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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 1 year

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Cold Comforts

Prompts: Sorry if this is too much, but do you think you could maybe do another hurt Roman fic. I absolutely eat that stuff up. My idea what the after POF Roman just disappears. He’s not in his room, the mind palace, the house. The others think they’ve checked the imagination to its full extent, but they miss one part (but you can’t necessarily blame them). Roman has trapped himself in a hidden and/or invisible castle on his half of the imagination. Slowly, he begins to fade/disappear, believing the others would be better off without him. But, as he goes, so do the things that belong to him. Items in his room start to go missing. Small trinkets turn to computers and posters. Computers and posters turn into chairs and furniture. Furniture turns into literally every single thing in his room, and then that turns into the room itself. Roman won’t disappear until everything he’s tied to does. That means his room disappears, the gifts he’s given others vanish, the videos he’s featured in start to glitch and have to be taken down, his writing and art are nowhere to be found. Everything he’s made in the imagination goes poof, but that also means that castle he’s made to ‘protect’ himself. Since that’s last things that needed to go, Roman is on the brink of disappearing forever when everyone finds him. I would write it but I just don’t have a lot of motivation right now, and I’m so tired my writing comes off as gibberish. I don’t mind any ships, but I’m definitely leaning towards found family and I really love how you write the creativitwins. That’s all I really have. Throw however much angst in as you want. I just like projecting onto imaginary characters :) thanks - anon

hi again! i’m still obsessed with your Roman angst writing. Amazing, by the way ☺️ I hope you don’t mind me asking for more. So how about some Logince where Logan and Roman have a heated argument that results in Logan snapping at Roman. Roman is scared off by that and sinks out while Logan regrets his actions. Roman then avoids Logan all day and doesn’t talk to him. Until later in the middle of the night when Logan finds Roman crying on the kitchen floor and eating Crofters. Logan then takes that chance to make things right and learns a lot more about Roman. Some concerning stuff and some interesting stuff. I hope that isn’t too much! Keep up the good writing, friendo! - lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues, ducking out kind of

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 5151

Some arguments between Logan and Roman stay as little bits of contention.

Logan will bring up a point and Roman will read it wrong; either he'll make a joke that won't be received well or he'll take it as an insult when it wasn't intended that way. Logan will explain what he meant and the two of them will settle a little, at least until they can get back into the flow of the conversation and move past it.

Or Roman will let slip a comment he should've kept to himself and Logan will draw himself up, at least until Roman can apologize and claw it back, or he'll smirk and let loose a quip of his own and forgiveness will go unstated. They'll bounce off of each other until the conversation gets back on the rails.

This isn't one of those arguments.

"If you were capable of seeing reason, we wouldn't be in this position in the first place."

"Oh, and you think that just because you're Logic that you hold the monopoly on rationality?"

"Yes. By definition."

Roman throws his hands up, almost knocking over some of the papers. "So why do the rest of us even bother? Matter of fact, why do you even bother with the rest of us? If we're so unteachable and ridiculous?"

"Believe me, I've had the same thought many times." Logan juts his chin upward and looks down his nose at Roman. "Although some of you are more teachable than others."

"Oh, here we go again! 'Roman's stupid, Roman's dumb, Roman's un-teachable—'"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to! It's written all over your stupid prideful face every single time I say something that doesn't line up perfectly with what you want to hear!"

"Resorting to exceedingly childish insults isn't making you look any better."

"Yeah, well, what else am I supposed to do?"

"Perhaps take a breath and listen to me so then I can explain why you're wrong."

"But I'm not wrong. Maybe you should take a breath and listen to me."

Logan laughs, loud and cruel. "I should listen to you? When I need to fill my head with nonsense I have much better sources for it."

"Nonsense?"

"Yes, Roman, nonsense. This is nonsense, right now. We should have been finished about half an hour ago but you keep insisting that—"

"Because you don't know about this!" Roman gestures emphatically to the papers scattered about the table. "You don't know how to do this, you don't know how to come up with things like I do, so you have to come to me! And you have to listen to me!"

"I don't have to do anything, Roman."

"Well, if you want a halfway decent idea, then yeah, actually, you do."

Logan's mouth twitches and his hand tenses on his pen. "Arrogance is not going to do a better job of convincing me than insults."

"I'm not being arrogant, I'm telling you the truth."

"Thinking yourself irrevocably better than someone else is arrogance. Or have you somehow forgotten the meaning of the word?"

"I know what it means, don't patronize me. How come you get to be Logic and say that no one else is capable of rational thought but I can't say I'm Creativity and thus I'm naturally better at coming up with things?"

"Because I didn't say that no one else was capable of rational thought. I said that you of all people are incapable of seeing reason."

"What the hell's the difference?"

Logan smiles smugly, sitting up a little straighter. "Perhaps if you were capable of understanding reason I wouldn't need to explain it to you."

Roman growls, his hands curling into fists and Logan raises a scolding eyebrow.

"Careful, Roman. You're letting your emotions get the better of you. Again."

"I'm letting—you're antagonizing me!"

"I'm not sure you know what that word means either."

"I don't—don't you sit there and tell me I don't know what an antagonist is," Roman splutters, pointing a finger like a dagger at Logan, "and you don't have the high ground right now either."

"Why not?"

"You're insulting me as often as I'm insulting you!"

"So you can admit you've been insulting me."

Roman fumes. "So have you!"

"No. I have been pointing out facts."

"Insulting facts."

"Facts are most often insulting to people who lack the intellectual capacity to understand them."

"Lack the—are you capable of going a single sentence without calling me stupid?"

"Go a single sentence without being stupid and I won't have to."

"And here I thought you were supposed to be useful."

The room stills. Logan's face freezes for a moment and Roman winces internally. That's a button he shouldn't have pressed. Sure, maybe he wanted to needle Logan for making him so upset but he shouldn't have gone there. That's a sore spot that hasn't healed yet. He should apologize. He should apologize right now.

"I—"

"I am useful," Logan says, his voice dangerously low.

"Logan, I—"

"You, on the other hand," he continues, ignoring Roman's attempt to apologize, "are nothing but a waste of time."

Any words Roman may have had in his throat choke off. He gulps around empty air, staring at Logan.

"Are you capable of thinking of anyone but yourself? Do you understand that you are not so important that everything revolves around you?" Logan hasn't stood up, but the way he's just glaring at Roman makes it feel like he's looming over him. "You think yourself, what, some great presence or some great menace that I have to vanquish?"

Scrabbling for words in a filling grave, Roman grabs a chunk of dirt that buries him alive.

"I'm not Remus."

Logan's eyes flash dangerously. "No, Roman. You are not Remus. Remus has a function. Remus serves a purpose. And Remus, despite what you think of him—"

I love him. I love him, he's my brother, he's my Remus. I'm sorry, Re, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry.

"—is actually capable of listening to reason. You, Roman, you are not. At best you are a nuisance and a mild inconvenience, one easily dealt with and not worth the time it takes to do so."

He takes a moment to collect himself.

"I am busy. I cannot afford to waste time on you. If you are so determined to thrill me with impossible feats, go and find somewhere you are wanted."

Roman's chest burns.

He stares wordlessly at Logan, who just stares back at him. Against all hopes he wants Logan to take it back, the way he was going to, to apologize or realize what he just said or something, something, but he doesn't. He just stares at Roman and glares and then he turns away.

He packs up his things and leaves.

Roman is left alone.

He stares after him for a long time, still in shock. The words bounce around and around his head like bullets ricocheting off metal plates only to score grazes in every surface. They replay over and over and over until they threaten to swallow him whole.

He's not stupid. He's not stupid. He knows that there are ways to draw attention to himself that aren't good and that he—he can be a nuisance sometimes. And in being a nuisance, he's cultivated an atmosphere where the lack of him is to be looked forward to. But he—he's not stupid. He knows that where that comes from is the opposite; everything he's done, every part of the persona he's crafted, is in defiance of that invisibility.

This isn't a revelation, he realizes, but the difference between knowing and knowing. The kind that gets sobbed into your pillow in the dead of night.

And in that petty, spiteful, semantic kind of defiance that children are so often accused of, he sinks out to his room because that's where Patton said he wants him to stay.

He stumbles around the room in a state of shock, clumsy and inelegant and utterly irredeemable, knocking into his bookshelf and his desk and almost tripping over a notebook he left lying on the floor. He strips off the prince costume and throws it away like it burns to touch, staggering to the bed in nothing but undershirt and boxers and crawling under the covers.

He shouldn't be doing this. He's just proving Logan right. But he doesn't want to be something other than he is right now and if Logan thinks he's a stupid child that throws temper tantrums and sulks when he doesn't get his way, then he's allowed to curl up into a ball and clutch his hand to his chest. It's still hurting, the words still dragging themselves over his exposed nerves, and he curls up around it like he could offer it protection.

He should go to someone, he knows. They've all been trying to get better about asking for help and support. He should get up and go—but who would he go to?

Patton would want to hear everything that happened and he'd be scolded for being so mean to Logan. Patton would make him go apologize right then and there and he doesn't think he could bear going anywhere near Logan right now.

Virgil would take Logan's side immediately, he's sure of it. Virgil calls him stupid all the time, he'd probably be happy that someone finally told you like it is, Princey, deal with it.

Janus would take Logan's side too. Not because he'd necessarily agree with him—even though he would—but because it's not Roman's side.

Remus…Remus would hate him.

A pained noise leaves the safety of the covers and Roman only belatedly realizes it's him. He doesn't want to go and expose himself anymore to the possibility of being hurt. He wants to run away and lick his wounds and be upset all by himself. He doesn't want to be accused of being attention-seeking and overdramatic and all of that, doesn't want to be lectured and scolded and then—only then—offered the barest scraps of comfort like a starving animal being tossed a bone. He doesn't want to be hurt and then have them say it's for his own good. He doesn't want that, he doesn't want that, he doesn't want that.

He wants someone to just come and hold him. To say it's okay that he's upset—not even that he was right or that Logan shouldn't have said that or even that it's all going to be okay.

He just wants someone to comfort him. It doesn't have to be big or sweeping or anything, they don't have to stay for a long time, they don't—it doesn't have to be large or—or complicated, he doesn't—he just wants a hug, okay? Or not even a hug, it doesn't have to be a hug, it can just be a touch or something—or not even that, it can just be a—a look, or a nod or—okay, it doesn't even have to be that, okay? He just—he just wants—

He just wants, okay?

Roman's eyes start to grow heavy and he curls up tighter, limp and aching fingers brushing against his face as he almost nuzzles into his hand. He moves his head until he can get his nose tucked into the space under his thumb and feel the shuddering of his own breath against his palm. Oh, he wants and wants and wants and in the safety of the covers he can pretend.

"Shh," he mumbles in a half-voice that he's more thinking than saying, "shh, shh, it's okay. It's okay."

He brushes his lips against the skin there and it almost feels like a kiss.

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay, shh…it's alright. It's okay. It's okay, it's okay." He does it again, trying to narrow his focus down to just that, the gentleness of the touch and the shaking voice from his own throat. "It's alright. Shh, it's alright."

His fingers twitch from a small gust that blows under the blanket and he moves, pressing it deeper into the chasm between his chest and the bed and lets his breath blow warm and stuffy over the skin again.

"Shh-shh-shh," he warbles in broken half-tones, "it's okay, it's okay, it's okay."

Slowly, he works himself back from the brink, mumbling the half-comfort to his hand until the thought of moving no longer threatens to tear him apart. He keeps at it as he drags himself from beneath the covers, as he drags on a t-shirt and shorts, mumbling that it's okay, we just have to go get something to eat, then we can come back and sleep. He keeps the hand pressed to his chest, holding his breath as he creeps down the stairs.

It's late. Well past midnight. The others are likely gone to their separate corners of the Mindscape. Had he the wherewithal to notice he might feel ridiculous, stealing away like a thief in the night as he makes his way to his own kitchen, but all he has space for is the lifeline of comfort that he still murmurs in the darkness.

"Just a little further," he mumbles, "almost there."

The kitchen looms in sharp lines and cold surfaces. He lumbers in and goes to the cabinet, reaching up for the one food he knows he can eat. The fingers on his useful hand brush against the cool glass of the Crofter's bottle and he takes it down, slumping to the floor and curling up, only belatedly realizing he didn't grab a spoon and groping around until he can get one.

It's his jar, almost empty, but just enough left that if he eats it he can make it until morning.

The spoon clinks and rattles as he props the jar up in his lap, eating clumsily until he can scrape the spoon around the edges and get the last of it. He starts crying somewhere in the middle and he only notices because it starts to taste salty.

Almost done, he thinks to his hand, almost there. It's okay. Shh, shh, it's okay.

He's just about to throw the empty jar away and skulk back to his room when the stairs creak.

Don't come here. Oh, god, please don't come in here.

The footsteps get closer. He curls up tighter, thinking maybe he won't be seen in the dark. They get closer.

A shadow looms in the sliver of light from the window.

Don't see me. Please don't see me.

A figure rounds the corner and stops, staring down at him. Its eyes narrow behind glasses as it sees the jar clutched in Roman's hands.

Logan doesn't get the chance to say anything before Roman is gone.

He drops into some random part of the Imagination and just runs. His bare feet cry out in protest as he runs over jagged rocks and sharp stones but he pushes onward. His hand lies useless in the wind, just aching from the memory of harsh words and the panic of being discovered by Logan. The frightened animal that lives in his brain digs its teeth into the soft part of his heart and makes him run faster, faster, faster.

Somewhere he's wanted. Somewhere he's wanted. Somewhere he's wanted.

Unbeknownst to him, the Imagination is building him something. A tall tower, high enough that its head loses itself in the clouds, invisible save for the way clouds can't pass through it, where he can curl up in a small room and be far away from everyone else. It waits until he collapses from sheer exhaustion, carrying him up, up, up, closing itself around him until he's locked in.

Roman doesn't notice any of that. He's too busy curled around his hand again, trying to murmur to it, comfort it, drag himself out of this ache again. He chokes on the words it's okay and it's alright and so he gasps out shh, shh, shh.

Sobs force their way out of his throat and it just hurts. He keeps trying, struggling to shush them, to shush his hand, to shush himself, to give himself something, anything, just to make it stop.

But his hand is just a hand and the pain is just pain. There's no tragedy in it, no pity in it, nothing redeemable or salvageable from the mess he's made.

He really is stupid.

* * *

A jar, discarded and empty on the kitchen floor. It clinks as it rolls over the boards until it comes to a stop, resting in the shadow of the stove.

Its label, half rubbed away from being handled, still clings stubbornly to the glass. One of the letters is still visible, just slightly, the single 'R' barely more than an outline in the faint light from the windows.

The lid is still up on the counter, laid on its back, cold and alone on the flat surface. The jar is somewhere else, air blowing through the empty spaces where it should be.

It fades away as the morning sun dawns, still empty.

* * *

"Hey, Pat," Virgil calls as he walks downstairs, "have you seen Roman?"

Patton frowns, glancing around the living room. "No, I haven't. Why?"

"Something really weird is happening and I think it's his fault."

"What's going on?"

Virgil comes into the kitchen and holds up his phone. One of their videos is playing but as they watch, it starts to glitch, skipping back and forth as though someone's dragging the slider.

"Huh. That's weird."

"Right?"

"Why do you think Roman has something to do with this?"

"'Cause all the parts it's skipping are the parts with him in it. And look at this." Virgil taps through a menu. "See?"

The thumbnails with Roman in them are conspicuously missing a certain prince. Patton puts his hands on his hips. "Well, that is strange."

"That's what I said. So yeah, we need to find him."

"I haven't seen him in a few days, I don't think. I guess I thought he was busy."

"Well, great, who was the last person to see him?"

"See who?"

"Do not do that," Virgil grumbles, helping himself up from the stair rail as Janus strides from the shadows, "you'll make me break something."

"Oh, relax, you're fine."

Virgil mutters something decidedly unflattering and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Have you seen Roman?"

"Not for a while, no." He frowns. "Why, is something wrong?"

They show him what's happening to the videos and he hums.

"That's…that's not good."

"No, it isn't."

"We need to find Remus."

"Wait, what? Why Remus?"

"He's the one who'll most likely know what Roman's done to cause this." Janus is already striding away. "Come on. We need to hurry."

They do, because as they walk they realize that Roman's poster is gone. Then his paintings. They break into a run when they see that his door is no longer bright red.

"Remus," Janus barks as they tear into the other living room, "Remus, we need you now."

As soon as Remus appears they know he knows already. He's almost frothing at the mouth, his hands itching around his Morningstar as he glares at them.

"What did you do," he snarls, "where is he?"

"We were coming to ask you," Virgil says, his hands raised, "we haven't seen him. We don't know."

Remus glares at all of them before looking at Janus, who nods. "He's Fading. He's trying to disappear. We need to find him now."

"Wait, Fading? What's that mean?"

"Like ducking out but worse, 'cause he's Creativity and I'll be happy to explain this once he's back. Now who saw him last?"

"Not me," Patton says, "I only saw him at breakfast a few days ago with everyone."

"That's the last time I saw him too."

"Janus?"

"We met up briefly to discuss a show but he had to leave early. Said he was…"

Remus growls as Janus trails off. "Said he was what?"

"…meeting with Logan. He had to go meet with Logan."

No sooner has Janus finished speaking, Remus reaches out a hand and yanks. A body falls to the ground in front of him.

"Start talking, bitch boy," he snarls, stalking over to loom over Logan, "what the fuck did you do to my brother?"

"I didn't—I don't know—"

An animalistic roar leaves Remus's throat and he hefts the Morningstar, ready to bring it down when Virgil catches his wrist.

"Hey, hey, easy! If you hurt him, we won't find out what happened!"

"He hurt Roman."

"We don't know that for sure, Remus, just—just take a second, okay?"

"I don't care—"

"Look at him," Janus interrupts quickly, "Remus, look at him."

Remus growls and tears himself free from Virgil's hold but does. Logan is still on the ground, his hands raised in surrender, glasses askew on his face. His shirt is dirty, tie mussed and torn, scratches on his arms and neck.

Wait.

"You were looking for him," Remus spits, "in the Imagination, weren't you?"

Logan swallows. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you're right. He's Fading and he's not anywhere else and that's the only place he can be but I don't know where else to look."

"Why is he Fading," Patton asks as Virgil has to hold Remus back again, "what happened?"

Janus gives Logan a warning look as he opens his mouth.

"…we had an argument."

"I get into arguments with Princey all the time," Virgil says sharply, "they don't end with Roman Fading."

"I may have said some things."

"You're going to have to be more specific."

"I—we're running out of time, we need to find him—ah!"

Remus, quicker than Virgil, shoots forward and pins Logan to the wall, Morningstar thrust against his chest. Logan winces as the spikes dig into him and Remus just growls.

"If you do not tell me exactly what you said to him," he says in a calm voice, "you and I are gonna run a little experiment on how hard it is to break the human spine."

Logan swallows. "I…I called him stupid. I said he—that he was incapable of listening to reason and that he—he should go somewhere where he was wanted."

"Why," Virgil growls, "in the fuck did you do that?"

"I was angry," he defends weakly, "I—I didn't mean it, I just wanted to hurt him—"

"Congratulations," Janus says lowly, "you did. You hurt him so badly he wants to disappear."

"I didn't know that," Logan says impatiently, "and I was trying to fix it! I went and looked for him the moment I'd calmed down enough to realize it was wrong and he wasn't anywhere! I only managed to find him that night in the kitchen and he vanished before I could say a thing!"

"Remus," Janus says softly, pulling Remus back, "we need to look in the Imagination. You know it better than the rest of us, where is he?"

Remus glares at Logan one more time before stalking to the door and ripping it open. "He's going to be hidden. The Imagination is him when he gets like this, if he's scared and hurt it's going to protect him."

But the Imagination they step into isn't rolling fields or towering castles or fairytale woods. It's glitching messes of clumps of grass and loose bricks, a white and lifeless sky overhead. Remus growls and breaks into a run.

"Look for anything that is still intact," he barks over his shoulder, "that'll be the last to go."

They run for hours.

A broken scarecrow, its arms dangling by the thinnest splinter as a crow glitches in and out of existence.

A frog, frozen mid-leap as its legs reach for nothing.

A bridge, splintered and torn by something massive except all that's left of it are shards of wooden boards.

They're losing him.

"There," Virgil shouts, pointing, "the tower!"

A single tower, the only thing still intact, stretching as high as the clouds, its shadow as long and thin as a needle as it pierces the last of the ground. They race towards it and crash through the door.

"Whoa!"

"I've got you, I've got you."

"Is everyone alright?"

"Don't fall!"

For there are no stairs inside this tower. Only a bottomless pit that stretches into yawning nothingness. Remus blocks the path with his body, Janus's arms around his waist as Logan and Virgil cling to the crumbling walls.

"How the hell do we get up there?"

"We climb."

"You can't be serious."

Remus hoslters the Morningstar star and digs his hands into the brick. He hoists himself up and glances down. "Sooner or later the rest of this is gonna go. You wanna be down here when it does or you wanna be closer to Roman?"

Brick by brick.

Hand over hand.

Inch by inch.

When Remus finally touches smooth wood, feeling around for the latch of the trapdoor, he shoves it open and they pile in, panting from the effort of it as he looks desperately around for Roman.

In the center of the room, surrounded by a wooden shell, is a pile of blankets and pillows. If he strains, he can hear quiet mutters coming from within. Leaving the others on the floor, he stands up and cautiously makes his way over, crouching down and peeling back the very top layer.

"Oh, Ro…"

Roman lies there, curled into a ball, cobwebs and dust caked on his skin. The only parts free from it are his face and one of his hands, his lips moving just enough to let air circulate and blow it away. Tear tracks are evident in the soot, his voice so overtaxed only the faintest sounds still audible.

Just enough to make them out.

"Shh, shh, shh, it's okay. It's okay. Shh. Shh. It's alright. Shh."

A lump rises in Remus's throat and he reaches out shakily, pulling the covers away. "Roro, Roro, it's me. It's me, Ro-Bro, I'm here."

Nothing.

"Roman, it's me," he tries desperately, "Ro-Bro, Ro, Roman!"

"Roman?"

"Roman, it's us."

"Open your eyes, little prince, we're here, it's okay."

Roman twitches slightly as Janus speaks but doesn't stir.

"Why isn't it working? What do we have to do?"

Remus shakes him harder. "Roman, wake up!"

"It won't work."

They all turn to stare at Logan.

"What do you mean," Remus hisses, "that it won't work?"

"He needs to be comforted," Logan says, slowly approaching the shell too, "he—he's trying to comfort himself. Let me try."

Virgil glances at Remus and tugs Patton and Janus back. Remus glares at him but doesn't stop him.

"If you fuck this up—"

"Then I'm your lab rat, I know."

"Good."

Logan takes a deep breath and looks in.

Oh, little one, he thinks as he takes in Roman's poor state, oh, I never meant for this, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

He lifts a shaking hand and fits it clumsily around Roman's.

"Shh," he murmurs, "shh, shh, it's okay. It's alright. It's alright. Shh, shh."

Roman's hand twitches.

"It's okay," he says again, "shh-shh-shh, it's okay. You're alright. It's all okay."

Roman stills, then slumps. Logan fits his other hand to his face, not wincing at how cold it is.

"You're okay," he keeps saying softly, "shh, little one, you're okay. It's alright. It's okay."

The ground rumbles. Color begins to bleed back into the sky. Logan leans down and puts his mouth to Roman's ear.

"I'm sorry, little one," he whispers, "I'm sorry, it's okay. Shh, shh, I'm sorry."

"It's working!"

"Keep going, Logan, it's working."

"Come on, Roman, you can do it."

"Shh, little one, it's okay." He runs his fingers through Roman's hair, shaking loose the dust and debris. "It's all okay now."

Slowly, painfully slowly, he coaxes Roman's Imagination back to life. He brushes away the dust and the cobwebs and murmurs that it's okay, you're alright now, it's going to be alright. Every word that leaves his lips leaves Roman looking a little more like he's just asleep.

He debates with himself for a moment, before leaning up and brushing a kiss across Roman's temple.

"I'm right here."

Something shudders.

"Roman?"

Roman's eyes flutter and slowly open. "L-Logan?"

"Hello, little one," he whispers, "it's okay. I'm here now."

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