yessss please, I would like to know more
Have I ever told yall it feels really good when y'all are hyped for something I wanna talk about?
Anygay
November 13th, 2:34 P.M.
Jack and John looked Bob over thoughtfully as they sat on the other side of the interrogation table. He seemed so… different like this. And no, it wasn’t the thin orange jumpsuit, nor the massive cuffs needed for his wrists. It wasn’t the change of scenery, the drab grays and loneliness sharply contrasting the bright, public environments he usually staged his massacres in.
It was his calm, downcast, almost sad expression. The complete opposite of his sinister smile and gaze that stares into your soul. The way he slouched in his chair. His former sadistic air had just about dissipated and he looked like little more than a pathetic old man. He was almost a different man.
“So…” John started with a sigh, sitting forward in his chair. “You’re a cannibal?”
Bob’s gaze flicked up for a moment, before settling back on the table in front of him, humming out a quiet agreement.
“And how many of your victims have you actually… eaten?” he pressed, keeping an eye on the biggest’s every movement, studying his body language.
Bob seemed to think for a moment, counting on his hand before looking up at them again.
“I believe a bit of each… so, technically, all of them…” he finally said, his gaze lowering once again as he spoke.
“And how did this whole cannibalism thing begin, Mr. Velseb?” Jack asked.
The oldest heaved a deep sigh, emotion beginning to show deep in his eyes.
“That’s an… old tale, officers. One that I’m sure would be too borin for ya…” he said carefully, his expression just barely displaying distress.
“I’m sure a tale that ends with you as a man-eating serial killer is far from boring,” John reasoned.
“Hm… I suppose you have a point, but it’s a tale I’m not too… fond of, let’s say.”
“And why is that?” Jack questioned.
“Have you… ever been betrayed, officers? Either of ya?”
“Not yet, no,” the other ravenette answered, his partner grunting in agreement.
“Hm. ‘Yet.’ Bein realistic, I see… how else can I put this, then?” he seemed deep in thought for a few minutes before he continued.
“Have you ever done somethin you regret, but knew, in that moment, that you had to?”
“Well, yeah, of course,” Jack answered again.
“As officers, we usually have to make that decision on the field,” John affirmed, silently hoping that being a bit more open with Bob would encourage the same.
“Well… my story starts with a decision like that… or, well, the crimes did…”
He took a deep breath, finally locking eyes with the two.
“My story begins with me… and a friend. My closest friend, and maybe most loyal customer, a man named Corey, twelve long years ago. He and he were inseparable. Game nights, huntin, watchin football, every cliche thing two men could do, we were doin. And we loved it.
“He’d come by Boys ‘N Grills damn near every day at lunch, and we’d chat about whatever came to mind. Somethin new that caught our eyes, different grillin techniques, an idea about what to do after work, everythin.
“In fact, one day, Corey suggested we’d go hikin. He insisted it’d be a fun little adventure, and dammit, he looked so excited, how could I say no? Heh, it was endearin, almost cute as one of y’all might put it.
“We packed our things, and, around October 15th-ish, I believe, we set out in the woods. I remember it was right smack-dab in the middle of Spooky Month, and he was so excited for our ‘Spooky hike’, as he put it. And, I’ll admit, I was excited, too. It was nice gettin to go out and do somethin new with him.
“But, despite everythin we packed, our first mistake was leavin behind our compass. When me and him realized this, Corey assured me that we didn’t need it, that if we kept track of how many turns we made, we’d be alright. But that was our second mistake, trustin either of us to remember anythin while occupied with all the sights. After a while, all the trees started to look the same, and when I finally got scared of losin our way, it was too late. Corey kept insistin that we weren’t lost and could get back home easy, but I wasn’t sure… he should’ve listened to me…”
Bob trailed off, clutching his bandaged right hand. The searing pain from the bullet wound, when his hand had been shot to disarm him, felt like a little bug bite in comparison to the pain growing in what used to be a hollow chest. He wanted to focus more on the wounds outside than inside. He didn’t want to tell this story. But he had to, he knew he did.
“Hours turned to days… days turned to weeks… weeks turned to half a damn month we were out there. We were growin desperate after runnin out of food within the first few damned days… We couldn’t tell poisonous berries apart from safe and didn’t dare run the risk. We hadn’t brought any guns or fishin rods, and no matter how hard we tried, spearfishin always ended with us empty handed. We were lucky we didn’t see any bears or wolves out there, or I don’t think I’d’ve survived, either…”
“Are you saying that Corey died in the woods?” Jack interjected.
“If you’d let me finish, you’d’ve found that out… but yes… one day, Halloween, I think it was, somethin… happened to him. He couldn’t take it anymore. And, with the only weapon we had, a single damn pocket knife, he attacked me… caught me off-guard and cut me up real bad. The whole time I tried to fight him off, tryin to get him to snap out of it, tellin him we’d be ok, that someone would find us. Tryin to have the positivity that he’d had at the beginnin, but he wasn’t havin none of it. He kept talkin about how out there, there was no friendship. There was no partnership. There was no ‘us’…” his gaze turned to the mirror at the side of the room, “Just me, him, and hunger, and that one of us had to go, so the other could go on. I just wanted to get him off of me… I just wanted to stay alive, I…” he began to choke on his words, feeling tears trying to push past his defenses. He couldn’t cry, not here, not now. Not with two officers staring him down, probably more behind the walls. But at the same time, telling his story was hard, and it made breaking down so easy, the very last things that he wanted to do, he had to do in this confession. He took a deep breath to try to compose himself and force the tears back, trying not to hear the whispers in his mind, what the police could possibly be saying about him, and press on with his story.
“When we were fightin, I… I threw him against a tree. I didn’t think it was that hard, but… I was wrong… he wasn’t movin… he wasn’t respondin… he wasn’t even breathin… I wanted him to be paralyzed, I really did, because even that was better than the truth… but… I knew what I’d done to him… I’d broken his back, and I’d killed him… I don’t remember how long I cried, just that we’d fought around noon, and when my eyes finally cleared, it was dark. I’d killed my best friend, officers… And… I was so hungry… I know I should have just tried to look for something else, but at that moment… I… I don’t think I cared anymore…”
“Don’t say it…” Jack mumbled quietly.
“I ate him… I ate Corey… I felt like some kind of savage animal… it was the most bitter thing I’ve ever eaten… it tasted like pennies and raw pork and was every bit as bitter as straight, black coffee… And that’s not even the worst part…” he trailed off, losing his battle against his own tears despite how hard he tried to stay composed.
Seeing him in distress like this, even if he was a wanted criminal, it almost made the two officers feel bad for him.
“What was the worst part, then?” John prompted him to keep telling his story.
“The worst part… was that they found us the next day… or, I guess… they found me the next day… Corey was nothin more than a broken, dismembered corpse… and I’d buried him, so, they never found the body… My best friend, he deserved better than that… If I’d just held off one more day, if we’d held off just one more day I wouldn’t even be here right now!”
“That’s only one killing, what about the other several over the years?” Jack interjected, standing up.
“Officers… by now you must have noticed the pattern…”
“Yes, of course we have. One to three killings, every Halloween for the past eleven years, this year being the only exception besides the years you were in prison. We’d assumed it was to disguise it as a show.”
“That’s… not quite the truth. If you remember, I told you that me and Corey fought on Halloween… I ate him on Halloween night… well… somethin must have happened that night… or maybe there was somethin in his body but… Every Halloween, I get hungry… so, so uncontrollably hungry. I spend the day fightin it off, and the night… well, you can guess…”
“Hm… well, what changed this year? Like Jack said, this is the only year, besides your prison time, when you didn’t successfully kill someone. And we got to you pretty damn late, so what was keeping you from killing someone?” John asked, leaning forward in his chair as his partner sat back down. “Did it have something to do with this?”
The brunette produced a golden amulet tucked securely in an evidence bag. The amulet had a large, circular charm with a similarly round, baby-blue gem in the center, and two flowing, feather shaped decorations on the bottom. He set it down on the table and allowed the fugitive to examine it, although a single glance showed Bob knew exactly what it was.
“Where did you get that…?”
“One of our coworkers found it while we were going through your things, checking for evidence in case someone tried to plead a case for you. Interestingly enough, it looks just like the amulet worn by the assumed cultists running around, like this one,” Jack informed Bob, placing an image of a cultist on the table for proof.
“We’ll give you a moment to collect yourself, maybe some time to let it out,” John offered, noticing how the man was still having trouble from his near-breakdown earlier, “And then, maybe you can tell us what’s going on with you and the cult.”
A whisper near the door caught the attention of the two, whipping around to see the face of one of the aforementioned coworkers, none other than Shotty themself.
“Psst, guys, we got it,” they whispered, motioning to the two.
Jack nodded as he and John stood.
“Stay put and let it out, we’ll be right back. And don’t try anything,” he warned before the two headed out, meeting up with their colleagues.
“How much you get outta that guy?” Cap questioned, peering into the one-way window at Bob, who was finally crying, now that he was under the impression that he was alone.
“A lot, but it was all how he came to be a cannibal, and his urges. Did you two get what we asked?” John asked the two.
“Yep! And can I just add, this is a great thing you two are doing, especially you, Jack. I’ve never seen you give someone a second chance before,” Shotty said as they handed the stack of papers off.
“What are you talking about? I’ve given plenty of people a second chance!” Jack argued, a little offended.
“Name one.”
“Every cop in this town?”
“There’s four cops in this town, excluding you,” Cap pointed out, “And you never needed to give John a second chance because he’s basically our boss! Oh, also, not to divert or anything, but we figured the big guy would appreciate this stuff,” he handed the two a pack of tissues and a glass of water.
“Good, thanks. You two are being… really considerate towards a criminal. Something going on?” Jack asked, a bit suspicious of their behavior.
Shotty rolled their eyes a bit. “C’mon Jack, not everyone is as mean as you. I mean, yes, he has killed, like, a lot of people, but he still deserves tissues and water. Not to mention, from what we understand, he can’t actually help it, sooooo…”
“Fair. Now, we got one more job for you,” John finally spoke up again. “We need you to go talk to the mayor about our plan. He’ll listen to you more than he listens to us, for some god-forsaken reason, so if you talk to him about it, chances are he’ll listen.”
“You got it, boss,” Cap assured him.
“We’re on it! To Evermore’s houseeee!” Shotty cheered as they and Cap left.
“Hey, wait, don't go to his-! And they’re gone… oh those two are going to get fired one day…” the brunette grumbled.
Jack chuckled quietly, shifting the papers in his arms and looking into the one-way window at a now calming Bob.
“Looks like he’s stopping, should we head back in?”
“Mhm. Time to figure out what’s going on with that cult.”
The two stepped back into the interrogation room, Jack clutching the papers to his chest and holding the door as John carried over the tissues and water for Bob, sliding them over the table to the oldest. Wiping away his tears as the door slammed shut, the killer sighed heavily, having just let out twelve years of pent-up emotions in the span of a few minutes. He took a long sip of water as John continued from earlier.
“So, now that we’ve given you some time, what can you tell us about the cult?” the brunette got straight to the point.
“Nothin… I can’t tell ya nothin,” Velseb grumbled.
“And why is that?”
“I made a promise… and I always keep my promises. A good man always does, after all…”
“Barely a good man…” Jack grumbled, setting the paperwork in his lap.
“Well, I’m a man of my word, that’s for damn sure. And my word says I’ll keep quiet about that cult. All I can tell ya is they’re far more harmless than they seem.”
“Somehow, I have trouble believing that,” John argued. “But, is there anything we could do that could possibly convince you?”
“For that, officers, you’d have to do the impossible.”
“Which is?”
“Find out how to cure whatever the hell is wrong with me…”
The partners looked at each other before nodding, a knowing look in their eyes.
“Actually, Mr. Velseb, there might be a way,” Jack informed him, placing the stack of papers on the table, sliding them over to his fellow ravenette, who gave them a skeptical look.
“What’s this?”
“Paperwork. Paperwork to get you transferred from prison to a rehabilitation facility. This could be the key to your new life, Bob. With enough effort, we could help you completely get rid of your cannibalism… curse, in a sense. You’d never have to eat another person to satiate yourself again. In a few years time, you could be living a normal life, maybe even have a family,” John explained, gently pushing the papers more towards the unwilling cannibal.
“As nice as that’d be, officers… I’m afraid my reputation has been set in stone. No matter how many years of rehab I go through, I’ll always be Bob Velseb, feared and hated serial killer… no one will trust me to be in a store, no one will trust me to be alone. I’ll be monitored by everyone, no matter how many years go by. I’ll never have a normal life, nor a family. It’s too late to change that fact. However…” he began to think further about it, “your offer is temptin. Even if I can’t have a ‘normal life’, it would be nice to not have to deal with… whatever the hell happened to me. Do ya really think it’ll work…?”
“As long as you cooperate, then I think anything is possible, including helping you,” Jack reasoned, “but we need the information only you can give us.”
“You’re askin some pretty sensitive information… these people you’re investigatin, they’re not doin anythin wrong. I know they seem odd, maybe even creepy, but in all honesty, it’s more like a lil family thing. But that’s about all I can tell ya…”
“I know you can tell us a lot more, Mr. Velseb, and we can’t give you the papers until we have everything we need. It might seem a little unfair to you, but we can’t give you any sort of reward until we get what we asked for.”
Bob sighed a bit. He hated it, but understood. He’d either have to break his promise, or live out the rest of his life with an unbearable ‘curse’ in prison, most likely solitary confinement. Frankly, one option was far preferable to the other.
“Hm. Fine, I’ll tell ya what it seems like ya need to hear.”
The two cops glanced at each other before leaning forward a bit, signifying that they were listening.
“The cult isn’t quite what ya might be thinkin it is. The cult isn’t some high-and-mighty ‘our god is the only real god’, sacrificin, blood-thirsty, cliche cult from every doomsday movie. But, one thing’s for sure… that thing, whatever the hell it is… is real. I’ve looked into the depths of the hole it’s in, and I could almost feel it lookin back at me. They wanted me to meet it, but… they were kind when I refused. They seemed to understand, they let me in anyway. The leader, he told me that they didn’t like makin people uncomfortable. That they promoted comfort and happiness in the cult. As a matter of fact, they wanted me as a scout so they could help me overcome what I went through. I help them, they help me.
“They’re like a big family, the leader actin as a dad, in a way. Said somethin bout how he has a kid at home so it’s nothin new to him, I dunno. They meet every now and again, in that house on that hill. There’s a hole in the floor there that leads right to it. I’ve never seen it personally, but some of the members described it to me. Said it looks like a giant, pinkish, broccoli lookin thing, who’s head fades into darkness above, millions of baby-blue eyes formin the stars. A huge mouth that doesn’t even look like it’s connected with huge teeth that are on the outside, and long, kinda fluffy tentacles. They’ve told me what it’s like to look into it’s eyes, or, ‘the stars’, as they call it. They’ve said it makes ya almost numb, then their memories start blurrin together. I never get a straight answer of what happens after that, except that they ‘wake up’ feelin happy and calm, and that they’re already out of the hole when they come to. In fact, it can completely change someone’s attitude and everythin. I’m actually pretty close with someone who used to be bitter and spiteful, accordin to him, but after seein that thing, he was one of the calmest, kindest people I’d ever seen.
“Maybe that’s why I agreed to their deal… maybe I thought that thing could fix me. It seems like it changes people for the better. Bout everyone there either acted like that man, or was cheerful and sweet. I thought, if nothin else, it could make me happier. But, I got scared. I wussed out. I didn’t wanna see that thing, it sounded terrifyin. But, I guess in doin so, I kinda distanced myself from them, and the odd things that they liked…”
“What kind of things?” John asked, intrigued by his descriptions.
“Well, for the most part, affection. Especially ticklin. I don’t know why, but that seems like the thing everythin is centered around in that cult. I’ll run into people who can’t so much as say the word without lightin up in the face like a Christmas tree, or people who can say it so casually that they have full-blown conversations about it. I’ll walk past two or three tickle fights each meetin, ones that, half the time, end up bein very one-sided. Sometimes I’ll even let loose and join in. Though when that usually happens, I practically get dog piled and tickled until I can’t stop laughin for damn near an hour…” he chuckled a bit to himself, “It’s fun, though… I have to admit, they’ve got a damn good idea.”
“Tickling?” Jack asked in astonishment. Something so innocent from people who he’d thought just a few minutes ago were dangerous.
“Idea?” John echoed Bob’s words, more focused on the goal of this cult.
“Mhm. Spreadin happiness through a love of ticklin. It’s said that if you don’t already like it, seein the monster makes ya love it. I, personally, don’t mind it. But it’s not a strange, super-obsessive kinda love, it’s more like a sorta… what’s the word that he used…? Hyper… hyper… hyper-something-or-other… ah, hyperfixation, yeah. Basically, it’s almost always in the back of their minds, even when they don’t know it. Accordin to them, havin this shared love, bein able to confide in each other and be genuinely vulnerable with each other is actually really nice. And they wanna share this with the town. Simple as that.”
“That’s… really it? No hostile takeover bid? No ominous prophecy? No blood sacrifices?” Jack questioned, still in disbelief.
“Didn’t I tell ya at the start? No, none of that cliche doomsday shit. They just want to turn this small town into a happy family,” Bob reiterated, slightly annoyed.
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Lie to Me
Prompts: Post Pof: Janus is not doing ok, everday he can taste Roman's lies, he can feel Roman's pain. He can feel the ego crumbling. Guilt plagues him as hes done the opposite of protecting the ego. Hey uh... could you write a fic when you have the time? - meltheromanstan
Roman is having issues trying to keep up his facade (and maybe struggling with his work cause ADHD makes everything difficult on top of everything because I love the idea of the twins having ADHD) and he is one bump in the road away from a full on meltdown. And Janus realizes a lie in a conversation that’s concerning and at some point in Roman begrudgingly gives a self deprecating reason and Janus is like heck no and Roman’s like why not and Janus is like because i care? And then Roman breaks down because no one has told him anything like that in a long time. Sorry that’s so long. You can write this whenever, or never if you don’t wanna. Anygay, bye and thank you! - anon
Thank you for the requests! oh this poor man. roman i'm so sorry you didn't do anything to deserve this and here I am hurting you. I'm so sorry bb you need to be wrapped up with a hot chocolate and sat far away from everything.
Read on Ao3
Warnings: self-hatred, self-doubt, poor roman’s got so much internalized hatred this poor man, some things that can be interpreted as self-harm but nothing explicit
Pairings: main focus on roceit but it can be platonic or romantic you decide, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR
Word Count: 10,554
Janus hears every single lie in the Mindscape. It doesn't matter whether or not the liar believes it to be true or knows it's a falsehood; if it isn't true, he hears it.
Roman lies. A lot.
Or: 5 times Janus had to hide that he was taking care of Roman, and 1 time he didn't.
1.
They never gave Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he can be.
The wedding is an absolute dumpster fire. The aftermath is a nuclear explosion. Roman sinks out in silence, long before the video is over. Virgil never shows up, neither does Remus. Logan is cut off before he can realize it.
Well, that’s not true.
Janus cuts Logan off before he can realize it.
Because he didn’t care about them, no. Patton has the most influence over Thomas. Patton is the one who influences the other Sides more than they realize most of the time. And Patton is the one who needed to listen.
So it didn’t matter that the others weren’t there when Janus had to talk to Patton and Thomas, because it worked. Thomas listened, Patton finally understood, and things could start getting better.
…or so he thought.
In fairness, the others came around…fairly quickly. He approached Logan with a book on philosophy and an apology on his lips, only to be swept up into a conversation that had drawn both Patton and Virgil into the living room by the end of the day. It felt…well, right isn’t the correct word, but…warm, perhaps. Yes, let’s go with warm.
Of course, Remus belly-flopping onto the couch—and the rest of them—near the end was certainly an additional factor.
But Roman…
Janus didn’t expect Roman to forgive him. Certainly not quickly. He certainly expected Roman to forgive the others for whatever little parts they played in harming the prince’s precious ego. And he absolutely expected the prince to admit that he was wrong, that it was indeed his fault that everything had gone so spectacularly wrong.
The first time Roman walks into the kitchen after the wedding, Janus flinches.
Virgil notices and all but jumps in front of him, snarling a ‘what do you want?’ in Roman’s direction. Patton had turned around and his smile had frozen, staring at Roman.
“Hello, Roman,” Logan says cooly, “may we help you?”
“Yeesh, aren’t you lot jumpy this morning?” Roman shakes his head and sighs dramatically. “I am not here to grace you all with my glorious presence, simply to grab a little food and depart on a quest!”
“Thank god,” Virgil mutters, too low for Roman to hear.
He pushes Janus behind him as Roman waltzes into the kitchen to take something out of the cupboard.
“…when will you be back,” Patton asks warily, “and where are you going?”
“Into the Imagination, my dear Padre!” Roman spreads his arms wide. “To see where the spirit of adventure takes me!”
“That answers only one of the questions.” Logan closes his notebook sharply.
“Time is a social construct,” Roman says airily, “but I suppose I shall try to return for dinner?”
“Don’t force yourself,” Virgil snarks, crossing his arms, “looks hard enough already.”
Roman just laughs and leaves.
“Goodness,” Patton mumbles, leaning on the counter, “I didn’t expect him to be so—so—“
“Roman?” Virgil rolls his eyes. “Princey’s got a head bigger than a fucking balloon—“
“Language.”
“—and he’s not gonna come down to earth for anything.”
“Roman is—or can be—remarkably immature when it comes to admitting his mistakes,” Logan adds, “it’s not to be completely unexpected that he is still in denial.”
Patton sighs. “I know, I just…expected better.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Virgil huffs, “what about you, Janus? Are you hurt?”
“I also noticed you flinch,” Logan says, standing, “are you alright? Did Roman…”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he, kiddo?”
No. No, Janus is absolutely fine right now.
The instant Roman had appeared in the doorway, the lies slammed into Janus.
They hate you, they never want to see you again.
Everything is your fault.
Virgil is right to try and shield Janus from you, you were so fucking cruel to him.
They don’t deserve to be burdened with you.
Leave. Leave so they never have to put up with you. You know they don’t want you.
They’ve never wanted you.
And yet, as clearly as he heard those lies, he heard Roman, the blustery, pompous Prince, loud as ever, spoiled as ever. He saw Roman, the swaggering adventurer, the cocky Creativity who was always right, always the center of attention.
The actor.
Janus had definitely given him enough credit for that.
“Janus?”
Right, they’re still waiting for an answer.
“I’m fine,” he says, a beat too late, “just caught off guard, that’s all.”
Virgil eyes him suspiciously. “You’re lying.”
“Well of course I am,” Janus sighs, rolling his eyes, “it’s not like Deceit is one of my primary functions, after all.”
“Kiddo,” Patton says, “you know you can tell us if Roman—if someone hurts you, right?”
Something pinches just under his chin. “I know.”
“…so?”
He shakes his head. “Roman hasn’t hurt me, nor has he threatened to.”
Virgil bumps his shoulder. “Just…keep us in the loop, okay?”
“Because it’s very likely that Roman will hurt me.”
The others chuckle or brush it off. Of course, they did. When they aren’t paying attention, Janus lets his gaze trail up the stairs, following the line where the prince vanished. The others have never paid much attention to when Roman returns from his ‘quests.’
Janus does.
Even if Janus weren’t consciously coming to the prince’s aid, he’s certain he’d be summoned regardless.
He waits, quiet in the shadows, for the telltale squeak of the lower hinge on the red wardrobe door in Roman’s room. He’s learned to keep still, keep quiet, not yet fully materialized, watching as Roman stumbles back through the door, one of his arms sagging in relief as the other holds him up. The door creaks shut and a shuddering breath leaves the prince’s chest.
His head bows.
Before the charade completely falls away, Roman pushes himself up and starts getting ready to sleep. His sash, normally laid so carefully over the back of his chair, is given barely a second thought as he throws his costume onto the floor. Janus winces at the slam of the bathroom door and again at the way Roman all but collapses into the bed with a miserable expression on his face. He doesn’t need to pry away the pillow to know that Roman is desperate.
Stupid, stupid, worthless prince.
Not even a fucking prince, not even the fucking squire.
Useless, can’t even do your fucking job.
Can’t even stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself even though you know damn well you don’t deserve it.
You don’t deserve anything.
Janus grits his teeth and waits. Waits for Roman’s lies to grow less vitriolic, more sluggish, waits for Roman’s breathing to even out, sagging against the pillow, before he moves.
His footsteps are silent as he crosses the room, keeping a wary eye on the door, lest someone else knock and wake up the now sleeping prince. He swallows, leaning down, his lips barely brushing the curve of Roman’s ear.
He doesn’t touch, doesn’t want to risk waking him now.
“You’re not stupid, Roman,” he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard, even by himself. “You’re not worthless, you’ve never been worthless.”
Roman shifts in his sleep. Janus freezes. He stills and he breathes out. Bends just a little closer.
“And you deserve to know that.”
Even if he can only even whisper it when Roman is too deep in sleep to hear him.
2.
The lies don’t stop. They just get worse.
Fortunately, Janus’s powers aren’t limited by the physical space, not when the lies are particularly pervasive. For example, every time Logan insists that he doesn’t have feelings, or Virgil insists he doesn’t care about the others, or Patton says—particularly passionately—that everything’s fine, Janus hears it. These ones typically merit a scoff and a roll of the eyes, or a quip if he’s actually in the same room. These ones he’s used to.
Here’s the thing about the lies that Janus can hear; it doesn’t matter whether or not they’re lies that someone knows is a lie or whether it’s something they believe. If it isn’t true, Janus will hear it.
Case in point: Roman’s lies, and the lies that took Janus far too long to figure out were lies.
When he decides to tune into Roman’s mind, he’s normally greeted with statements lauding about how amazing the prince is, how he’s the best Side, how much he loves himself. Even when he’s not paying particular attention to Roman, he can hear those sentiments loud and clear.
The issue with that? He can hear them loud and clear.
Now, is it likely that these are things that Roman believes that aren’t true? The possibility exists.
Is it more likely, given recent…developments, that these are things that Roman has known aren’t true, and is intentionally thinking them in order to keep playing a role?
No, of course not, why would you ever think that?
They won’t go away. He can barely look at Roman now, can’t stop seeing, hearing all the lies he tells himself every day. The others are starting to worry, growing colder towards Roman, concerned about how much Janus tries to put distance between them. Virgil keeps shoving himself in between the two of them, Logan keeps pulling Janus into long conversations that Roman wouldn’t dare insert himself into, Patton makes sure the two of them are never alone.
Well, almost never alone.
The lies are the worst at night. When Roman is in his room, curled up under the covers, his head buried in his hands, they roam freely, coloring the red curtains with shadows, smearing themselves over his paintings, his drawings, his writing, his keyboard.
They’re right to be scared of you, right to hate you.
You don’t deserve their forgiveness, especially when you haven’t even apologized for the amount of things you’ve done wrong.
And you’re selfish enough to want a fucking apology from them?
Janus, waiting in the corner for Roman to fall asleep, winces, the strength and magnitude of the lie filling his mouth with bitterness.
Does he deserve an apology from Roman? Yes, perhaps, that would be nice. Laughing at his name in a moment of vulnerability was…perhaps not ideal.
But the idea that Roman doesn’t deserve an apology? From any of them?
Roman, the only one who consistently defers and gives and tries and hopes for them, the one who works nonstop to make sure they have something, anything to do, for Thomas, for each other, the only one who’s called out to apologize to them, who apologizes to them when he realizes he’s done something wrong?
Roman deserves an apology. If only to make up for the amount of times he’s been blamed for something that someone else started.
A noise.
Janus blinks, coming back to the present as Roman stirs. For a moment, he worries that the prince has woken up, that he’s discovered someone else in his room, only for a trail of sluggish lies to funnel into his mind.
Janus hates you more than anyone else and he’s right to.
You hurt Janus on purpose.
You never stop hurting Janus.
You will always be someone he can use, a puppet, until you are nothing more than an obstacle.
Before he can stop himself, he’s striding across the room to murmur in Roman’s ear again, chest aching with the weight of the lies.
“The others,” he murmurs, flooding the words with as much sincerity as he can, “they don’t know what I can hear, what they have never noticed, and that is what hurts me, my prince, that you are so quiet and so brave that you can convince the world that you’re not suffering.”
Roman clutches his pillow a little tighter.
“I don’t hate you, my prince, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me like that, and I know—“ he takes a deep breath— “I know that the hurt you caused me is nothing compared to what I have done to you.”
He closes his eyes and feels the guilt well up in his chest. He knows he can’t say the full apology that Roman needs—that he deserves right now. He can’t even begin to imagine all the little things he hasn’t even realized he’s done to Roman, how many things he’s done that he’s forgotten that were just another Tuesday to him, but rewrote entire chapters of Roman’s life.
He can’t begin to imagine how much of this could’ve been stopped if only he’d realized just how hurt Roman has always been.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry that I never realized how far I let this get.”
3.
Roman is touch-starved, he realized, horrified one day when he walks into the living room to see Logan and Patton sitting on the couch, Virgil sprawled across their laps, and Roman in the corner, far away from everyone else, hiding such a look of heartbreak that Janus almost stops in the doorway as Remus brushes past him.
“Hey!” Virgil splutters when Remus lies down on top of him.
“Remus!” Patton pushes lightly at him. “You’re going to squish Virgil!”
“He’s durable, he’s used to it.”
Logan raises his eyebrows, looking to Janus for confirmation. Janus sighs.
“I can remember every single time I’ve walked into our living room to see the two of them on the couch,” he says dryly, “and I’m certain that all of them have started with Remus asking Virgil’s permission to lie on top of him for hours.”
“See?” Remus wraps his arms around Virgil. “He’s fine.”
“Yeah, yeah, Pat and L’s knees won’t be though.”
“Ooh! Did you know that some people have a third bone in their knee?”
“I would be more than happy to follow this train of conversation,” Logan mutters, “if you were to get off my lap.”
“Fine.”
Janus shakes his head again as Remus clambers off, landing cross-legged next to Logan on the couch and immediately info-dumping. Virgil sighs and scoots, laying his head in Patton’s lap and going back to his phone. Patton runs his hand through Virgil’s hair and wiggles his free hand at Janus.
“Come on, there’s plenty of room.”
Remus snorts, interrupting his tirade long enough to say: “Jan-Jan’s not a cuddler,” before going back to talking about…something to do with knees. Patton frowns.
“What?”
“’S true.” Virgil peers up at him. “He’ll hug you if you ask for it but he’s not big on cuddling.”
“O-oh.”
“He should still come sit with us, though,” Virgil says quickly, shooting Janus a very subtle look, “so get over here, J.”
Janus sits, pulling out his book and opening it. After a few seconds, Patton looks away, and Virgil tunes out again.
Good.
The lies were getting a little too hard to stand.
Here, behind his book, he can shift his attention to Roman, scribbling in his notebook and looking every bit the creative genius at work, dead to the world, couldn’t give less interest as to what’s going on around him.
As he said, Roman is a fantastic actor.
This time, it’s not even that the words are the thing hurting him now. No, these lies are the type he’s more used to, someone frantically muttering the same thing to themselves over and over and over, trying to convince themselves it’s true. The problem is what’s being carried with the lies, and how deep this need must run in order for it to make it to Janus.
I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.
Roman’s hand is trembling a little on his pen as his brow furrows, eyes skating back and forth over the page. The ache starts just under his chin, right where it meets his throat, and surges, rushing through his arms to the very tips of his fingers. All of them, even the hidden ones. His gloves twitch on the pages of the book.
He’s so cold.
I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.
The words start to blur together. It hurts. His arms ache. He risks looking more openly at Roman only for him to notice, looking back and quirking an eyebrow.
“Something wrong, Deceit?”
“He has a name,” Virgil growls.
“Janus,” Roman amends, shooting Virgil a glance, “is there something wrong?”
“Why’re you over there?”
He meant to ask why Roman wasn’t sitting with the other Sides. He meant to ask whether Roman chose to sit by himself and starve himself of physical contact or if the others had cut him off. He meant to ask if Roman wanted to come to sit with the rest of them.
Instead, Roman smiles.
“You’re right. It’s getting quite late. I must be off!”
Before Janus can say anything, Roman assumes his dramatic pose and sinks out, cheerily declaring his farewells.
Next to him, Patton lets out a shaky breath.
“Goodness.”
Logan adjusts his glasses. “Quite.”
“Thanks, Janus,” Virgil mutters, making himself more comfortable, “I thought he’d never leave.”
No.
No, no, no, this is all wrong.
“Why did you want him to leave?”
Virgil shrugs. “It’s harder when he’s here.”
“Harder how?”
“We do not know how to act around Roman,” Logan admits, fixing his tie, “he’s not—well, he seems content to behave as if nothing is wrong, and…”
“It’s not,” Patton says softly. He fiddles with his hands. “We can’t go back to the way it was before, and Roman…Roman doesn’t seem to know how to move on.”
Virgil snorts. “Not that he seems to care enough to try.”
Well, if the lies still plaguing Roman’s thoughts are any indication…
Why would they want to touch you? You ruin everything you touch, haven’t you ruined enough already? Haven’t you ruined them enough already?
They’re done trying with you. They hate you. It’s a wonder they only realize it now.
Broken, useless, toxic prince. Finally left out in the cold where you deserve to be.
Roman curls up under his thin sheet, the heavy blankets put away for the colder seasons too far away and too close to Patton’s room for him to get them safely. Janus watches as he twitches miserably, curling up tighter, turning over, hugging his pillow to his chest, trying, trying to feel warm. Every now and then there’s a quiet noise, quickly stifled. His arms start to ache again, not just from the cold, but from how much Roman seems to believe that no one wants to touch him.
He makes up his mind.
He sinks out to his room, quickly grabbing one of his weighted blankets from his own storage. Returning to Roman’s room, he waits with bated breath until Roman’s chest rises and falls at a steady rate before carefully creeping forward and spreading the blanket over the prince.
“Don’t make yourself cold,” he murmurs, tucking it into place, “stay warm for me, my prince, stay warm, it’s alright.”
Roman shifts, turning his head so it accidentally brushes Janus’s hand.
Janus freezes.
Roman hums slightly and falls back asleep. Shaking, Janus moves his fingers, letting them card through Roman’s hair. The prince mumbles and doesn’t wake.
He does it again, firmer this time. Roman all but melts under this, just this, just a proper blanket over him and someone running their fingers through his hair.
“Oh, Roman,” Janus murmurs, unable to resist cupping Roman’s face in his hand, “you’re don’t ruin everything you touch, far from it.”
He cups the back of Roman’s head, guiding it to a more comfortable angle.
“On the contrary,” he whispers, “you make us better.”
And maybe…maybe he can try and provide a little of what Roman needs. Even if they have to be stolen moments, felt only on the very edges of sleep, when Roman is conscious enough to remember them but not lucid enough to lie and say he doesn’t deserve it.
4.
The time when Roman barely managed to stumble through the door in his room before passing out is the only time Janus seriously considers calling the others to help.
But no, he reminds himself as he rushes to the prince’s side, they would want to wake him up, to scold him, to figure out exactly what he thought he was doing, whether or not he’s considered whether this is hurting Thomas.
Janus bites back a growl as he starts examining the prince.
Perhaps if they were so concerned about whether or not hurting Roman hurts Thomas, they’d be more considerate about what they say to him.
He pushes that away for now, more focused on getting Roman’s tight collar away from his neck and checking the state of his bruises. From what he can see from the dirt on the costume, he’s fallen, from quite a significant height, and who knows what else might be hiding under here?
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he looks around for something to help, “but I may have to peel you out of these.”
Sure enough, he can get most of the costume top off fairly easily—and gains a newfound respect for how difficult it must be to put the thing on by himself, there are so many buttons—but the undershirt proves more difficult, especially as it seems to be stuck in places that it should not be stuck in.
…oh.
Oh, no.
Janus bites back a curse and moves quickly. One arm reaches for the first aid kit he knows is in the bathroom, one arm grabs a pillow and stuffs it under Roman’s head, two gently move his arms up and over his head, and two carefully, carefully take the edge of the undershirt and beginning to take it off.
He presses a gauze pad to the wound over Roman’s hip.
He holds an ice pack to the swollen lump on his rib cage.
He checks over the wound on his chest.
He tilts Roman’s head from side to side to see how far up the bruises go.
The pants have to come next and Janus grits his teeth, running his hand over Roman’s forehead as an apology before he shucks the article of clothing.
More bruises. So many bruises. Thankfully no more bleeding wounds.
He lets out a breath and sits back on his haunches, staring down at the injured prince.
The best thing about it, he decides, is that there’s no way for Roman to know that he would’ve been safe passing out and not taking care of any of these.
The wound on his hip has all but stopped bleeding as Janus tends to it carefully, wiping away the blood and soothing the angry skin with a balm, covering the whole thing with a bandage. The mark on his chest isn’t as bad as it looks, bits of dead skin that Janus clears away and brushes off Roman’s torso. The antiseptic makes him hiss a little and he rubs soothing circles into his tummy until he resettles, murmuring that he’s doing so well, he’s almost done, they’ll get him into bed and he can rest.
None of the bruises on his legs are bad enough to merit bruise cream, let alone keeping the poor thing from his bed for a moment longer. Instead, Janus quickly covers the one on his ribs and lifts the prince into his arms.
Roman jolts.
“Shh, shh,” Janus murmurs, stroking a free hand through his hair, “shh, shh, shh…”
Roman shushes, just in time for Janus to lie him down and tuck him in, one hand still in his hair as he sits on the edge of the bed. A furrow grows between his brows.
Should’ve gotten hurt worse.
Janus freezes.
Should’ve let them hit you more.
Got off too easy.
It should hurt more. You deserve it. Maybe if you pay enough it’ll get better.
“No, sweetie,” Janus whispers, reaching out before he can stop himself and cradling Roman’s sleeping head in his hands, “no, no, no, don’t ever believe that we want to see you hurt.”
Shouldn’t have come back.
Shouldn’t be a burden.
At least none of the others know about it, they would only complain and ignore you. Useless, worthless prince.
“You’re not worthless, sweetie,” Janus promises, still cradling the poor thing’s head, running his fingers through his hair to keep him lulled and asleep, “shh, now, everything’s alright, hush now…”
As the lies drift off into nothingness, Roman along with them, Janus’s face falls.
Roman is the protector. The prince that will always put himself between them and whatever dared to try and hurt them. He’s not meant to fight a war on two fronts.
Who protects the protector?
“I will, sweetie,” Janus whispers, so, so quietly as he tidies up Roman’s room and gives the sleeping prince one last pat, “I’ll look after you.”
5.
Roman, perhaps more than any of the others, is essential to Thomas’s mental help.
Roman is Thomas’s hopes and dreams, the things he wants above all else, the things he strives for, the things he desires. He reaches and reaches and reaches for Thomas, holds every single one of his wants close to his chest, and keeps them safe until they can bubble up into reality.
Roman is romance, the reason Patton gets all fluttery and bubbly inside. He’s the suave, fabulous, gay disaster that encourages Thomas to be happy, to reach for who he wants, for who he desires.
Roman is creativity, the livelihood that Thomas has chosen. He works nonstop, tirelessly producing idea after idea for Thomas to film, to write, to create, so Thomas can live and be proud of what he’s doing.
Roman is the Ego.
What is the Ego, you may ask? Well, although Freud is largely considered bullshit by modern psychologists—or at the very least, upsetting due to the fact that his research was largely corrupted by the rich men funding it—there are certain aspects of his work that remain in the public mind.
Simply put, the Ego is the conscious mind. It is the sum of your thoughts, beliefs, and habits as they interact with your physical body. The tether that stretches into your awareness and consciousness and into your physical form. It is a combination of body-thoughts-feelings and the consciousness taken to activate it.
The Ego gives you a sense of self-worth. It is a mask, one you put on and play as a role.
Everyone and anyone, it seems, has been warned about the dangers of an out-of-control Ego. Overconfident, hubristic, arrogant, with no regard for others. A vapid complainer, sustained by the power of approval hoarded selfishly. You are encouraged, if not instructed outright, to learn how to live without paying any attention to your Ego.
Here’s what they don’t tell you.
The Ego is what you think of yourself. It gives you self-worth because that’s its job. To make you feel secure in who you are. It is sustained by approval because it lives in fear. It itself puts on a mask of strength, of imperviousness, that it is indestructible, because it is soft, malleable, and so very afraid.
It is true that the Ego is nourished by positive comments, because it isn’t a crime to feel good, or to feel proud, or to want to be validated. It is true that the Ego sometimes reaches too high, only to fall, because that is its nature, to want, and to hope.
They don’t tell you that when you turn your hatred inwards, your Ego doesn’t just bruise, it crumbles.
So when Logan constantly tells Roman that they can’t do something, or it isn’t a worthy use of their time, despite his best intentions, he’s not doing much other than snatching Roman’s dreams away. Roman learns not to ignore Logan, yes, but at the expense of constantly being told that it is his fault when Thomas feels crushed, never mind that Roman is crushed, too.
So when Virgil insults and belittles his worth, tells him he’s stupid and unimportant, despite the fact that Roman will snipe back at him, all he does is reinforce the idea that Roman is the only one at fault, that Virgil is allowed to sit and insult him to his heart’s content while Roman has to apologize for standing up for himself. Roman learns to stand quietly while Virgil tells Thomas he’s a disappointment until the time comes where he believes it’s true.
So when Patton decides that Roman is bad, after how much Roman has sacrificed for Patton, to do what would make Patton happy, Thomas happy, when all he needs is just someone on his side, something, anything, Roman has to stand there, alone, hurt, angry, upset, and be told that he’s wrong. Roman learns that he’s only here to give, not to receive, that no one will hold him when he falls apart.
So when Remus starts to show up, more and more, less and less restrained, no one puts it together that Roman literally does not have the strength to hold him back. Roman learns that the others don’t realize how little confidence he already has, only that their approval of him is directly proportional to how much they hate his brother.
So when Janus decides that Thomas needs to take better care of himself and that the only one he needs to focus on is Patton, Roman is the perfect tool, the perfect puppet, to be used and tossed aside when he no longer needs him, because it’s so easy to twist and turn the little prince so he dances in just the right way, never mind how much it hurts. Roman learns that no one ever cared about him, not really, and perhaps they never will.
As you might be able to imagine, destroying the thing that gives one self-worth is absolutely the best way to go about things.
Can any of you guess where the blame gets pushed when Thomas’s mental health suddenly plummets?
It’s definitely where it should be.
The thing that scares Janus the most about how that meeting goes is how resigned Roman is.
His hands are folded neatly behind his back. His face is politely blank. His mind is quiet.
When there’s a break in the conversation—if you could even call it that—he opens his mouth.
“What would you like me to do?”
“Have you not been listening?” Logan adjusts his glasses. “To…anything we have said?”
“Of fucking course he hasn’t,” Virgil grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Kiddo,” Patton admonishes, crossing his arms, “Thomas hasn’t had any ideas or dreams lately and it’s stressing him out.”
“Which means you need to get out of the pity party and back to reality with the rest of us,” Virgil adds.
“Which means,” Logan sighs, crossing his arms too, “you are going to have to start talking to us again.”
Roman looks between them. “Are we not…talking now?”
“He means actually interacting with us, Princey.”
“Have I…not been doing that?”
“It means accepting that things have changed,” Logan snaps, “and working through it.”
Roman tilts his head. “How would you like me to do that?”
“Well—“ Logan adjusts his glasses— “let’s start with an apology.”
Something flickers across Roman’s face. Janus looks back and forth between Thomas and Remus. Thomas just looks a little confused as to what’s going on—which, when doesn’t he?—and Remus is staring right at Roman. There’s a strange expression on his face.
“What would you like me to apologize for?”
Janus winces when Virgil scoffs, turning away, and Logan’s mouth hardens into a thin line.
“Why don’t you try starting,” Patton says, “and we’ll see.”
“No, you know what? No.” Virgil points a finger at Roman. “I’m done holding your hand through all of this. Waiting for you to realize that you fucked up.”
“Virgil—“
“No, Pat!” Virgil gestures between the three of them. “You know how hard it’s been on us, waiting for something to change, and now he wants us to just…what, walk him through what he did wrong?”
Patton spares a glance at Roman before looking away.
Roman’s face twitches. He looks down.
“Perhaps Virgil is right,” Logan says, “when Roman can try taking the first step, then maybe this conversation will be more productive. Until then, I see no reason to waste time.”
“Great. Bye, Thomas.”
“Wait, you guys are just leaving?”
“I see no reason to simply stand here and be unproductive,” Logan shrugs, “perhaps if something changes, you can summon us back.”
“Doubt it,” Virgil mutters, grabbing Logan’s shoulder and sinking them out. Patton spares one last look at Roman before he leaves too.
Thomas shuffles a little. Remus keeps staring at Roman.
After a moment, Roman moves.
“…you want me to apologize?”
Janus definitely imagines the chill that goes through the room.
Roman raises his head. He does not look at where Patton stood, he does not look at where Virgil stood, he does not look at where Logan stood.
He looks directly at Thomas.
“I’m sorry, Thomas.”
Thomas splutters. “Roman—“
“I’m sorry that I sent you to the wedding,” Roman says softly, Thomas’s words dying in his throat, “I’m sorry that I made a decision that I thought you wanted. I’m sorry that I tried to put your friends above your own wants, because I thought that was right. I’m sorry that I thought I was doing what was right.”
Thomas’s eyes go wide.
“I’m sorry that you never had faith that you would win the callback,” Roman continues, never once looking away from Thomas, “I’m sorry that your dreams are always too far away, that you must always feel the need to crush them in favor of what is more practical. I’m sorry that you constantly feel like you’re set up to be one big disappointment.”
Janus’s arms drop in shock.
“I’m sorry that I can’t do what you want,” and by this point, Thomas looks on the verge of tears, “even though that’s supposed to be my job. I’m sorry that nothing I do is ever good enough on its own, that you feel so afraid, so scared of doing the things you want. I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel even the tiniest bit of my fear.”
Thomas stifles a noise.
“I’m sorry that I don’t know things.” Roman chuckles sadly. “I’m sorry that it takes me so much time to figure out what to do. I’m sorry that it always feels like everyone’s one step ahead of me, that you have to wait for me to catch up, even though I never, ever do. I’m sorry for not sticking to the plan.”
Something heavy presses against Janus’s throat.
“And I’m sorry that I’m hurt. I’m sorry that it’s been a little too much for me to handle. I’m sorry that my pain is an inconvenience to you.”
“R-Roman—“
Roman just smiles sadly when Thomas can’t finish the sentence. He spreads his arms, giving a little gesture to himself.
“I’m sorry that this is your Ego.”
Janus sees the moment the horrified realization dawns on Thomas’s face.
“I’m gonna fucking kill them,” Remus snarls and it’s only years of practice that makes Janus’s reflexes fast enough to catch hold of him before he sinks out. “Let me go!”
“You can’t hurt them,” Janus grunts, “you know you can’t.”
“Fucking watch me!”
“No, no, Remus,” Thomas splutters, “don’t—don’t do that.”
“Why the fuck not?” Remus snarls, spittle flying from his lips as he struggles against Janus’s hold. “You heard what Roman just said, they—they—“
“We did it too, Remus,” Janus says softly, glancing at Roman, “we’re not blameless either.”
Remus keeps struggling. “Let—me—“
“Remus.”
Roman’s soft voice still the duke entirely, his head whipping around. Roman just stares at him, resignation and acceptance written plainly on his features.
“It’s not fair, Ro,” he mumbles.
“Life isn’t fair.”
“I—I can summon them back, we can get them back, they can listen to you—“
“But they won’t,” Roman cuts off in the same soft fury, “they won’t listen to me.”
“Roman, they love you!”
Janus winces. Roman just turns to look at him. He can’t meet his eyes.
“Maybe,” Roman says eventually, “maybe not. Either way…”
He spreads his hands.
“Here we are.”
“Let me go, Jan.”
“If I do, will you stay?”
“Fine.”
Janus lets him go, only for Remus to lunge and wrap his brother in a tight hug. Roman stands there, immobile, until Remus lets out a howl. Roman just murmurs another soft ‘I’m sorry,' and sinks out.
Remus collapses to the floor, his Morningstar cupped in his hands.
“What—what just happened?”
“The twins share things,” Janus murmurs quietly, his eyes still on Remus, “including emotions when they are particularly strong.”
“So—“ Thomas shakes his head— “so Remus is feeling what Roman’s feeling?”
“No,” Remus snarls, still gripping the weapon tightly, “I’m feeling what Roman isn’t feeling.”
He stands up, eyes blazing.
“I am what Roman isn’t. To you. What Roman isn’t, I am. Which means—“ his knuckles turn white— “the fact that I’m feeling so strongly right now means that Roman isn’t.”
Thomas goes pale. “What?”
“Roman is numb,” Janus says quietly, “he’s closed himself off from…everything. To protect himself.”
“It means my brother, the good Creativity, passion, desire, romance, hopes and dreams, whatever you want to call him,” Remus growls, “is now numb, touch-starved, and too afraid of rejection to reach out for anything.”
“What do I do,” Thomas asks frantically, “how do we fix this?”
“You can let me kill the others.”
“No, Remus.”
“Talk to them,” Janus suggests instead, “I’m not sure they realize what Roman being the Ego means.”
Thomas nods. “Okay, we can do that. Should we do that…now?”
Janus opens his mouth to respond only for something very familiar to trickle into his mind, along with an all-too-familiar tug.
Stupid, useless, worthless, toxic, dumb, unimportant, bad, can’t do anything right, selfish, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong—
“Not now,” he manages, “get some rest. You need it.”
Thomas nods tiredly. Remus just gives him a look that says ‘you’d better not fuck this up’ and leaves, probably to go work out some of his aggression on creatures in the Imagination.
Janus sinks straight into Roman’s room and his heart breaks.
Roman is on the floor, pieces of his prince costume thrown haphazardly around him, sobbing hysterically. It’s so loud that for a moment, Janus worries that someone else will come, trying to figure out what’s wrong, before he’s hit with another wave of lies.
Broken broken broken broken broken broken broken broken wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless—
He aches.
Because he knows he can’t do anything while Roman’s awake. He’d never let him close, never let him see this. A sick feeling crawls into Janus’s stomach at the thought of invading Roman’s privacy like this but it wars with the knowledge that he’d be summoned anyway, and that Roman is falling apart.
So he has to wait.
Watching as Roman falls apart, believing himself unloved, unwanted, and unseen.
Slowly, far too slowly, the harsh sobs morph into softer cries, then sniffles, then Roman stills, slumping on the carpet as his breathing evens out. Tears of his own threaten the corners of Janus’s eyes.
The poor thing cried himself to sleep.
But as he moves closer, reaching out a hand to stroke back his hair, he lets out a coo before he can stop himself when he sees more tears.
The poor thing cried himself to sleep and kept crying.
“Oh, sweetie,” Janus whispers, moving to cradle him as gently as he can without waking him, “sweetie you come here, shh, shh, honey, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”
He lifts the poor prince into his arms, moving swiftly to the bed and laying him down, tucking him in protectively and running his fingers through his hair.
“It’s okay, sweetie, you’re safe now, it’s okay, you’re safe…” He settles Roman’s head on the pillow. “Shh, shh, shh, that’s it, shh…”
Sleep-clumsy fingers curl around his arms. Oh. Oh, dear. Well…
“Oh, sweetie, are you—do you want me to stay?” Janus tries to pull away a bit only for Roman to grumble and hang on. “Oh—okay, sweetie, I’ll stay, just—just a moment.”
He snaps the fingers on a free hand and changes into something softer, something he can sleep in, something Roman can hold and cuddle. He slides into bed next to him, only to be immediately cuddled by a sleeping, still crying Roman.
“Shh, sweetie,” he whispers, nuzzling Roman’s head, “I’m right here, I’m not leaving, I won’t leave you.”
Roman mumbles something and snuggles into Janus’s chest. He makes another comforting noise at the evidence of more tears.
“It’s gonna be okay, sweetie, I promise, I’ll look after you, I’ll take care of you.”
And when Roman lets out a little cry, still asleep, he breaks, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Roman melts.
“Oh, sweetie…”
Janus spoils him with kisses, across his forehead, down his tear-stained cheeks, running his hands through his hair, down his arms, over his back, soothing a particularly painful hitch with a hand on his tummy, rubbing gently until he lapses back into a peaceful sleep. He buries his face in Roman’s hair and holds him tight.
He swallows heavily, guilt and concern warring in his throat.
“I don’t want you to think,” he begins carefully, “that I’m only apologizing because I feel guilty over seeing you hurt and that it’s my fault.”
He tightens his grip on the sleeping prince.
“I am sorry, Roman,” he whispers with his lips against Roman’s forehead as if to speak the truth into the prince’s dreams, “for all the hurt I have caused you. For using and manipulating you, for dismissing you and letting you think you were useless, and for letting the others make you believe you were so unlovable.”
He shudders, his breath coming out shaky.
“But mostly…” he swallows, “mostly I’m sorry that I won’t be brave enough to say that to you when you’re awake.”
+1.
Janus blinks. There’s sunlight coming in through the curtains.
His room definitely has curtains.
Oh. Right. He’s in Roman’s room.
Shit, he’s still in Roman’s room.
He’s fallen asleep, he realizes, in Roman’s bed, with Roman cuddled protectively to his chest, after the poor thing had sobbed himself to sleep in the aftermath of that awful, awful meeting.
Unconsciously, he goes to tighten his grip on the sleeping prince before realizing that he should be doing the opposite.
He should leave. Now. Before Roman wakes up and sees him.
He definitely wants to be around for that conversation.
So, despite the ache in his stomach at the thought of leaving Roman alone right now, he grits his teeth and starts trying to disentangle himself from Roman, despite Roman’s best efforts to cling onto him. If he weren’t so afraid of the consequences of getting caught, he’d find it adorable.
Okay, maybe he still finds it adorable.
But Roman’s so soft when he sleeps, so lovely, so unabashed at chasing what he wants. He clings to Janus’s shirt with clumsy fingers, burbles soft noises of protest when Janus’s warmth leaves his side.
“Come on, sweetie,” Janus coaxes, gently prying Roman’s fingers off, “let me go, you don’t want me to be here when you wake up.”
“Mmno.”
“You say that now…” He still won’t let go. “Come on, sweetie, let me go…”
He leans down to press a kiss to his cheek, hoping Roman will melt and he can escape.
“That’s it, just go back to sleep, sweetie,” he murmurs, his voice low and hypnotic, carding his fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead, “sleep, sleep, sleep…”
“Stay,” comes the sleepy little mumble, its voice still lost in the dream, “take care ‘f me.”
The earnest plea brings a sad little smile to Janus’s face.
“If you knew who I was,” he whispers, “you wouldn’t ask that.”
Roman opens his eyes and stares right at him.
Janus freezes, his hands still caught in Roman’s hair, Roman’s hands still gripping his shirt.
“Stay,” Roman repeats, his tongue thick with sleep but awake, “don’t run away this time.”
This time?
Oh.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Janus swallows. “How long—“
“You said you didn’t hate me,” Roman mumbles, still tugging on Janus’s shirt to get him back, “and that it hurt more that the others didn’t realize.”
“You were supposed to be asleep.”
“You were supposed to hate me.” Roman tugs harder. “Come back.”
Janus gets slowly back into position, letting Roman cling to him like a child with a teddy bear. Without permission, his own arms wrap around the sleepy prince, and Roman all but purrs.
“We c’n talk later,” the prince mumbles, already drifting back to sleep, “but stay. Want you to stay.”
And…well, if it’s the first time Roman’s asked for something he wants in god knows how long, what else is Janus supposed to do but obey?
“Alright, sweetie, I’m right here,” he murmurs, curling his arms tightly around the poor prince, “do you want to try and go back to sleep?”
“Mm.”
But his eyes don’t drift closed. Instead, they stay glassily alert, one hand fisted loosely in the slack of Janus’s shirt.
“Sweetie,” Janus calls after a little, “do you want to change into something easier to sleep in?”
He lifts one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.
“Can I help?”
Another shrug. Janus tucks a loose piece of hair behind Roman’s ear, snapping his fingers to put the costume on the mannequin in the closet and replace it with a soft red shirt and boxers. He presses another kiss to Roman’s forehead and ruffles his hair.
“Why don’t you hate me?”
Janus frowns, pulling Roman closer. “How could I hate you?”
He holds a finger gently up to the prince’s lips before the lies can fill Roman’s head again.
“Let me rephrase: I don’t hate you, Roman, I promise.”
Roman’s disbelief is palpable. “But why?”
...maybe he is going to have to do this.
“I can hear lies,” he murmurs, “whenever someone says them or thinks them. If they’re not true, I’ll hear it. No, no—stay here, sweetie, shh, I’m not angry, I’m not disappointed. I can hear them when you tell yourself that you’re worthless, or toxic, or that we all hate you.”
He lifts Roman’s chin gently.
“They’re lies, sweetie, that’s why I can hear them. You’re not worthless, you’re not toxic.”
Roman whimpers.
“You’re not broken,” he continues softly, holding him still, “you’re not hard to love, we don’t hate you.”
He cups Roman’s face and pulls him in to rest their foreheads together.
“And I care about you, sweetie, so, so much.”
Roman’s breath shudders warmly on his cheeks.
“Shh, shh, oh, come here, sweetie—there you go, you can cry, honey, I’ve got you, I’m right here, shh, shh...”
The weight of the prince’s tears drying on his collar makes it hard to swallow. He tugs the blankets closer around them and lets Roman cling onto him as he cries.
“I know you don’t believe me,” he whispers as familiar lies start to drift across, “but it’s true, sweetie. It’s true, it’s true, I promise. I’m here to take care of you.”
“I’m—I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor—sorry—“
“Shh-shh-shh, don’t apologize to me, sweetie, you don’t have to apologize, I’m right here, I’m not angry, nothing’s so bad.”
“I’m sorry.”
Janus hushes him gently with a kiss to his cheek. “I know you are...even though you don’t have to be, not like this.”
His chest aches when Roman won’t stop burbling apologies.
“Roman.” He takes the prince’s face firmly in his hands. “Roman, look at me.”
Roman’s glassy eyes fixate on Janus’s face.
“I forgive you, my prince,” he says, “I forgive you.”
Roman’s mouth stills.
“If that is what you need to hear,” he continues, softening his grip, “I forgive you, my prince.”
“You...you do?”
“I don’t want you to think that you need my forgiveness for me to love you,” Janus murmurs, “but yes, sweetie. I forgive you.”
Roman collapses.
Janus catches him. Of course, he catches him. He curls around his prince and murmurs sweet nothings, reassurances, anything he needs right now.
It’s messy, it’s frantic, it’s desperate, it’s human.
He can care for Roman while Roman lets himself be human. So he holds the poor thing while he cries himself out.
He doesn’t cry himself to sleep again, thankfully, just enough to slump against Janus’s chest and huff.
“Sorry.”
“No need to apologize, that was long overdue.” He runs his knuckles up Roman’s back. “Can we get you something to drink?”
Roman stiffens. “Does that mean going downstairs?”
“No, sweetie. Come on...”
He gets Roman seated on the edge of the bed with a glass of water in his hands. Roman drinks, blinking as Janus passes him a warm cloth, then a cool cloth, to clean his face.
“What do they want me to do,” he asks after he’s finished the glass and the cloths are hanging over the laundry basket, “now?”
Janus winces. Is he surprised? No.
“Shh, sweetie, I’m not angry,” he soothes when Roman tenses, “I’m concerned. You’re still—you still need to take care of yourself first before you worry about everyone else.”
But everyone else is worthy of the worrying, not me.
Janus hisses gently. Roman just sighs.
“It’s what you’ve told me,” he mumbles, “I don’t—I can’t just stop it.”
“I’m not expecting you to be able to just stop it, sweetie, it’s going to take time, but part of it is going to be recognizing what’s not true.”
“I know.”
Janus opens his mouth to say something else when Roman gasps, his hand flying to his chest.
“Sweetie? Sweetie, what is it?”
“I’m—I’m being summoned.” Roman clutches his shirt, staring up at Janus. “Thomas—Thomas—“
“I’ll go.” Janus gives Roman’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just wait here for me, sweetie, I’ll be right back.”
He can still feel the warmth of Roman’s shoulder tingling under his palm as he appears in the living room.
“I’m sure you have a wonderful reason for trying to summon Roman,” he drawls, raising an eyebrow at a Thomas.
Thomas looks up from his computer. “We were still filming.”
Janus stiffens. “You’re not thinking of trying to continue—“
“What? No, no, I’m saying that while Roman was talking the camera was still rolling.” Thomas points to the screen. “Which means we have it. All of it.”
Ah, now he sees where Thomas is going.
“You want them to watch.”
“They should, shouldn’t they?”
Yes, a bitter part of Janus growls, they should see how badly they’ve made Thomas’s Ego crumble.
“What do you think?”
Thomas rolls his shoulders back. “I think up until Roman said...all of that, I didn’t think the others were wrong either.”
He glances up at Janus.
“Did you?”
Janus huffs. “I don’t think we ever give Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he is.”
With that, the whole sorry tale spills out of him. He doesn’t reveal the exact nature of the lies, just the broad swaths of them and how many there are. To Thomas’s credit, he deals with it better than Janus expected. That is, he doesn’t burst into tears.
Thomas takes a deep breath.
“...yeah, we’re watching this now.”
“Right now?”
“Answer me this,” Thomas says, looking up at him again, “where is Roman? Right now?”
“...on his bed.” At Thomas’s pointed stare, he relents. “He’s not alright, Thomas, he hasn’t been for a very long time.”
“Then yeah. Right now.”
“Then I’m going to ask Roman if he wants to be here.”
Thomas nods. “Can you—can you tell him I’m sorry?”
“You can do that yourself when he’s ready to hear it.”
Understandably, Roman does not want to be there. Janus wraps him tightly in the softest blankets he has, tucked up with a pillow and a glass of water nearby if he wants it, along with the reassurance that if Roman wants him back here, at any point, to call. He’ll listen.
“Thank you.”
Janus leaves him with one last squeeze, appearing in the living room with the others. Thomas is back to setting up the computer so they can all see the screen.
“Thomas?” Logan adjusts his tie. “I was unaware we had something scheduled for today.”
“We didn’t. Spur of the moment.”
Remus shoots Janus a look. Janus nods. Remus shifts a little closer to him and his hand grips his Morningstar.
“Is this about the video from yesterday?” Virgil looks around warily. “Or is it something else?”
“It is about yesterday.”
“Shouldn’t we...wait for Roman?” Patton rubs the back of his neck. “He kinda—well, if we’re talking about yesterday—“
“Roman’s not coming.” Thomas keeps fiddling with the computer.
Logan raises an eyebrow. “Are we deciding how to film the video without Roman?”
“No.” Thomas glances at Janus. Janus nods. Thomas looks back at the others. “Roman’s not coming because he doesn’t want to.”
“What the fuck?”
“Language, kiddo,” Patton mumbles halfheartedly.
“Wait, so—“ Virgil doesn’t look so much as chided— “you’re just gonna let Princey throw his temper tantrum and not come work?”
“How much attention were you guys paying to what happened after you sunk out yesterday?”
“…not much, why?”
In response, Thomas just pushes ‘play.’
Their voices fill the room, telling Roman what he’s done wrong, why he’s holding all of them back, why he’s the source of all their problems. Lies, lies, and more lies. They get to the part where the other three sink out and Remus tightens his grip on the handle.
“…you want me to apologize?”
Virgil opens his mouth, presumably to make some quip, only to cut himself off with a strangled noise once Roman’s apologies begin.
Janus watches with a sick sense of satisfaction as Patton’s hands fly to his mouth, eyes wide at the hopeless tone coming out of the computer. Next to him, Virgil goes rigid, borderline catatonic. He looks as if one little push would send him toppling over.
He can’t see Logan’s face until Thomas stops the playback. It’s only when Logan takes his glasses off to clean them that he can see the tears on his cheeks.
Thomas looks up at Janus.
“Can you still hear them?”
“The lies?” Thomas nods. “Yes.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Roman is the Ego,” Logan whispers, mostly to himself, “Roman is the Ego. Of course…of course, I understand—I understand now.”
“What does that mean?”
Logan takes a deep breath and looks up at Patton. “It means that Roman is Thomas’s sense of self-worth, more or less, and that he—he takes the brunt of Thomas’s reactions to…any sort of feedback, more than any of us. Good or bad.”
Virgil stifles a curse. “And we’ve taught him to hate himself.”
“Quite.”
“We—“ Patton takes a breath— “we need to apologize.”
“We all do.” Thomas closes the computer and sets it aside. “I don’t…I don’t know how we do that, though.”
“Breaking patterns of thinking is hard,” Logan says, “and…especially hard when you have been taught not to ask for help.”
“But there has to be something!”
“Touch-starved,” Virgil breaks in, staring at a spot on the carpet, “Roman’s touch-starved.”
Janus raises an eyebrow.
“…when I was still having trouble,” Virgil says after a moment of them all looking at him, “Roman—Roman would just come and ask me if I wanted to—to—“
He hunches his shoulders.
“Sometimes it’d be a hug. Sometimes he’d sit next to me and—and lean on me. Sometimes he’d just—you know, with the forehead thing—“
“Bonk.”
They all turn to Logan, who has…a surprising flush to his cheeks.
“Roman said that he—he wanted to be able to express affection for me and not disturb my work,” he manages, “so we…came up with a solution.”
Patton blinks. “Is that why Roman will just walk up to you and bonk his forehead against yours?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
“That’s adorable,” Thomas says quietly, “that’s—wait, hang on, that’s really adorable.”
“It was Roman’s idea.” Logan swallows. “Most of his ideas are good.”
“Yeah,” Thomas says, “maybe we should try telling him that next time.”
Janus looks around. The others look to be in various states of remorse and determination. With the exception of Remus, who still looks like he wants to bash a few of their skulls in.
“…can we go hug Roman now?”
“I wanna do that.”
“If he’s—“ Logan glances between Thomas and Janus— “do you know if he would be amenable to that? If he—would like that?”
“We can ask,” Janus says quietly, “but I don’t know.”
“And if he says no,” Remus growls, “you get out.”
“We understand, Remus,” Logan promises. He looks at Thomas. “Thank you, Thomas.”
Thomas shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. Not yet. We all have stuff to fix.”
Janus adjusts his cape. “Then let’s get started, shall we?”
They don’t sink right to Roman’s room. Instead, Janus knocks quietly on the door and waits for the soft ‘yes?’ from the other side to open it.
“Roman,” he calls softly, “hey, sweetie, why’re you over there?”
Because Roman, the poor thing, is at his desk, trying to work.
“I—um—“
“I’m not angry, sweetie,” he murmurs, arms going around the prince to pull him up out of the desk chair, “just concerned.”
“I figured that if I got to work they’d be less mad that I wasn’t there,” Roman mumbles, even as he lets Janus pull him back to the bed, “so I…”
“Oh, sweetie, no one’s angry at you.”
Roman looks up at him with such a heartbreaking look of disbelief that he lets out a soft noise, cupping his face.
“Would you believe me if I said they want to apologize and make it up to you?”
“No.”
He squints. “Have you believed anything I’ve told you since you woke up?”
“No.”
The lack of hesitation makes his eyes widen. Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against Roman’s as he pulls off his gloves, reaching up to cup the prince’s head.
“I meant every word,” he murmurs, doing his best to wipe away the bits of salt in the corners of his eyes, “every single word.”
He pauses, then leans closer.
“They’re sorry, Roman,” he whispers, “they’re so sorry and they want to know how to make it better.”
They don’t want you. They hate you. They’ve never cared about you. They don’t even want to touch you.
Janus hisses softly as he pulls Roman in for a hug. The poor thing still reacts like it’s the first time someone’s touched him in years.
“They want to see you, sweetie,” he whispers, “and I believe their exact words were ‘can we go hug Roman now?’”
“W-what?”
In response, Janus pulls away a little and nods to the door. Roman’s eyes widen.
“Can we let them in, sweetie?”
“They’re here?”
“Right outside.”
“They want—they want to—“
Roman’s desperate gaze flies to the door. He raises a shaking hand and lets it open.
Patton’s through the door before it’s even all the way open. Roman lets out a wounded noise as Patton barrels into them, his arms wrapped around Roman before Janus can blink.
“Pat—Patton—Pa—wha—?”
“I’m sorry, Roman, I’m so sorry, kiddo—“
Virgil follows not too long after, pulling Roman’s legs into his lap and reaching out to take Roman’s outstretched hand.
“Hey, Princey,” he says, the growl from not five minutes ago softened to a low rumble, “missed you.”
“Mis—miss—missed me?”
“Yeah, Roman, missed you. Didn’t feel the same without you there.”
Then Logan. As Patton and Virgil move to get Roman into a more comfortable position, Logan sits behind him so that when Roman leans back, his head rests against Logan’s shoulder. Logan reaches up to tangle his fingers in Roman’s hair, smiling softly at the low noise from Roman’s throat.
“Bonk?”
Roman nods, still blinking in confusion but lets Logan press his forehead gently to his.
“Thank you, little star,” he murmurs, smiling at the way Roman’s mouth falls open, “I didn’t forget, Roman, even if I haven’t been the best at showing it.”
“We don’t hate you, Princey,” Virgil says, squeezing his hand, “and we—well, we owe you one hell of an apology.”
“But we don’t have to talk about that now.” Patton adjusts his grip around Roman’s waist. “Not if you don’t want to.”
Remus picks this moment to not walk through the door and climb onto the bed but to sink down through the ceiling and land on top of them.
“Re!”
“Hey, Ro-Bro.”
“Re, get off, you—it’s too much.”
Remus rolls to the side, right into Janus’s lap, effectively making sure that none of them are leaving, not that they particularly wanted to.
Janus watches as Roman slowly asks if they can stay like this for a while, smiling when the answer is a resounding ‘yes,’ the cuddle pile closing in around their prince. Roman’s head rests against the crook of Logan’s neck, one of his hands wrapped in Janus’s, the other in Virgil’s. His legs lie in Virgil’s lap, Patton cuddling him protectively as Logan strokes his head. Remus and Janus keep watch, sentries over the resting prince.
For the first time, in a long time, as Roman drifts off to sleep, the only lie in his head is this won’t last forever.
They’ve got time to prove him wrong.
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