as the boys began to warm up to him more and more, he was faced with the option of loosening his hold on the distraction and becoming more of a family man. Janus was finding it difficult to adjust to such a change and Roman was also torn between the two options. It wasn’t a question of needing money, he had plenty to provide for himself and his nephews but more a question of wanting money. The more money he had, the more comfortable he could make his boys. Janus just didn’t want things to change. Perhaps it had to do with the buried fear he had that, someday, Roman would be lost to him. That the unlikely friendship that the two had formed would wane and diminish until it was no longer feasible. The agent had lost people and left people himself for various reasons but Roman was off limits for that. Roman wasn’t allowed to be lost and Janus seemed determined to cling to that creed. Was he overexaggerating? Quite obviously he was but no one knew his flawed rational and, therefore, no one would reassure him of such a blatant fact.
Of course, with the lack of communication coming from Janus and Roman attempting to decide what his future would look like, the tension and stress rose between the two men until passive aggressive behaviors became commonplace around the dinner table and Logan and Virgil stuck a little closer together. Patton had been the only normal person, doing his daily tasks with his signature smile and always ready to offer a hug. Remus was never normal to begin with. Now, as Logan squirmed a little more under his blanket under his bed, he was fighting being transported back into the darkest corners of his mind. He glanced out at his phone again, wishing that he hadn’t had the courage (or idiocy) to slide it out of his dark haven. He pulled off his glasses and rested his head against his arms, pushing familiar haunting memories back only to have them stubbornly attempt to persist.
He wasn’t sure how long he lay there before his mind took over. The flashing memories, the voices, the frantic drive to survive. He knew his breath was getting faster and that his chest was tight. The tingling in his fingers annoyed him but didn’t ground him. He wanted to cry but he didn’t have the breath to sob. He wanted to scream but his voice left him only in small whimpers. He curled in on himself, clutching his shirt and tugging on it, as if he just needed more room to breathe. Still, breathing seemed impossible to come by and tears sprang into his eyes as the panic began to take hold. He knew he wasn’t dying; he’d had enough panic attacks to know what he was going through. Still, panic attacks got their name for a reason. The fact he couldn’t breathe was scary enough and the irony of his fight or flight pushing him to a state where he could do neither was something he would ponder after he’d reminded his mind that oxygen was a necessity. His fingers scrabbled against the carpet and what lasted mere seconds felt like it was hours. Suddenly, his system seemed to reset, and a gasping sob escaped his lips. He gulped huge breaths, trying to replenish his shaking body. Tears continued to leak from his eyes, and he curled tighter, bringing a hand up to dig into his hair. He gave a harsh, solid jerk to his hair and the pain reminded him that he was real. His other hand came up and clamped over his mouth, attempting to quiet the sobs that were insistent on coming. He hated it. The shaking, the dizziness, the icy feeling that filled his heart and his mind while his stomach twisted with nausea. Logan laid there, waiting for it all to pass and let his eyes slip shut. He was consumed by the lonely feeling that always accompanied such battles. He scrubbed his face on his blanket which felt soft earlier but now seemed harshly coarse on his hot, sensitive cheeks. He shoved it aside and closed his eyes again, panic had subsided and now the exhaustion was beginning to set in. He was about to give into it when he felt a familiar trickle of warmth coming from his nose. His eyes shot open, and he grabbed the blanket again, pressing it quickly to the blood that was beginning to ooze out of his nose. Stress equaled nosebleeds for Logan more often than not and leaving his little confined space of safety for something as practical as tissues was out of the question. That’s how he stayed until the waves of tiredness were too strong to fight off. Then, he bundled the messy blanket under his head in hopes it would catch any more blood that decided to leave his person and let himself be swept away into dreamland.
When Virgil got home, he knew something was wrong. Logan, his sweet, traumatized little brother rarely let Virgil out of his sight let alone was not tearing down the stairs when Virgil was coming back from being gone an extended period of time. Virgil himself wasn’t in prime condition, his trip to the dentist had been rattling for his nerves, he hadn’t let strangers poke around in his mouth for years and the anxiety of just walking into a medical building was enough to send him vaulting over the nearest wall. Patton, luckily, had been able to calm him enough for the dentist to take a look and eventually proclaim that Virgil was experiencing pain due to clenching his teeth a lot, probably from stress. She’d given him a mouth guard and told him kindly to try and relax. Such a suggestion would normally make Virgil roll his eyes, but he’d been too high strung to think of anything sarcastic, so he’d just stared at her until she’d looked away. Now, he was home, but his anxiety wasn’t going down. He needed Logan, needed to channel his intense stress and worry into making sure Logan hadn’t sliced off his toe somehow while Virgil had been gone.
“Lo! We’re back!” Virgil called as he dumped his backpack onto the floor. Silence met his call. Virgil’s eyebrows furrowed, “Logan?!” He called again, walking into the massive space. He wandered down to the kitchen, where he heard the noises of someone cooking.
He pushed the swinging door open and revealed Janus, sleeves rolled up, aggressively kneading a ball of dough. The kitchen was full of delicious smells and Virgil looked around quickly. A series of dirty dishes were piled up around the sink and more clean ones were settled on the drying rack. The sink itself was empty, as Janus always preferred it to be while he was cooking. The agent glanced up at Virgil and lifted an eyebrow,
“What brings you to the kitchen?” He asked, not unkindly. Virgil didn’t often frequent the kitchen, not since Remus had suggested they set the house on fire by leaving the stove on. Virgil looked around again,
“Have you seen Logan?” He asked. Janus shook his head, punching the dough with more force than it deserved,
“No, perhaps he’s in his room.” Virgil turned and walked out, Janus watching him go.
Logan’s door was closed, which was the first indication that something was wrong. Logan always liked to leave his door open just a crack. He’d almost had a massive breakdown over the issue when he learned that closed doors were a safety against fires (this was around the same Remus incident that scared Virgil away from the kitchen) and had gone an entire week being torn between leaving his door ajar or having it shut. Virgil frowned at the shut door and knocked quietly. When he got no answer, he tried the knob and was relieved to find it unlocked. He pushed his way inside, looking around for his brother.
The room was messy by Logan’s standers. There were clothes on the floor from the day before, a few books were sitting out, and his phone was next to the bed. Virgil immediately went into high alert mode. Logan’s blankets were a mess and there was a book lying open on the floor with a page bent. The glass of water that had been on Logan’s nightstand now resided on the floor and a dark spot in the carpet told Virgil that it hadn’t been empty when it had been dropped. Logan, however, was nowhere to be seen. Virgil hurried first to the closet and pulled it open, looking inside. The contents were neat and there was no Logan-shaped bundle to be found. He shut the closet and dropped to his knees next to the bed, looking under.
There he was. Logan was curled up, his hand wrapped loosely around his glasses and his back to Virgil. The teen sighed and reached out carefully, tapping Logan’s shoulder. Virgil wasn’t surprised when the young boy didn’t react or respond to the touch. Virgil tried again, opting to rub his hand up and down Logan’s arm instead. After a few moments of persistent calling, Logan stirred. The minor movement was suddenly changed as the boy awoke more. He jerked, twisting his head around so fast that Virgil was surprised when it didn’t go flying off. Logan’s wide eyes fastened on Virgil and his breathing picked up. Virgil’s brows furrowed in confused alarm as Logan squirmed and then crawled out from his safe space, throwing his arms around Virgil’s neck.
“Oof!” Virgil grunted but immediately wrapped his own arms around his little brother, “Hey, what’s up?” Virgil asked carefully. Logan shook his head, his breathing not slowing down and his whole body starting to tremble. Virgil held tighter, “Logan, breath.” He ordered softly, “In and out, come on.” It was, unfortunately, never that easy and Logan’s frantic grip on Virgil’s hoodie told the teen that his brother was failing to get air into his lungs. “Logan!” he pleaded quietly, “You’re alright, I’m here. Please, please breath.” He inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to coach his brother through the simple task. He turned his head to shout for one of the adults, but Logan let out a whine of protest before he could. “What is it, Lo?” Virgil asked, “You’re scaring me, what’s wrong?!” The boy merely shook his head as he, finally, managed to take a gasping breath.
The next few moments were just Virgil relishing the sound of Logan supplying his panicked body with blessed air. He rocked them both slowly, letting his forehead rest against Logan’s soft hair. A warm liquid splashed against his hand, and he looked down to see a single drop of red. Logan let out a muffled groan, but Virgil was already holding his hoodie sleeve against his brother’s nose. The worry was evident on the older sibling’s face.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, searching Logan’s face and trying to catch his gaze.
“They were fighting again.” Logan said quietly, his voice somewhat muffled by Virgil’s sleeve. The angsty teen sighed,
“Of course they were.” He grumbled.
Silence fell between them. Logan let his head fall against Virgil’s chest, still letting the hoodie sleeve be held at his nose. Virgil was safe and Logan rejoiced at the feeling. The security of his brother’s arms around him was a sensation that he knew would never get old. No matter what happened, he would always have Virgil to hold onto, even if it wasn’t right away. The tension of the situation was beginning to melt, and Virgil’s pounding heart was returning to its normal anxious pace. Logan listened to it as he pressed closer. Virgil absentmindedly pressed a kiss to Logan’s hair as the younger Storm nuzzled closer.
“Do you want me to say something to them?” Virgil asked. Logan tensed before quickly shaking his head.
Talking about it meant thinking about the whys. If there was something the Storm boys avoided, it was remembering the whys. The bloody blanket under the bed was enough explanation as to why they avoided such moments of reminiscing. Virgil sighed,
“Okay.” There was a hint of relief in his voice that anyone else would’ve missed. Virgil didn’t like to think about him. The two boys sat in silence until Logan’s nose stopped bleeding and the tempting smells of supper were stronger than their discomfort of going downstairs.
Patton and Janus were talking cheerily as they set the food down on the large table. There were no chairs, of course, Remus had taken them all to construct some kind of fort/maze/altar in the backyard. Janus shouted for him again to bring them in and Remus, of course, responded by loudly beeping in morse code. He did it so quickly that even Logan had no clue what he said, although he was pretty sure he recognized the spelling of “hell” or something. Giving up with a grumble and a shake of his head, Janus turned to his honorary nephews and smiled,
“Right, shall we all just eat out in the living room?” Patton clapped his hands,
“Yes! Indoor picnic!” Janus shot him a fond look,
“I don’t believe that is accurate but whatever makes you happiest.” He set a pile of plates down on the table along with a bundle of silverware, “Roman!” He shouted, missing how Logan flinched slightly, “Dinner’s ready!” There was no reply and Janus sighed again, “Child.” He muttered under his breath.
Roman did come down after a few more minutes. The rest of the family had already started to help themselves to the delicious spread that Janus had meticulously put together. The fashionista looked grim, like he had something heavy on his mind. He stood stiffly in the doorway and Janus shot him a sideways glance. Virgil immediately noted the tension of the room but not as strongly as Logan did. While Virgil was attuned to reading a room for safety reasons only, Logan seemed to have the ability to feel the emotions of those around him. The boy’s hands gripped his plate tighter and Virgil crowded closer to him, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. Logan breathed steadily, his eyes flicking between the agent and his uncle.
“Nice for you to join us.” Janus said in a light tone. Roman and Logan both stiffened. Janus continued to fix Remus a plate, not looking at Roman and ignoring the fact that the younger twin had yet to come in.
“Thank you for cooking.” Roman replied, sounding just as stiff as he looked. Patton looked between the two adults before he glanced at his boys. Virgil seemed to decide that he and Logan had enough food and he gripped Logan’s wrist and pulled him towards the living room.
“Is there a problem?” Patton asked in a low tone when the boys were out of the room. Janus shrugged and Roman raised an eyebrow,
“I don’t know, Mr. D, is there?” He asked. Janus’ movements froze as the formal title fell from Roman’s mouth, coated with a generous amount of scathing sarcasm. Patton’s eyebrows shot up,
“Okay.” He breathed, “I don’t know what is going on and, frankly, I don’t want to be a part of it.” He adjusted his glasses, “But you two better think past whatever it is and more about the two children sitting just on the other side of this wall.” He picked up his plate and snagged some silverware, “Nothing you’re disagreeing about can be more important then making sure Logan and Virgil feel safe and cared for.” He walked out, leaving the two bickerers alone.
Virgil wasn’t looking when Patton walked in. He had his hands on Logan’s shoulders, looking deep into Logan’s face, speaking quietly. The younger boy was offering short, soft responses to whatever Virgil was saying. The two of them seemed to be discussing a heavy topic and the action seemed…familiar to them. Patton felt his heart shatter slightly and he let his foot fall heavier than usual to alert the boys of his approach. Virgil’s head whipped around, his gaze locking on Patton in an instant. Logan looked at him warily and Patton offered them both a smile.
“Doesn’t this just look delicious!” He exclaimed cheerily as he set down his plate on the coffee table and sat down next to Logan’s plate. The younger Storm seemed to realize that Patton was offering him a safety net, a space between Virgil and himself. The young boy took the spot quietly, pushing the food around his plate but anxiously shooting looks in the direction of the dinning room.
Janus finished cutting Remus’ chicken up into pieces so small that no ordinary person would have thought that someone could choke on them but Janus knew he was probably going to have to deal with that anyway. He set down the knife and placed Remus’ plate to the side, where the younger twin could find it and, most likely, ignore it in favor of seizing what was left of the whole chicken on the table. Roman stepped further into the room and Janus ignored him.
“Dee, what’s wrong?”
“Don’t call me that.” Janus said automatically, his voice flat.
“Then tell me what’s wrong!” Roman pouted, “You’re acting like a child about this.” Janus shot him a glare but didn’t retort the statement. He knew he was acting like a child but, at the moment, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Roman sighed and ran a hand down his face, “Seriously, Jan, what’s going on with you?” Janus shook his head mutely,
“You said yourself,” he finally mumbled, “it’s just me acting childish.” Roman crossed his arms,
“Yes, well, we can all see that; the question is why? You’re normally the least childish among us, it seems ridiculous that you’d suddenly get so worked up over something so small-”
Crash.
The plate that Janus had been holding slipped from his fingers and shattered across the floor. Roman jumped at the sound, eyes snapping to where Janus was standing, wide-eyed and breathing heavily. His hands trembled as he brought them up to tug at his collar,
“I’m sorry.” He gasped, not looking at Roman, “I’m sorry, I…” His chest shuddered. Roman’s demeanor shifted instantly,
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Janus?” He stepped carefully around the larger shards of broken plate, hearing smaller pieces crunching under his shoes. “Janus, can you look at me?” The agent didn’t respond, his expression was glassy, like he wasn’t really seeing what was in front of him.
Roman reached out and took his arm gently. Janus reacted like he’d been touched by a heated iron. He snapped his arm back and took a stumbling step back. His black dress socks were little defense against the shards, and he gasped in surprised pain as he accidentally stepped on one. Roman grabbed him again, keeping him from moving. Janus breathed shakily, his eyes finally meeting with Roman’s. The actor’s expression was creased with worry. Janus looked down,
“I’m standing on glass.” He said softly, “I think I cut my foot.” Roman’s eyes widened only a little before he nodded,
“Okay, just a sec.” He moved a few plates around on the table, crunching his way to the counter to put some of the food down. When he’d cleared enough space for Janus to sit on the table, he turned back to him. “On three.” Janus raised his eyebrows,
“What are you going to do? Carry me?” Roman smiled,
“Even I’m not strong enough to bundle you into my arms like a damsel in distress. No, you jump up. Like a lift in dancing.” Roman carefully placed his hands on Janus’ waist, feeling the still stuttering breaths that were leaving the man.
He counted quietly and Janus, graceful as ever, allowed himself to be gently deposited onto the table. His legs dangled as Roman stepped back, still crunching. Janus pulled off his sock and examined the bottom of his foot while Roman grabbed the broom that was conveniently leaning against the wall. The plate was swept up quickly but Roman muttered something about making sure that he vacuumed too later. Janus dabbed the cut on his foot with a napkin while Roman cleared away the mess. He sighed, prodding at the skin to make sure there wasn’t any ceramic stuck inside him. Roman rummaged around in the kitchen drawer before he returned with a small first aid kit. He leaned on the table next to Janus and opened it, pulling out a Band-Aid and some disinfectant. Janus normally would’ve rolled his eyes, but he sat very still and let Roman tend to the small cut. The fashionista looked up when he was done, stepping in front of Janus and blocking his path to freedom/avoidance.
“Want to tell me what’s wrong?” He asked softly. Janus didn’t look at him, he just scoffed, rolling his eyes. Then he got very still and very quiet. Roman didn’t push, he didn’t say anything more, just waited while Janus meticulously sifted through the pros and cons of letting Roman into whatever madhouse had taken residence in his mind. Then, like a battle had been waged and lost, Janus’ shoulders dropped and his head came forward to rest against one of Roman’s shoulders,
“Ten years.” He said softly, “Ten years and two days…you’d think after that long it wouldn’t…wouldn’t hurt so much anymore.” Roman raised a hand and gently began to rub it along Janus’ back. He didn’t say anything, just let Janus take the time he needed to process what he needed to process so he could say what he needed to say. “They’ve been calling me about it for almost two weeks. Not to offer condolences, mind you, just to remind me how long it’s been.” His voice held venom, “I hate them.” He spat raising his head up to look Roman in the eyes, “If they ever try to do anything when I die, I hope you sue them for all their worth.” The spark in his eyes died a moment later and Janus’ head once more found its place on Roman’s shoulder.
“Your mother was a wonderful woman.” Roman whispered, “I know I never met her but the way you talked about her…it was like she could move the very stars and moon with her smile.” Janus laughed weakly.
“You know, I never told you, but I never got to say goodbye.” He whispered, his throat becoming choked, “She…I was flying back to see her. They told me she was getting worse, but they sounded so nonchalant that I thought I had…had time.” He tried to laugh again but it sounded more like a sob, “She died while I was in the air. I didn’t even get the message until I landed. You want to know what it said?” He didn’t wait for Roman to answer, he only paused for himself to take a few breaths, “It said: ‘Hope you haven’t left yet, there’s no point now’. They treated her like a thing they could use. They were…they are monsters.” Roman hummed softly, putting both arms around Janus and trying to hold him tight enough that his friend’s shattered soul might stay together.
“She knew you loved her, Jan.” He offered lamely, knowing that the words were equivalent to putting old tape on a cracked pipe.
“You know?” Janus breathed, “I want to forgive them, not because they deserve it but because I don’t want to live hating them for the rest of my life. But, every time I think I’ve finally moved on, they do some shit like this and, suddenly, I’m seventeen again, sitting alone in the airport, with that voicemail playing in my ear over and over.”
Janus wasn’t one to cry. He didn’t sob hard or even weep, instead, he became numb. He dissociated; he became that good little robot that Logan often tried to become. This is what happened now. He didn’t return Roman’s embrace, he didn’t raise his head, he became very still, and his breathing evened out. His hands, which were resting on his lap, balled up into fists until Roman was sure his fingernails were digging into his palms. Roman didn’t say anything for a while, searching in vain for some magical phrase that would fix everything.
Of course, there wasn’t one. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his mind chasing back to the times on campus that Janus came to him, seemingly begrudging of Roman’s care. Janus, in his turn, watched over Roman in his own way. While Janus was wise to the ways of the world, Roman was bigger and stronger and, of course, beautiful, likeable, and popular. Janus kept Roman’s naivety from getting him killed and Roman kept Janus off anyone’s hit list. The two of them were more than just agent and actor, they were best friends and now was one of the rare moments when it showed. A private moment, of course, Janus wouldn’t be caught indulging in Roman’s soft, protective side unless he’d gotten stabbed.
“I’m here.” Roman said at last, “I know I’m not much, I know I’m not enough to stop the hurt, but I’m not going anywhere.” He promised, just like he had years and years ago, “I’m not going to leave you to fight your nightmares alone or to face a day without hope of a not-so-bleak tomorrow. I’m going to protect you, like I always have.” Janus didn’t move, he merely offered a soft hum to acknowledge that Roman had spoken. Then, after another long moment, Janus’ hands relaxed and Roman smiled to himself, knowing that, as far as Janus goes, that small act was equivalent to a blind trust fall. Roman would look at Janus’ palms later to assess the damage, for now, he would convince the man to drink some water, get some food, and be cuddled to death by his two adoring honorary nephews, the softest puffball in the world, the weird driver who was scarily protective over him, and his best friend from college who vowed to never leave him to fight his dragons alone, no matter how big they might be.