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“Don’t be so silly, little one. Of course it’s not your fault! Listen to me. You trust me, don’t you?”
“There’s nothing wrong with saying no. If you don’t want to play with them, little one, you shouldn’t. You don’t want them to join your game do you? It’s okay, just trust me.”
“Just tell them you didn’t do it. You didn’t break it. You can’t get in trouble. Don’t worry, little one, I’m here to keep you safe. Always. You can trust me.”
“Say that you did it, you just left it at home. You didn’t forget, you just didn’t put it in your bag. Trust me, listen to me, little one.”
“That boy? Goodness, little one, no! Trust me, you don’t like him, you can’t. Don’t be so silly. Don’t stop trusting me now. I just want to keep you safe.”
Morality’s hands are cold and firm across Thomas’ shoulders as he crouches in front of his bed, hands clasped on the sheets. His knees are starting to hurt, and his vision is clouded by the neverending wetness trickling from his eyes. He’s not sure what time it is. He wants to go to sleep, but he just can’t.
He’s sure Morality is usually warm. They were the last time. He was certain. Then again, Thomas thought he was certain about a lot of things.
“Come now, little one,” comes the low call of Morality, stroking gentle across the top of his back. Their fingers stutter when they reach his neck, picking lightly at a scabbed over pimple that festers there. They seem fixated on it, for just a moment, before Thomas feels them ripple with a shudder behind him, and the soft touch continues. “You should rest. There’s no use getting caught up in things that don’t matter.”
At least Morality’s voice is warm, that remains a constant.
And despite the fact that his heart is pounding, and Thomas doesn’t think he could sleep even if he tried — he listens. His legs are shaking when he finally stands, and Morality straightens behind him, rising from their odd little hunch.
The room is dark, and Thomas has school in the morning, and the longer he stands and stares at his neatly tucked bedsheets, the more drawn in he feels. But, he just has to ask, he has to know: “Why do I feel so scared?”
He doesn’t turn, doesn’t move from where his eyes have fixed onto his pillow. Morality crowds ever closer, their freezing palm laying over the scab once more. “You’re not,” they insist. Whilst caring, they leave no room for debate. Thomas wants to pry deeper, sink his claws into his question and let himself find an answer for once, but- “You’re not, little one. Why would you be scared? What is there to be afraid of? Nothing, there’s nothing. It’s just you and me, dearest. Come now, come on, you need to sleep. You must sleep. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll always keep you safe.” Their hands usher Thomas forwards, and whilst typically he would grumble and scoff at the incessant coddling, the sweetness of Morality’s tone wraps around his mind like fuzzy cotton wool. It makes him feel safe.
He’s trembling when he gets under the sheets, shivering like a leaf in the brisk autumnal breeze, and a cool nail runs down his cheek. It feels like being cut open. “You trust me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” Thomas croaks out, tugging his bedsheets up to his chin, breathing shallow. “Of course.”
“That makes me so happy, little one,” their hand turns to card through his hair, and Thomas’ eyes flutter closed. When their knuckles brush over Thomas’ forehead, he swears he feels the rough texture of scales across his skin, but when he blinks his eyes open, it’s just regular old Morality. In all his sweet, cardigan-wearing goodness. “Happier than you could possibly know.” Their hands retreat from Thomas’ head, clasping low over their hips, squirming. There’s sweat gathered on their brow, and distantly Thomas wonders if presenting to him like this for such an extended period of time has tired his morals out.
He would feel bad if he wasn’t so tired.
“Now, it really is time for you to go to sleep. Sleep tight, and dream sweetly, little one. Don’t let anybody tell you that you don’t matter. Always remember that to me, you will always matter most.” Morality nods solemnly, and as Thomas’ eyes close, slipping into blissful sleep, they begin to sink out. “I love you, so much.”
The words are spoken to an unhearing room, as Thomas is already asleep.
The next time Morality appears, they’re warm. Their fingers are solid and sweet when they tap across Thomas’ forehead. “Goodness me, kiddo, you’re working so hard!” They exclaim, clapping boisterously. It’s been a few weeks, and Thomas has mostly forgotten about their last interaction. He’s hunched over his desk, skimming his feet over the floor as he works tirelessly on his chemistry worksheet. Chemistry has always been his favourite class.
“Hm? Oh yeah, thanks,” he smiles, and Morality lights up.
“Just… keep thinking about this, okay? Just focus on your work, don’t let your mind wander too much!” They swing their legs, perched on the edge of the desk, glasses sliding down their nose. This is the Morality Thomas knows. They seem more like themself today. It’s usually the nights, or the brief moments of panic, that they get… different. Or maybe those moments are who they actually are, and they’re different here.
There he goes, directly disobeying his own morals, getting distracted. Letting his mind wander.
“Will do,” he salutes, shaking himself. And Morality smiles, bright and sunny, and sinks out.
They reappear two days later, as the moon broaches the sky, shrouded in clouds. Thomas fiddles with his sheets, mind racing. He doesn’t even notice when Morality rises up, but they must, because they step from the dark shadows of the corner of the room. Maybe they’ve always been here.
“What’s troubling you so much, little one?” A smooth, dulcet tone. Thomas snaps his neck up, craning where he lays. He drags his nails down his cheeks and the scratch is far from pleasant. Cool fingers wrap around his wrist before he can take his nails to his mouth, preventing him from chewing. “Don’t bite them, it won’t bring you any comfort.”
The mattress should dip when Morality sits down, but it doesn’t.
“You can tell me anything,” Morality speaks slowly, “I swear. I can keep a secret perfectly well, little one.”
“I’m scared,” Thomas manages, hating how small he sounds. But he’s alone, or mostly alone, in the comfort of his bedroom. Where else is a sixteen year old boy allowed to be scared? If not in the middle of the night in bed, then where?
Morality muses over this for a moment, their lips pulled into a thin line. Thomas worries he’s upset them, that they might run away and leave him truly alone. Then, they respond. “I know you are,” they mumble, “and I’m not sure how to make you stop.”
“Why am I so scared?” Thomas manages, clawing for answers. No one ever gives him a straight answer.
Morality’s spine straightens. “You- you’re not. Little one, there’s nothing to be scared of. You’re not scared,” the insistence in their voice does frighten Thomas. He feels much like a child being scolded. Morality softens, like they can feel his panic rising in his chest. “You know the story of the tortoise and the hare, don’t you?”
Thomas nods as best he can. Morality must know that he’s well aware of the old fable.
“Slow and steady wins the race,” Morality continues anyway, barely acknowledging Thomas’ nod. They hold their left wrist in the circle of their right hand fingers. “Sometimes, you have to use trickery and ingenuity to win over a stronger opponent.”
Thomas isn’t sure what this has to do with his current predicament. He says as much.
“Consider this a bedtime story, little one, you used to love those, didn’t you?” Morality’s cold hand presses over his forehead, and Thomas settles down. Now that he thinks about it, a distraction does sound good right about now. “The hare was boisterous, rushing to the finish line. He thought he could so easily defeat the tortoise. But the dear tortoise was diligent, it continued down the path at the same, steady pace. The hare, so proud, thought he could rest and still win. His ego was his downfall, and the tortoise won. The tortoise continued, in the face of everything, to prove a point. Slow and steady wins the race.”
Thomas lets his eyelids fall heavy. He can barely see Morality now. He can only just make out the curl of their hair, the blurriness of their glasses.
“Think of yourself like the turtle. You, little one, too shall use your tricks to succeed. You will succeed. I’ll make sure of it,” Morality’s voice grows shaky, and Thomas watches their eyes flick around. They speak faster now, “I promise. I will always protect you. You mean more to me than anything else. Anything. You are the most important person in the world. You are my world. And I love you more than life itself. I will always keep you safe. I beg of you, little one, don’t stop trusting me now.”
“I won’t,” Thomas murmurs, head far too quiet and eyes far too tired to read between the lines of Morality’s words. They’re sweet, and they make him feel fluffy and cared for. And all he can do is sleep. Sleep on this bed of cotton wool and bubble wrap. Safe and guarded from the outside world.
Morality is gone when he wakes up.
Their next meeting is a short one. Morality seems frenzied, almost crazed this time, in a way that they never are in the evenings. Sure, when they appear during the day, they’re a little hyperactive — but usually by sunset they’ve calmed significantly. This time, when Thomas turns over in bed, he sees Morality pacing back and forth in his room, rubbing at their left wrist furiously.
“Morality?” He mutters, half-asleep, and their head snaps to glare at him. The stare softens almost immediately, and they rush to his side, kneeling by the bed.
Their hands fan out over his sheets. “Little one,” they breathe, “I’m so sorry.”
“Huh?”
“I’m sorry,” Morality repeats, flicking their eyes over their shoulder. Thomas finds himself sleepily following their gaze. He can’t see anyone. “I- I might not be able to speak with you anymore.”
“Why not?” Thomas yawns, not quite understanding.
Morality continues in a hurry, “not like this, at least. I’m so sorry, dearest. I can’t come to your aid anymore. Not- not like this. Not in the night,” they swallow, and it’s thick with tears, “please forgive me.”
Thomas sniffles in response.
“You will still see me during the day, of course. But when I- when I come to you here, late- I can’t anymore,” they look behind them again and then cold hands are grabbing at Thomas’ bare arms. “Please don’t mention this to me after. Don’t ask me about it. I don’t- I don’t tend to remember our nightly conversations when the sun is up. The others are- they don’t approve of me coming to you so often. It’s complicated. You understand, of course you do. Oh, you’re so smart, little one. You understand me. Please, tell me one thing, do you trust me?”
Thomas throws his hand out, placing it on Morality’s left cheek. He strokes his thumb gently and smiles. What a strange dream. “‘Course I do.”
“Have you enjoyed our little nightly chats?”
“Mmhm,” Thomas yawns again.
“That’s all I needed to hear. You won’t see me, not for a long time. But remember I am always with you, little one. Always. I will always be here to keep you safe. I won’t let anything hurt you. I won’t. I promise.” They stand, and Thomas closes his eyes on another yawn. “I love you so much, Thomas.”
When he opens his eyes, Morality is gone, and someone is rising up in their place. It’s the Prince. Thomas knows he’s in for a night of supremely sweet dreams.
He doesn’t see Morality at night after that. For the first few months, it’s strange. Some nights Thomas’ room feels chillingly cold, and sometimes he’ll look up and swear he sees a glimmer of glowing yellow across the room. But it always disappears as soon as his eyes focus. So he chalks it up to needing more sleep. Morality during the day remains as prevalent as ever, so Thomas doesn’t really have any cause for concern. Because he trusts Morality. Morality loves him more than anything else in the world. Morality would do anything to protect him. And Thomas carries that fact with him wherever he goes.
Thomas doesn’t really think about Morality anymore. Well, he does, of course, just… differently. He has a proper name to put to the face now. He thinks of Patton. It’s Patton who bounds around his room during the day and retreats in the night. He’d never really questioned why Patton stopped coming to him in the evenings. He doesn’t even think about it. Why would he? He’s met so many parts of himself since then, back when he had just Morality, Logic, and the Prince. Now he has Patton and Logan and Roman. And the others that revealed themselves along the way. He has Virgil. And, in a way, he has to have Janus and Remus. He can’t get rid of them, even if he tried.
It’s strange, to have more than one side in his living room without a dilemma to solve. It’s even stranger to have one side in his bedroom. But when Thomas turns in his bed, moving to hug his pillow close to his chest, he sees them.
Patton, shrouded in shadow, yes, but undeniably Patton. He’s hovering awkwardly in the space between the bed and the closet, eyes locked onto Thomas. His hands are clasped in front of him.
“Pat?” Thomas manages to croak, clearing his throat. His arms are heavy with exhaustion, but they work, so he hauls himself to sit slumped against the headboard. “You good, buddy?”
“Hm?” Patton’s infatuated stare falters, and his smile is hesitant. Something is off. The room is cold. “I’m quite alright, thank you,” he goes to fix his wrists, circles them as though to straighten something out. There’s nothing there to tug on.
Thomas adjusts his seating, rolling his shoulders and reaching for his bedside table to flick the lamp on. Patton stops him, icy palms halting his hand in a flash. “Are you sure..? What- what are you doing here?”
Patton swallows thickly. He seems different.
“I was hoping we could… talk. Like we used to,” he hazards. Thomas tilts his head. They talk all the time. They’d talked just that afternoon. Like we used to. Like they had when he was a child? “Do you remember that?”
The mattress should dip when Patton sits down, but it doesn’t.
And all at once, Thomas does. He remembers. Not clearly, not really. But he remembers those cold hands, the way Morality always slowed in the evenings. Like an old dog. He nods the affirmative and blinks. There’s not much to say. “What did you want to talk about?”
Patton goes quiet. His glasses are a little blurry around the edges, his eyes a little too sharp. His cardigan remains diligently tied around his shoulders. He’s shivering. “I missed you,” he finally says. Thomas goes to interject, they see each other all the time. “I missed you so, so much, little one. I’m sorry I went away.”
“Pat- what’s going on?” There’s a bubble of anxiety squirming in Thomas’ stomach, and god, Virgil must be able to feel it too.
Patton smiles sadly. “I hope you kept it, all the love I have for you. I hope you kept that in your busy head, little one. I hope you never forgot how much I adore you. Please tell me you never forgot that my only desire was to keep you safe. Keep you protected.”
“Patton, I’m confused,” Thomas gulps, “you’re scaring me a little bit.”
“Why?” Patton asks, his voice quavering, “there’s nothing to be afraid of. Nothing at all.”
Thomas reaches out a bleary hand to place on Patton’s shoulder, and he trembles at the touch. “Why did you stop coming?” He asks, though he can’t be sure why. He’s certain Patton had told him, but he just can’t remember.
Patton swallows again. “Do you remember the story of the tortoise and the hare?”
Of course Thomas does. He nods. Patton smiles at him.
“I’m the tortoise,” he hums, but it’s not melodic. It’s nothing like Patton. Thomas doesn’t know who this is, but it’s not Patton. He flinches away, and Patton chases the touch for half a second before sinking in on himself, hunched. “I’m a failed tortoise. I thought my tricks could lead me to victory. And I was wrong. Look at where it’s gotten me, little one.”
Thomas is gnawing at his lip. He’s not sure when it started to bleed, but his mouth tastes like pennies. He takes a hand to his mouth, ready to chew, and Patton takes his hand away. It’s rough like sandpaper, but his skin appears normal. “Don’t bite,” Patton murmurs. “Do you trust me?”
“I-” Thomas isn’t so sure, “of course I do.”
Patton's smile grows, but it’s not in his eyes. His eyes are wet and wide and sad. “That means so much to me,” he confesses lowly, “you mean so much to me, little one. I love you more than life itself, more than you could ever possibly comprehend. All I’ve ever wanted is to keep you safe. Can you see that?”
“Yes,” Thomas answers quickly, heart pounding. What’s going on?
“How do you feel about the different kinds of love, little one?” Patton asks, and it dawns on Thomas that little one shouldn’t be what Patton calls him. Morality called him that, in the night, and yes, Morality is Patton. But he was (begrudgingly) Patton’s kiddo. Only in the dark was he the little one. Only as a child. And here Patton is once again, in the dark, after all these years, still insisting that Thomas is his little one. Like he needs to be protected.
Thomas can barely keep up in a confusing conversation with the sides at the best of times. And now, sleep deprived and exhausted and befuddled, he’s following even less. “I don’t understand,” he manages, voice hoarse and frightened. Something is so, so wrong.
“Love, in all its forms. Familial, and romantic, and such. I don’t know how to explain the love I have for you. It runs so much deeper,” Patton sniffles, “I don’t think there’s a word for it.”
Thomas doesn’t have anything to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all.
“I don’t know how to-” Patton draws in a shuddering breath, still holding Thomas’ hand in his own. He has both his palms around Thomas’ one, cradling him in a way. One on top, one below. A bit like a sandwich. If he wasn’t so unsettled, Thomas would probably find the thought funny. “I don’t know how to deal with the fact that you don’t love me back.”
“Of course I love you, Pat,” Thomas insists, brows furrowing. Is that what this is about? Patton feeling unloved?
Patton shakes his head, and it looks like his glasses glitch a bit. When he blinks, once, twice in rapid succession, his eye twitches. Thomas swears he sees a flash of yellow. “No, you don’t. And I want to tell you that it’s okay. That I don’t mind. That you can hate me all you want, forever, because I will always love you. I want to tell you that it doesn’t hurt, that everything issss fine. But that’s a lie even I can’t tell.”
Patton twitches in place and looks away. Thomas blinks. Something clicks into place.
“Janus?”
When Patton turns to look at him again, it’s not Patton at all. Thomas wants to believe he saw Patton physically change, skin rippling and changing, scales popping into place. At the same time he wants to believe there was no transformation at all. One moment Patton was there, holding his hands, and the next it was Janus in his place.
The gloves are cold against Thomas’ skin.
Janus is smiling at him. Sad and soft and worried. There’s something melancholic in the air. He looks afraid, distantly. His eyes are wet and wide. The yellow one glows a little. He’s not wearing his hat. Everything is weird.
Janus doesn’t say anything, just drags his thumb across Thomas’ knuckles. Thomas doesn’t flinch away, he doesn’t move — he’s barely even breathing. He dares not to, lest he frighten Janus off.
The implications begin to settle, the puzzle pieces slotting together. Thomas sucks in a deep lungful of air. He doesn’t pull away. “Janus…” He tries again, but comes up short when looking for the words to finish his sentence.
“Do you still trust me?”
Desperation.
Silence.
“I thought as much,” Janus shakes his head and pulls his palms from Thomas’ own, coming up to cradle his face, to stroke over his scales. Thomas moves slowly to flick his lamp on, and the room is cast in a golden glow. “I’m sorry.”
It tastes strange, coming from Janus’ lips. Like nothing Thomas has ever had. It’s not sweet, nor bitter, just new. It’s sincere.
“Why?” Thomas asks. He already knows the answer.
“For deceiving you,” Janus hums, the death of a laugh hanging on his words. “For everything. I failed you, and I’m sorry. I couldn’t keep you safe. I promised you I would, and I didn’t. And you trusted me. And- And I’m sorry.”
“Jan…” Thomas doesn’t know what to say. Isn’t that happening a lot? What is there to say?
“I love you so much, Thomas,” Janus rumbles, sounding blubbery and upset as well as firm. “So much, it makes me sick. I don’t understand how the others could possibly put anyone before you. I don’t understand how they could ever find anything more important than you. You’re everything to me. I love you more than life itself, and when I watch you hurting, it feels like someone is ripping my heart out of my chest.” Janus is scrambling at the front of his collar now, tearing at his capelet until it flutters off of his shoulders, wafting to the floor where it dissolves away.
“Truly,” Janus grimaces, “I don’t understand. I don’t understand what I did wrong. I know in recent years I haven’t been… well, I haven’t given a good impression. But way back… when I had to leave. When I stopped visiting, I don’t know what I did wrong. I don’t understand. I just- love you, so damn much. Little one, I don’t know what to do with myself. I just- I want you to know just how much I care for you. Nothing else is more important to me.”
Thomas reaches out again, and touches Janus’ shoulder. He’s freezing cold. “Janus, I-” He can’t just keep saying the side’s name, it isn’t getting him anywhere. When Thomas swallows, he gulps back his fear. “As a kid, at night, it was always you?”
Janus doesn’t reply.
“Why did you pretend?”
Janus scoffs. “Why do you think? Would you listen to a snake?” He raises an eyebrow. They both know Thomas wouldn’t. Thomas frowns. “I had to let you know. I had to make sure you knew. I had to tell you how deeply I care for you. I had to tell you I was always here, keeping you safe. Watching from the sidelines, staying in the shadows, protecting you.”
Thomas tightens his hold around Janus’ shoulder. He’s shaking so much, and Thomas just wants it to stop. Stop, stop being so afraid. Stop, can’t you see I care about you? Stop, don’t you know I’m learning to trust you? Stop, can’t you see I hear you?
“Slow and steady wins the race,” Janus murmurs, “I thought eventually, if I just kept going — if I just stayed on course, I could win. Win a seat at the table, win your trust, win your affections. I don’t know what this feeling is. I just know I’d turn the world on its axis to make you happy, and I’d tear everyone to shreds to keep you safe.”
“You didn’t fail,” Thomas breathes, tired yet alert. Janus’ hands tremble in his lap, when did they fall there? Maybe Thomas isn’t as alert as he thinks. “You didn’t,” he says in response to Janus’ sceptical look. “I’m sorry I pushed you away.”
“It’s alright,” Janus lies, “you never have to apologise to me, for anything. I have already forgiven you. I could never truly hold anything against you, Thomas. When I knew it wasn’t safe for me to continue to visit, I was perfectly contented to observe from the dark. I did all I could to protect you. A little lie here, a wash of denial there. Anything to keep you safe.”
Thomas swallows. He’s never felt so scared. He’s never been so loved. Sometimes love is a feeling that transcends labels. He’s not sure he could label Janus’ sentiment if he tried. It’s not romantic, it’s not platonic, it’s so much more than familial.
“I think you should sleep now,” Janus nods down towards the bed, stealing the heat from Thomas’ hand still on his shoulder. “Rest will serve you well.”
Thomas listens. It’s the least he can do, isn’t it? Silently he goes, laying back in bed, sinking into his pillows. It feels like heaven. Janus touches his cheek, and it feels like being cut open. Sliced into. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling.
Eyes closing, mind whirring, Thomas wonders how he could possibly sleep now? He has so many questions, so many things to talk about. He has so much to say, how is he meant to drift off?
“Later,” Janus murmurs, stroking through his hair. Like he can read Thomas’ mind. Maybe he can. “Sleep now. We can discuss later. I promise. You trust me, don’t you?”
Miraculously, Thomas says, “yes. Of course I do.”
And Janus smiles.
“I love you, Janus.” The words are slurred and dreary, thick with sleep. Maybe this has all been a dream. Janus has half a mind to mutter that it is into Thomas’ ear. A little denial never hurt anybody. Right?
Instead, Janus presses his lips to Thomas’ hairline. He starts to sink out.
“I love you so much, little one.”
And once more, the words are spoken to an unhearing room, for Thomas is already asleep.