Work Text:
I need you
'Cause the battle's inside
Inside
And the trouble's inside
Inside of me
And everything's fine
Outside
Virgil's in pain all the time. It only varies in intensity and occasionally, location. It is a part of him, as much as his green eyes or left-handedness or obsession with Mothman and Evanescence. The eye shadow smeared under his eyes cover his dark circles, but there is no need to cover up his pain, because it is everywhere, it is encompassing.
And Virgil learned a long time ago that people don't want to hear about it. People don't care about their pain. People don't care that he needs a break to sit down, that he can't wear just any sneakers (they have to have support in the middle, and he's grown accustomed to the weird looks he gets sometimes, as he awkwardly tries to bend shoes in half in the store, trying to check). The most anyone usually does is tell him to take pain meds, but all he has is what can be found over the counter, and you can't take as many as he would need to. That's how you mess up your internal organs, and Virgil refuses. Their body is already messed up, they don't need to make it worse.
His parents tell him sometimes, what it was like when he was a baby. On the one hand, his mother complains that he cried after his surgery, and she had to hold him all the time or he'd scream. As if he was nothing but an inconvenience, and she couldn't understand why he was being so needy. Like babies don't feel pain. On the other hand, they clucked sympathetically, telling him that when they visited a specialist, there was another family there, another set of parents who didn't want their child's surgery to be done. I just don't understand how they could be so cruel to their baby, she tells Virgil over the phone, oozing faux shock and distress. It reminds Virgil a bit of an angler fish, dangling bioluminescence in front of their face, just to try and devour them whole. Of course we got you the surgery, sweetie! We wanted you to be set up for success!
But it's not success. Virgil sighs. Getting lost down memory lane can only do so much to distract him from the pain slowly gnawing at his feet and ankles, to say nothing of the pain stabbing his lower back. He leans over the grocery cart, succeeding in a slight decrease in back pain. Logan looks up from the cans of beans (there are so many kinds of beans, and Logan seems to like getting a variety. Virgil has heard him refer to bean tok multiple times now, and it always makes them smile. Their DM thread on Tiktok is always an interesting contrast. Logan mostly sends long-form content, discussions on current events, medical things that apply to one or both of them, cute gay videos, or food tips. Virgil, on the other hand, sends a constant stream of memes, cosplay videos, and fandom edits. And music. So much music. He's converted Logan to appreciating Katherine Howard in SIX the Musical and he's not stopping there.)
Logan frowns.
"Virgil," he says, coming back to the cart. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," Virgil says through gritted teeth. He's starting to sweat through his hoodie. They're in agony. The rest of the store is going to suck. Not to mention, there's an alarm that keeps going off. He thinks it's something about a back door being left open. If it goes off one more time, he wants to rip the alarm out of the door with his bare hands and squash it like a bug. Prickles keep rolling over his skin, leaving him unsteady and vaguely sick. They hate sensory overwhelm so much.
"Are you sure?" Logan asks, pausing. He looks concerned. Square-framed glasses come closer into Virgil's field of vision as Logan inspects them. "You can go back to the car, it's no trouble."
Memories of being sent to his parents' car in disgrace, even during the height of summer or the below zero chill of winter (and not allowed to turn on the car, to save the battery), spill through Virgil's mind and he shakes his head, so quickly he feels lightheaded.
"No, that's okay," Virgil says quickly. "I'm good."
"If you're sure," Logan finally agrees. "But if that changes, please tell me."
Virgil nods, still shaky. Logan turns away and continues, letting Virgil push the cart behind him. It helps to have something to hold onto.
It feels like Logan is skipping past aisles. Virgil squints at him, suspicious, but Logan is as calm as ever, following an internal list. Virgil's pain ratchets higher as they near the dairy section. It feels like their legs might collapse underneath them.
"Can-" Virgil clears their throat. Anxiety squeezes their heart hard. If Logan tells him that he can just push through it, Virgil thinks he might cry. "Can we hurry up...maybe? If- if not, that's okay, I just-" Virgil swallows. "It hurts," he finally finishes in a tiny voice. It feels like his pulse is a hummingbird in his ears.
"Of course," Logan says at once. He comes closer, cupping Virgil's face with one hand. Virgil leans into the touch, trying to breathe through his nose. Logan's palm is warm and steady and comforting. To Virgil's eternal horror, he feels tears prick his eyes.
"Do you think you can make it through the checking out process?" Logan asks. "If not, that's okay. We'll figure it out."
"I think I can," Virgil whispers. In reality, they aren't actually sure, but they'd rather try that than anything else.
Logan helps him push the cart, tugging the end so that Virgil isn't stuck pushing the heavy thing, not with its full weight. It makes warmth blossom in Virgil's chest. For a change, there's no line at the self-checkout, and Logan tries to hurry. Virgil can see it, and it brings more tears to their eyes.
His feet hurt. Not nearly as bad as they have in the past (he remembers well both the week of agonized numbness and the time he was forced to stand 10+ hours with no break, only to collapse afterward, unable to put weight on his feet), but still pretty up there. He keeps shifting from foot to foot, trying to give himself some kind of reprieve.
Normally, Virgil likes to help Logan empty the cart, likes to help with the process. They try, but it's difficult and slow. Logan does the lion's share of the work. Guilt burns, a sullen coal in Virgil's belly. He should help more. Logan already has to do so much for him. It's not fair to Logan.
"Come on, sweetheart," Logan says softly. Virgil looks up with bleary eyes. When did Logan finish checking out? Logan chivvies him along, not quite rushing him, but not lingering.
"Get in the car, Virgil," Logan says. "Sit down, okay?"
"But-" Virgil protests, looking at the mostly full cart. "I- you need help-"
"I've got it," Logan says firmly, but not unkindly. "Please, Virgil? You would greatly help me if you sat down."
"Okay," Virgil grumbles. Logan's already opened the passenger side door, and Virgil gingerly slides in. While his pain is nowhere near gone, the agonizing intensity dials down immediately, and Virgil groans, letting his head fall back against the seat. He can hear Logan in the back, the sound of plastic bags crinkling, things jumbling against each other.
"There we go," Logan says, after returning the cart and sliding into the driver's seat. "How are you feeling now, Virgil?"
Virgil bursts into tears.
"Oh," Logan says, alarmed. "Virgil, what's the matter?" He makes an abortive motion toward Virgil, like he wants to pull them into a hug, and Virgil practically lunges to rest against Logan's chest, sobbing harder when Logan's arms come around them.
"I'm sorry," Virgil blubbers. "I'm sorry, I don't- you shouldn't have to put up with me, I ruined it, I-"
"You didn't ruin anything," Logan says. He sounds utterly baffled. "What do you think you ruined, Virgil? The shopping trip? We still got almost everything we needed. We can go out again another day for the rest."
"But I- I made you leave early," Virgil objects, his voice watery.
"I want to know when you're in pain," Logan says. He coaxes Virgil to sit up a bit, so he can peer into their eyes. "I want to know when you're in pain before you hit catastrophe levels of pain. If you need a break, I want to know, so that you can have one. I want to know how to plan our shopping trips, or other trips, so that you are not in so much pain."
"But I don't want to be a burden," Virgil says, voice cracking. "Or an inconvenience, or-"
"You aren't," Logan states. "You aren't a burden. You aren't an inconvenience. I can't always finish excursions myself, either. There are plenty of times that I've gotten sensory overload from the crowds, or the noise, or the lights. There are multiple times I have had to cut a trip short because I've gotten a migraine. It's okay."
"Really?" Virgil asks, trembling. Don't be so dramatic, his parents spit at him in his memory, and he nearly flinches. "I- I might be exaggerating-"
"I know you," Logan says dryly. "If anything, you do the opposite. And besides, even if objectively, your pain wasn't high, you are still experiencing it on a terrible level. You are still in a lot of pain. You aren't exaggerating that. You looked like you were about to wilt in the store."
"Oh," Virgil says, drooping a little. His cheeks feel very flushed, all of a sudden. Logan's hand comes up, resting on Virgil's head, letting his fingers comb through Virgil's hair. It's terribly soothing, especially after Virgil's breakdown.
"Would you like to go home and rest?" Logan asks. "I can join you, once I have put away the groceries." Virgil hesitates, biting back the insistence that he can help.
"Yes, please," they say instead. "I would really like that." Logan presses a kiss to the top of Virgil's head.
"Then let's do that," Logan says, and starts the car.