#Yeah Phineas with more mad scientist energy!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovelylogans · 5 years

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my eyes are wide to all your lies (’cause you’re not that discreet)

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, mentions of getting rid/lessening anxiety, human experimentation (not as dark as it sounds, but still figured a warning would be good), fusion, deceit

pairings: royality

words: 6,269

notes: april fools, i got you! and now i present the idea that warranted my first block in four years of internet friendship and had me cackling in unholy, childish glee the whole time i was plotting and writing it: it’s a phineas and ferb au! yeah, you read that right. title from “busted” from phineas and ferb.

There was one hundred and four days of summer vacation before school came along just to end it.

So the annual problem that the Sanders-Prince brothers had was finding a new way to spend it. They’d built rockets, fought mummies, climbed up the Eiffel tower, discovered things that didn’t exist, given monkeys showers. They’d surfed tidal wives, created nanobots, located Frankenstein’s brain. They’d found a dodo bird, painted a continent, and driven their brother insane.

The question that was posed every day over toast-with-heaps-of-jam then had to be posed:

“Logan, what are we gonna do today?”

Logan Sanders nudged his glasses up his nose with a thoughtful expression. Logan had the expression of the teacher’s pet, the nerd that never got in trouble beyond perhaps reading during class, or correcting a teacher, but behind that calm, know-it-all expression and dorky glasses laid a mad scientist who had not yet graduated high school.

“We could recreate Tesla’s death ray again,” he suggested mildly.

“Logan, we did that three weeks ago.” Roman groaned. “No doing things again! It has to be bigger, better, bolder, newer.”

Roman Prince, on the other hand, had the exact look of a troublemaker that tended to have teachers hollering “Put that away!” and “Prince, principal’s office!” and got him parked in the front row of the room before he could scoot off to the back (usually next to his stepbrother, which compounded the problems, not that Logan would ever let himself get caught.) He gladly lived up to the reputation and strove for each spectacle to be bigger and grander than the last.

“Mom!” Virgil exclaimed, eyes huge, made to seem even wider by the dark eyeshadow smeared beneath them.

Their older brother (or stepbrother, to Roman) Virgil Sanders, had the exact face of a punk-rock emo kid, the sort of boy who skipped school and missed curfew and never cared. In actuality, he was kind of a tattletale, or perhaps more like the boy in back who muttered “I don’t know about this guys” while the other kids were doing things like experimenting with fireworks that they’d stolen from their older brother’s stash. Virgil’s ongoing pursuit of the summer was to catch Roman and Logan in the middle of one of their dangerous plots, which would surely end in their serious injuries and or deaths I know I look like the bad guy but you two have to be safe okay you could get seriously hurt or seriously DEAD do you understand me Roman and Logan D-E-A-D dead!

“That’s nice, dear,” Caroline Sanders-Prince said absently from where she was at the stove. Virgil groaned and put his head down on the table, floppy bangs narrowly missing the butter dish.

“Why do I even bother,” Virgil grumbled.

Roman batted his eyelashes at his stepbrother. “Because you love us?”

“Gross,” Logan muttered, from behind a thick tome entitled Understanding Chinese Engineering Doctoral Students in U.S. Institutions: A Personal Epistemology Perspective that he’d pulled from nowhere, because he was a boy genius who read books with very long titles like that. “Emotions.”

“Gross,” Virgil snapped. “Mom, Roman has the platypus on the table!”

“That’s nice, dear.”

“Aw, Deceit wouldn’t do anything, would he?” Roman crooned to their pet platypus, inexplicably named Deceit, who knickered at Virgil dutifully. Virgil pulled a face at him, because he did not trust that platypus.

“He just wants some bacon!” Roman exclaimed.

“Can platypuses have bacon?”

“Platypi,” the book corrected from where Logan’s face had been. “They’re technically carnivorous, so—yes. He’d probably prefer larvae or freshwater shrimp, though.”

“Gross,” Roman said, as he ensured Deceit had all the bacon he wanted and lowered him back onto the floor. “And so not the point! Logan! We have to figure out what to do today!”

The brothers continued to bicker, not noticing as Deceit the platypus crept outside, looked around, and pulled on his hat before entering into the secret chute that would catapult him to his day job: an animal agent for the OWCA, protecting the tri-state area from one inator-enamored mad scientist at a time.

“More Tesla?”

“Logan. We spent all of that week. On Tesla. We have to do something fresh! Something bold! Something we invent!”

“I still can’t believe you invented a death ray and you thought that was a good idea,” Virgil said, ready to work himself up into an anxiety-induced tizzy. “It’s a DEATH ray, death is right there in the name!”

Logan frowned at him over the pages of his book, which he was somehow halfway through already. “We wouldn’t have killed people,” he said. “Flies, probably. Or mosquitoes. Most likely.”

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better,” Virgil said. “Thanks, a death ray for flies or mosquitoes, most likely! What could have possibly gone wrong?!”

“How is it possible for you to worry so much?” Roman said, from where he was constructing an elaborate toast-tower with the remaining slices they hadn’t eaten, yet. He was currently sealing together the walls with jam and carefully carving out the windows for the tiny toast-people to survey their kitchen table kingdom. “I never worry so much.”

“Yeah, I worry enough for you, and Logan, and your little scout friend,” Virgil grumbled. “I have all the anxiety of this neighborhood combined into one person.”

Roman perked up, nearly sending a tiny toast-family sprawling. “Hang on, what did you just say?”

“Oh,” Virgil said, because he knew his stepbrother well enough to see his “new idea! new idea!” face, and he also knew him well enough to fear it. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” Roman said gleefully. “Logan! I know what we’re gonna do today!”

“Run me through it again.”

Roman sighed loudly from where he was stationed in a treetop, twisting a screw carefully into place. Half of Logan’s body was underneath their latest monstrous machine.

“Okay. So. The basic plan is, we’re going to see if we can put you in this machine to ease out some of your worries, your fears—enough so that it doesn’t overwhelm you constantly, not too much to change who you are as a person,” Roman began. “And if you hate it, we can reverse it, no problem.”

“When you say basic plan,” Virgil said apprehensively, and Logan rolled partially out from under the machine, lifting the welding mask off his face so that he could squint at Virgil, looking strange without his glasses.

“Without the scientific explanations that would inevitably confuse those of lesser intelligence.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“You know what he means,” Roman said, and then, “Oh, God, here he comes, quick, I—“

Roman made a half-aborted gesture as if to climb down the tree, and then hastily redirected his energy toward straightening his shirt, patting his hair into place, and setting up the most swaggeringly handsome pose he could manage in a tree. Virgil, looking down the street, tried his best to hide his smirk.

Patton Hart had lived down the street since they’d moved in after their parents got married, and his crush on Roman had ignited not long after the first box was taken off the truck. Patton Hart had the exact face that had teachers picking him for messenger duty, to guide a new kid around the school, or to provide a good face for the school—if he hadn’t volunteered for it already. He had quite the sprawl of extracurriculars under his belt, including, amongst others, Knitting Club, Baking Club, Pun Appreciation Club, and, most notably, leader of the Fireside Scouts—as noted by his constant orange sash that clashed horribly with his usual blue polo and gray hoodie.

The mutual crushes were a subject of constant private heckling between Logan and Virgil at Roman, and it would have been proven to further public mocking if Patton wasn’t so deeply, genuinely nice.

Patton bounced into the yard, beaming. “Hi, Virgil!”

“Hey, Patton,” Virgil said gruffly. (Patton had even charmed Virgil, a feat which back in the feuding-stepsibling days had stunned Roman to no end.)

“Hi, Roman,” he said, grinning up the tree at Roman, batting his eyelashes. “Whatcha dooo-in’?”

“Hey, Patton,” Roman said. “We’re trying to see if we can make Virgil less scared all the time without erasing who he is as a person.”

Patton flopped out on the sun-soaked grass that was trying valiantly to live in the drought of summer. “Sounds hard, but if anyone can do it, it’s you two. Hi, Logan,” he added to Logan’s knees.

Logan grunted and extended a hand out from under the machine. “Round-nose pliers.”

Patton cheerfully plucked the necessary tool from the expansive kit (tool-fetcher for the Sanders-Prince brothers was an unofficial but important extracurricular of his, one that he’d considered making a badge for) but held it in his hands, not yet handing it over. “What’s the magic word?”

“There’s no such thing as magic.”

“Logan.”

Logan let out a long-suffering sigh that he was probably extending, to compensate for the lack of eye contact, which meant no eyeroll. “Please pass the round-nose pliers.”

“Sure thing!” Patton said, carefully placing them in his hand, only to watch his arm disappear back under the machine.

Roman had managed to get down from the tree, and hastily straightened out his shirt before he leaned against the machine in a way that could not, in any universe, pass as casual. Virgil rolled his eyes and instead resorted to picking at the latest rip in his jeans rather than focus on any of the big and admittedly very scary-looking machine that would somehow help his anxiety.

Shouldn’t it be, like, painted with sunshine and daisies or something, not just some kind of metallic alloy? If it was about taking away fear?

“I’m telling Mom,” Virgil said, mostly out of routine at this point.

“Aren’t you involved today?” Roman said. “And therefore, you’d get in trouble too, so—”

“It’s not about trouble,” Virgil said irritably. “It’s about—it’s about danger. You can’t just keep ramping up experiments without safety measures and without making detailed plans or prototypes or something that you run through any potential side effects or faults that would happen, you could get hurt badly, you could hurt someone else, you could—”

Logan had wheeled himself out from under the machine, removing the mask, and his stare was so knowing that Virgil clamped his mouth shut, looking at a patch of brown grass that wasn’t quite in the reach of the sprinkler.

“We aren’t Dad, Virgil.”

Logan’s voice was pitched low, almost kind, and Virgil screwed his eyes shut.

“Hey,” Roman said, blessedly oblivious as always, “where’s Deceit?”

Deceit was currently parachuting his way onto the balcony of his nemesis’ secret evil lair/tower. As a platypus without opposable thumbs, this was more difficult than most would think.

Especially when a platypus without opposable thumbs was dodging a series of dodgy traps, only to stumble into a table where his nemesis had set up tea.

“Oh. Deceit the platypus, there you are,” Dr. Doofenshmirtz said. “You’re late, and as such, I have revoked your access to cucumber sandwiches!”

Deceit stared at him blankly.

“Oh, I just can’t resist that face,” Dr. Doofenshmirtz said. “Fine, catch!”

Dr. Doofenshmirtz hurled a cucumber sandwich directly at Deceit’s beak like the world’s tiniest, most confusing projectile, which hit his beak, and then expanded outward into a series of wires and cables, snaring Deceit against the wall.

“And now that you are trapped, I shall explain my evil plan!” He said gleefully.

Deceit let out the platypus equivalent of a sigh, tipping his head back to the ceiling.

“Okay, that should be the last of it,” Roman said, stepping back and wiping his brow free of sweat. Virgil, who had long since retreated to the shade of underneath a tree, grimaced at the machine, and began picking at his freshly-painted black fingernails with a renewed sense of fervor. There were already tiny chips of black littered around him in the dirt.

Patton proffered a little tray of lemonade, and Roman perked up.

“Oh, hey, thanks, Patton!” He said happily, picking up the ice-cold glass and pressing it against his forehead for a moment, before taking a healthy gulp from the red-and-white striped straw.

“Logan, Virgil?” Patton offered, lifting the tray. “I have cookies too.”

There was a brief break as everything went snack-crazed for a bit, the boys bumping into each other and elbowing each other aside as they took their cookies of preference.

“So,” Patton said, taking his own sip of his lemonade (blue-and-white striped straw) “Virgil goes in there, you press that switch, and he’ll just... he’ll be less worried about things?”

“Well—” Logan began, but Roman broke in, smiling winningly at Patton.

“Essentially, yep!”

“Well,” Logan repeated, “Actually, Patton, I was surveying the mechanics, and it could potentially be aided if someone who produced... less worry and had a... how should we say, sunnier outlook on life stepped into the machine, too.”

Patton blinked at him, and Virgil was already surging toward the machine, spreading his arms, as if to bar anyone from approaching it.

“No. No way,” Virgil declared immediately. “It’s bad enough that you looped me into this plan, but there’s no way that you’re bringing Patton into it too!”

“Patton joins our plans daily,” Roman pointed out. “Honestly, it’s really more of a shock that you joined in, Fret-a-lot-saw.”

Virgil squinted at him. “Are you calling me a tool?”

“Shucks, kiddo, if it’ll help, I’m helping,” Patton said, setting aside his lemonade.

Virgil was already shaking his head again, eyes wild, like a spooked horse.

“Why did I even let you get this far?” He asked himself. “Forget it! I’m going to tell Mom, and she’ll—”

“—say that’s nice dear without looking up from whatever else is taking her attention?” Logan asked archly.

“Fine,” Virgil said, undeterred. “Roman’s Dad, then.”

“It’s baseball season, no chance,” Roman said with a shrug.

“The police, then! The FBI! Anything!” Virgil said. “You two need a wake-up call, okay?! And apparently I’m the only one who’s gonna give it to you!”

“This is why you need the machine,” Roman said, and spread his hands. “Look around! You are literally the only one who is so freaked out about this.”

“Because no one else has common sense!”

“Because everyone else knows we can do it and doesn’t treat us like we can’t!” Roman snapped, and immediately shut his mouth, going bright red. “Um, I mean—I mean, obviously, more like haha, of course we can do it! Because we’re so smart and handsome and—”

Virgil hesitated, and lowered his arms to cross them over his chest. “I didn’t say you couldn’t do it,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Yeah, well, you act like anything we make will inevitably blow up a lot more than someone who thinks we can,” Roman grumbled, scuffing a sneaker over the grass.

“Because that happens, Roman! Even to really, really experienced inventors. Besides, aren’t you a little young to be making crazy inventions in the backyard every day?”

“Yes,” Roman said, jutting his chin up proudly. “Yes I am.”

Logan sighed. “We’ve run tests, we’ve made prototypes, will you please just step into the machine? This whole—” Logan gestured broadly with his hand, nose wrinkling, “emotional outburst thing is part of the whole reason we made it.”

Virgil hesitated even more.

“It can’t hurt to just try, can it?” Patton said, and proffered his hand. “Look, I’ll step in with you. It looks kinda scary.”

Virgil hesitated, licked his lips, and said, “You’re sure about this?”

“Positive,” Logan said, shoving Patton toward him, and hissing in his ear, “Quick, before he changes his mind.”

Patton shot him a fondly exasperated look, before taking Virgil’s hand. Roman glowered at their joined hands for a moment.

Virgil let out a slow breath, and his knuckles went white from how tightly he was squeezing Patton’s hand. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“On it,” Patton said, and ducked through first, Virgil shooting a last look that seemed to say help to Logan, before following.

“All right!” Roman whooped, racing over to the machine. “Okay, power on, levels stable... you two ready?”

“I guess,” Virgil grumbled, as Patton chirped, “Yep!”

“Less worry, here we come!” Roman trilled, and flipped the switch.

A veritable lightshow ensued and the machine flared, and smoked, and sparked, as Roman and Logan hastily stepped back.

Roman leaned into his ear, shouting to be heard over the machine. “We are sure about this, right?”

“About 85% sure, yes. Perhaps 80%. 65% sure, at lowest. Probably.”

“Good enough for me,” Roman said, and returned his gaze to the machine just in time for the light and noise to die down.

“All right, Virgil, how are we feeling?” Roman called out. “Less inclined to bust us all the time? Maybe relaxed enough to, like, let us keep experimenting with death rays?”

There was no response.

Roman and Logan both frowned.

“Patton?” Roman called, a little more desperate. “Hey, sweet-Hart, you okay in there?”

“Um,” a voice floated out from the machine that neither of them had ever heard before, and yet was inherently familiar, “you guys?”

Deceit tuned back in, perfectly timed to excise the Tragic Backstory but to get the full effect of the eventual evil plan of the day.

It had taken years of practice.

“—to make everyone as fearful as I was that day in the checkout line!”

Deceit stared at the massive device cloaked by a sheet.

“Yes, that’s right, Deceit the platypus,” he said gleefully, and whipped off the sheet. “Behold! The Frighteninator!”

Deceit began to work against the bonds, wondering idly if he would break his record of forty-one seconds—very impressive, for a platypus without opposable thumbs, if you asked him.

“Yes, soon the whole tri-state area shall tremble in fear, and therefore, I will be able to easily subjugate them and become emperor of the tri-state area!”

Roman was still waving the smoke out of his face when a silhouette stepped free from the machine, seeming close to stumbling before holding out its arms to keep its balance.

Well. That wasn’t right.

“What,” the voice asked, in that same foreign-familiar tone, “just happened?”

“Oh, excellent,” Logan said, peering closer at the silhouette.

“No, not excellent!” The silhouette wailed and at last the smoke cleared, revealing—

Well, at first Roman wasn’t really sure.

It looked sort of like a person, if not for the extra set of arms protruding at the waist. Their eyes had a huge pair of round glasses set in front of it, but the bags underneath them were pronounced and darker than Roman had ever seen on an actual person. Their polo was stitched in an odd amalgamation of blue, gray, purple, and black, mixing plaid with solid color, and there was an odd sash that—

Oh.

Oh, wow.

“I dunno,” the stranger said cheerfully, “I think it’s kinda neat! Imagine all the cool stuff we can do with four arms!”

“Virgil?” Logan said, at the same time Roman said, “Patton?”

“Yes,” the voice answered—and that was why it sounded so strange, so familiar—

It was both of their voices at once.

“You,” the creature glowered. “are gonna get so—!”

“—famous, from all that nifty inventing you guys do!” the creature finished.

No, not a creature. It was Virgil and Patton. Patton and Virgil? Patton-and-Virgil, Virgil-and-Patton? God, his stepbrother had fused with his crush, he was so used to weird days (most of them he was responsible for) but this was so weird.

“You’ve fused!” Logan said gleefully.

“This was not in your plan!” Virgil—or at least, the part of him that was Virgil—cried out.

“Well, we thought it might be a side effect,” Roman admitted. “But hey! Take a few steps, swing your arms around, tell us how you feel, this was definitely on the to-do list, and now I don’t have to deal with any of Logan’s nerdiness infecting me.”

Logan threw a wrench at him half-heartedly and Roman ducked—a well-practiced maneuver.

“Why’ve I got four arms?” the creature said, taking a hobbling step forward, flexing its two right hands. “I mean, all the more stuff I could do with it, probably—Virgil, you’re left-handed, aren’t you?”

The two left arms stretched, almost sulkily. Roman hadn’t known that an arm could stretch sulkily, but leave it to Virgil.

“Fascinating,” Logan breathed, digging hastily and coming up with a legal pad and a pen. “How do you feel? Do you still feel essentially separate, or do you find yourself more as a cohesive, singular unit?”

“I,” the creature said, and then it frowned. “I dunno, I guess? I’m—we’re?—feeling a bit more like one unit the longer we stick together, I think. We think?”

“Singular pronouns, I think,” Logan said, taking notes hastily. “Male ones. As to the four arms question—”

“Forget that,” Roman said. “What do we even call you?”

“Hm,” The creature said, one of its right hands coming up to frame under its chin. “I dunno. Pattil? Virgin?”

Roman snorted a laugh, and the creature slanted a look at him that was distinctly Patton.

“Why’s that funny?”

“It—uh—it isn’t,” Roman admitted sheepishly. “Sorry. Um... how about Moxie? Like, you got moxie, kid, Moxie.”

“Moxie,” they—he—said. “Okay! Sure, sounds cool.”

“How’s it going, though?” Roman said. “Less worried? More worried? Still freaking out about having double the amount of arms as usual?”

Moxie frowned for a second, and then his eyes went far away.

“Oh,” he said, tone equally far away, splitting into two—distinctly Virgil and Patton speaking in unison. “Oh. I can feel what you’re feeling.”

“Is that... good?” Roman asked, but then Moxie wrapped all four arms around himself, as if giving himself a hug.

“Do I want a cookie?” Moxie mumbled to himself, and snorted as if he had made a joke.

“Perhaps that would be good, I’d imagine transfusing into a new form would burn calories,” Logan said. “Plus, I’d like to see your finer motor control.”

Roman picked up the tray, offering it, and Moxie took a few shambling steps closer, eyes squinted in focus, a set of arms spread to keep his balance.

“Hmm,” Moxie said, and then the right hand lunged forward, nearly knocking the tray over, before squeaking, “Sorry!”

“That’s okay,” Roman said. “New body. Also, can I tell you how weird it is that my friend and my stepbrother are combined into one person now?”

“It’s feeling less and less weird,” Moxie mused, before more carefully reaching and taking a cookie. “Thanks.”

Roman smiled at Moxie. Inexplicably, Moxie blushed, and then Moxie scowled, and then Moxie shoved the cookie into his mouth whole.

“Was that on purpose?” Logan asked mildly, who had not stopped scribbling.

“Mmmhmmm,” he said, trying his hardest not to spew crumbs. “Hungfwy.”

Logan nodded, marking something specifically. “Patton, what did you eat for breakfast? I’m curious as to how many calories this burns.”

“He didn’t,” Moxie blurted out, and then a right hand clapped over his mouth.

“Patton-cakes!” Roman scolded. “For all the times you talk to me about balanced eating!”

“That would explain it,” Logan said. “Take another cookie. Left hand, this time.”

Moxie reached forward with his left hand, taking another cookie, not even knocking over the tray this time.

“Oh, yeah,” Moxie added, “I feel less worried, but I... feel. A lot. So.”

He took another big bite of a cookie.

“So,” Roman said. “Um. Now that we have a fusion machine... what now?”

Roman and Logan exchanged a grin, and Moxie looked nervous for a second, before he grinned, too.

“—what?! Deceit the platypus?!?! How could you have possibly freed yourself from that cucumber sandwich?!”

Deceit held up his OWCA-issue pocketknife in answer.

“Curse you, Deceit the platypus!”

Deceit leapt, and smacked Dr. Doofenshmirtz across the face with his beaver tail.

Virgil had gone inside with the excuse of fixing Patton a plate of some leftover breakfast, but also mostly to avoid the light-and-smokeshow of the machine as Roman and Patton sequestered themselves in the machine.

It hadn’t quite died down by the time Virgil came out, awkwardly holding a plate.

“So,” Logan said, making a table on the notepad, “how long into the fusion do you think it’ll be before one of them gives themself away?”

Virgil snorted. “Five seconds.”

Logan sighed in relief. “I’ve been very tired of hearing about how Patton’s hair shines in the sun. Or about how his eyes sparkle when he laughs. Or—”

Virgil laughed. “That bad?”

“You don’t share a room with him,” Logan said darkly.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t get randomly hit with butterflies because Roman smiled at you while you were fused with Patton. Let me tell you, that felt very gross.”

Logan tilted his head. “Point,” he said, and stole a triangle of toast already spread with jelly.

“Aftereffects of the fusion?” He said, before jamming the toast triangle into his mouth whole and readying his pen.

Virgil paused, analyzing that, and said, “...weirdly calm.”

Logan nodded, writing this down, and at last the machine died down.

“Okay, Roman, Patton, how are you doing?” Virgil called out. “I’ve got breakfast for you here, if you want it.”

There’s a pause, and then, “I think we want to be Paman?”

“Paman,” Virgil amended, and the fusion stumbled out. He looked almost normal, really—blue and white and red seemed like a much more fitting combination, though the orange sash really was quite hideous, still—except for the four pairs of eyes, the bottom, normally-placed set wearing glasses, the top set clearly Roman’s.

“Ooh, jelly,” Paman said happily, and lumbered toward Virgil, taking the plate with a sunny smile that was obviously Patton. “Thanks!”

He flopped out on the grass, and tucked tidily into his breakfast, eating neatly and swiftly. Virgil and Logan sat, both staring at Paman—Paman seemed to stare back, even as he kept one set of eyes on the breakfast he was eating.

“I love jelly,” Paman said, and then,

“I know,” Paman said, “You always—“

A pause. Paman’s cheeks went a bright shade of red, and they put down the toast. Virgil offered a fist, and Logan reached out and tapped it with his own (a gesture that had taken some explanation for Logan to do on command, now.)

“You really...?”

“Is... are you...?”

Paman trailed off, smiled to himself, and went back to his breakfast, still blushing.

Crack! Pow! Bam!

“Not the nose, not the nose!” Dr. Doofenshmirtz wailed.

Paman was absently holding hands with himself when Logan finished his questionnaire, and nodded, flipping through the legal pad, which he’d mostly filled.

“I suppose the next question is, does a fusion more or less maintain its stability when another person is introduced to the fusion?”

Paman blinked. “You can add more than two people to a fusion?” He asked, and he answered himself in his next breath: “A fusion’s made up of all its parts—it can be anyone, as long as they’re comfortable with each other.” Paman then nodded, as if this made sense to him, and looked at Logan.

“Aren’t you curious?” He said, in his more unified voice, and Logan’s eyes gleamed for a moment, before—

“I suppose,” he said, attempting at casual.

“You sure about this?” Virgil asked.

Paman and Logan spoke as one: “Positive.”

Virgil sighed, but got to his feet. “Guess I’ll flip the switch, then.”

Slam! Pow! Ka-CLANK!

“NOT THE FRIGHTENINATOR!”

“Weird, right?” Virgil said, leaning against the machine, as the unnamed fusion (two sets of arms, two sets of eyes) staggered from the machine.

“Fascinating,” he said. “It seems that adding a person aggregates the unusual physical additions—Virgil, hand me my notepad!”

Virgil rolled his eyes, but fetched it for him, handing it to the left set of arms, which immediately uncapped the pen and began to scrawl.

“Will you two keep your emotions away from me,” the fusion complained, and in the next breath he snickered, “Sorry!”

The fusion scrawled away at length, before he offered a professional nod, and one of his hands.

“All four of us,” he said, and Virgil hesitated.

“It’ll be fine,” he promised, and Virgil sighed, before accepting the hand, and walking back into the machine.

With one last well-placed kick, Dr. Doofenshmirtz went down and stayed down. Deceit, after waiting a few moments, rushed over to the Frighteninator, intent on shutting it down, tiny platypus paws roaming the machine, before—

Deceit let out a knicker that would have had his platypus mother scrubbing out his bill with platypus soap.

He walked out, spreading his arms—one set. And one set of eyes.

“We must look like a normal person,” he said.

He wasn’t sure where the thought originated, and if he focused, he could sense the divide—Logan’s intense curiosity, Roman’s inherent passion, Patton’s ambitions of kindness, Virgil’s worry—but he was...

He was...

He reached in his pocket and dug out a phone, turning it to the front-facing camera to squint at himself.

The outfit had actually normalized into something a normal person would wear—a red shirt, a tan jacket, jeans. His face was...

He squinted at himself. He looked so much like—

my eyes—

—my nose—

—my ears—

—my cheekbones—

—and yet so utterly, completely himself. He was... he was....

The name came from somewhere deep inside of him.

“Thomas.”

He lowered the phone, and took a shaky, wobbling step forward, almost like a baby deer, arms pinwheeling to keep his balance. Then another, and another. They got easier all the time.

It’s like we’re a whole new person, one of them, or maybe all of them, marveled, it’s like we’re a real, actual person.

But he was missing something. He was missing...

Oh, but he was so here now, all together now, even if it was imperfect it was wonderful. The laugh that bubbled up from inside him was truly, wholly felt, until—

What’s that, a thought, sharp, that could only be Virgil, and he looked up in time to see the arc of green light split and head for him and for the machine.

“Uh-oh.”

There was no time for this newly-formed body to hurl itself aside, and so the green light caught him full in the chest, and he doubled over, hitting his knees.

What’s happening, what’s happening—

—green light, could have been gamma-based—

—it’s hurting him, it’s hurting usme, we have to—

—knew something bad would happen knew it knew it knew it knew it—

Distantly, an explosion could be heard—but he was on his hands and knees, vision narrowing in, and he tried to suck in a breath. He can hardly breathe. There’s something pounding in him, deep and strong, overwhelming all his other senses, and his vision doubles, and—

whatshappeningwhatshappeningwhatshappening

—their vision goes black around the edges, and the green-brown grass looms large in his vision, and what’s that noise, what’s that noise—

—heart rate increase, sweat increase, this is epinepherine, this is fear, as if you don’t know anything about it shut up shut up shut up they’ll hear they’ll—

There’s the scent of burning, but it’s so far away that he can’t focus on that right now, and their body feels like it’s splitting, like it’s—

—hurts why does it hurt I don’t want to hurt I want my friends I want to go don’t hurt my friends don’t hurt my friends don’t hurt my—

—but he feels molten, like lava, like he’s about to melt and spill everywhere, and he can’t hold, but he needs to hold, he needs—

—no, no, don’t do this to them, they’re just kids, I can take it, let me take it, I have to take it, I have to be the one who takes it, don’t do this to them, dontdontDON’T—

He tears down the middle, and there’s a pain for a moment, so sharp and unbearable that none of them can breathe, and—

Patton blinked up at the sky. For a moment, silence—streaky white clouds on the edges of the horizon not daring to intrude on the clear blue of the sky; a bird soared directly overhead as if to flout the clouds’ cowardice.

The silence broke with a horrible, rasping breath, and Patton pushed himself up onto his side to see Virgil, rolling onto his side, coated in a green glow. Patton hastened toward him, heart in his throat.

“Virgil—”

“Don’t touch him,” Logan said, already at his other side. “We don’t know if the gamma ray will spread back to us if we touch him—”

Patton’s eyes stung, and he swiped at them in irritation—he hated that he cried when he got frustrated, or angry, or scared. “Can’t we do something?!”

“M’fine,” Virgil choked out, eyes screwed shut. “M’fine, it’s getting better already—”

“Virgil, don’t you dare lie,” Roman said, pale and ashen and—and how is Patton almost fluttery at a time like this, can’t his emotions settle instead of seesawing wildly inappropriately from one end of the spectrum from another?!

Virgil took in a purposefully deep breath, let it out, and offered a weak, crooked smile to them. “I’m fine, see? I’m fine.”

The green glow had lessened, at least. He now just looked like he was bathed in the light of a green spotlight, instead of encased in some green, glowing Jell-O. He pushed himself up onto the elbows, and drew a hand over his eyes, before he squinted.

“Okay, how the fu—I mean heck—do you guys do that everyday?”

“Do what?” Roman said cluelessly, and Patton’s eyes are drawn toward the fusion machine. Or, where the fusion machine was. Now there was just black soot.

Roman shrugged. “Deus ex machina?”

Logan let out a regretful sigh. “Well, at least I have my notes,” he said thoughtfully. “And the blueprints.”

“Boys, I’m home!”

“Hi, Mom,” Roman, Virgil, and Logan called without looking up, Virgil getting a bit more color in his face by the second, green fading and fading until it was just about gone.

“Patton, I’m really okay,” he said, and Patton let out a shaky breath, remembering Moxie, remembering all the fear and worry he felt, but all the care, too—the soft side that he kept almost hidden.

“You better be, mister,” he said. “Or I’ll—I’ll steal all your cookies!”

Virgil’s lips twitched. He looked like a normal person now. “All of them, huh?”

“All of them,” Patton said, nodding judiciously. “For the rest of your life.”

“Sounds serious,” he said, well, seriously.

Logan nudged his glasses up his nose, clearing his throat. “Any lingering effects?”

Virgil held up a shaking hand in answer.

“Let’s get you inside,” Logan said. “And horizontal.”

“Probably a good idea,” Virgil said, and all three of them hastened to help him up—Logan and Virgil grabbing his hands, Roman pushing his back—and Virgil slung an arm around Logan’s shoulders.

“Help me in, would you?” He said loudly, and proceeded to “accidentally” kick Roman in the shin.

“Hey!” Roman said, but his response died when Virgil jerked his head.

And Patton and Roman were left alone in the backyard.

Patton scuffed his shoe over the yard. “That was pretty crazy, today,” he offered timidly.

Roman smiled at him and shoved a hand through his hair—Patton felt his cheeks going red, reminded at this, the most inopportune moment, that Roman knew how attractive he found that, now.

“Good crazy?”

Patton felt his face split into a grin. “You kidding?” He declared. “That was awesome! Well, until the random gamma ray of despair, I guess. But other than that!”

Roman laughed, too, and he said, “He’ll be okay. Gamma rays like that tend to be really temporary.”

Patton sucked in a breath, looked into the living room window, where he could see Logan already pestering Virgil, waving around his notepad before beginning to scrawl with a single-minded fervor. He smiled again.

“I trust you,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” Roman said, soft, and Patton inched closer.

“So,” Roman said. “Seeing jelly all over your face was what really sold you on me, huh?”

Patton smiled wider. “I think it was a cute look. But I think all of your looks are cute, so, you know.”

Roman smiled, and he offered, “So, um. Do you wanna... do you wanna get ice cream sometime?”

“I’d love that,” Patton said. His cheeks hurt from smiling so big.

“Because you don’t have to you if you don’t want to,” Roman added hastily. “I mean, I get it if you don’t—”

Patton put a finger on Roman’s lip, remembering too much of Paman’s self-criticism, his loneliness, his doubt.

“Roman,” he said. “Dearest. I’d. Love. That.”

Roman’s face broke out into his own relieved smile. Patton hoped he was remembering Paman, too—the butterflies in his stomach, the way he’d felt when Roman had smiled at Moxie, when their hands had first brushed together.

“Pick you up at seven tomorrow?” Patton offered.

��Yeah,” Roman said breathlessly, and he cleared his throat. “Um, yeah. Okay.”

Patton beamed, and leaned forward to press a kiss against Roman’s cheek, watching in delight as Roman’s face went red, too. Patton took his hand.

“C’mon,” he said. “We gotta go make sure Virgil feels better by giving him lots of hugs and sugar.”

“Okay,” Roman repeated, and Patton tugged him inside, where Virgil and Logan were already bickering, and curled up in a corner was—

“Oh! There you are, Deceit!”

#my post #text #my fic #april fools i got you so good!#it's a phineas and ferb au!#logan #patton #virgil #thomas #roman #deceit

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