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sarafinamk · 5 months

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Fallen Angel (Smiling Critters Space Riders AU Reader Insert) Part 3

Summary: Without the red smoke to help you through rehab, you begin to experience thoughts and feelings that you never had before. It gets worse before it gets better, but don't worry. It DOES slowly get better.

Check out the other parts here. Also, check out Part 2 to my Incorrect Quotes if you haven't already. The Smiling Critters Space Riders AU belongs to @onyxonline. Enjoy!

TW: Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Injury, Imprisonment, Trauma, Death mentions, Mentions of murder, Religious Trauma, Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Religious Cults, Drug Withdrawal, Drug Addiction, Mentions of Self harm, Mention of Suicide Attempt, Mental Health Issues, Slight cursing, LOTS of negative thoughts, Implied Abuse, Conditioning

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You weren’t sure how long you’ve been imprisoned at the heretics’ main space station for. Based on the lines scribbled in your journal, and what those healers and heretics told you, the closest timeline you could estimate was a month and a half…

Could be more…

In your defense, being in and out of consciousness because of not only healing from your wounds but dealing with your hellish headspace gave you no chance of keeping track. You weren’t sure if you TRULY wanted to know how long it’s been though…

Some of your wounds, at least, have healed. If you weren’t wearing those power mufflers, all your wounds would have disappeared a long time ago. But, no.

Those heretics just HAD to insist you heal the hard way. It is bad enough that those healers and their knights were watching your every move on the cameras. There was no nook or cranny in your accommodation that wasn’t under constant surveillance. They didn’t even try to be discreet about them. What’s worse is that now you had your whole body, head, and face exposed, especially to the people hellbent on killing you. They didn’t even deserve to have a face to associate with the Archangel. It was for your own good, they said. All that did was leave you with voices in your head screaming at you to get out, run, and hide from those prying eyes.

So what if there were a few instances where you tried to scratch yourself until you were satisfied with the red on you? You just needed a way to stop yourself from feeling these weird feelings. It’s leaving you weak. What would the Prototype say if he saw you showing such weakness when you were raised better than this? The scratching never went as far as it did the first time, though and it would never be like that ever again. Not on the heretics’ watch. They would always intervene before the first sign of red.

You spent a lot of time thinking about the perfect escape plan. You would get those power mufflers off, destroy those cameras the first chance you get, create a void, (maybe kill a few heretics along the way to send a message), and make an easy escape back to the prototype. It’s just… you could never muster any energy to go through with your ideas. You hated that you grew so lazy and weak when no prison was able to keep you contained in the past.

What happened to you?

Where was your energy to fight back, to make those heretics pay for what they’ve done to you…?

But…

Why save you?

Probably to interrogate you, torture you for ALL the intel concerning your God, and once they get everything, kill you. They can sure as hell try, but you’d rather die than betray your God and family like this!

You groan, cradling your pounding head with one hand. You slide down against the wall. Even though you've been clean for some time now, but you're still trying to get used to this red smoke free headspace of yours. Now you're just left sitting with thoughts and feelings you never had to sit with before, and you hated how much it consumes you. You wished you had the red smoke to help you through this, to make you forget these feelings, to go back to normal. But the Prototype never came back for you… no rescue parties were made for you as far as you know.

A few healers and knights argued that if he really wanted you back, he would’ve come get you by now, but he didn’t, and none of your “friends or family” did either, so you might as well get used to being here. You reminded them every single time that you don’t have “friends” nor are you selfish enough to need any. The Prototype was all anybody needed. You had that argument about 26 times before you stopped. There was no point in continuing this fight if they just refused to see any sense.

You hated to admit it, but...

Maybe they're right.

Not once, in the entire time since you’ve been separated from the Prototype was he there when you needed him the most. Your chest and the back of your eyes burn. Your vision goes blurry. You clench your blanket draped around your shoulders and take a few deep breaths until the burning sensation is smothered, and your vision clears up. You are NOT going to let weakness consume you.

Not now.

Not ever.

Not as long as you’re at the mercy of the heretics.

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Here you are, three months deep into your rehab program, sitting on the floor, and studying another one of Bubba’s “philosophy books” as he called them. He gave you some so that "you weren’t left pacing back and forth in a cell or being stuck with your thoughts all day." Granted you do try to do a few exercises to build your strength back. You discovered it was the best way to distract your mind from the mere thought of desiring red smoke. At least the books give you more to do in your cell.

To you, it was all heretic propaganda to stray the weak-minded away from the divine truth. It was still intriguing to study about, all the same. Besides, if you're going to be staying with the heretics, then now is a good time to start learning about their world and culture. As much as you hate to admit it, you're beginning to understand why many heretics find these kinds of teachings appealing. Not only does it go against everything the Prototype preaches, but there were so many teachings to choose from. How do the heretics even know which teachings are true? How do they know which teachings they should follow for the rest of their lives?

It was all so strange.

Back home, there is only one absolute truth: everything that happens in the galaxy is thanks to the Prototype. He’s the eternal source of happiness, of wisdom, of strength, of a second chance at life. He is in control of all. He gives his people his gifts, and in turn, they serve him. They devote their lives to him. To not believe in this truth would mean certain death.

In the heretic world, it seems it is up to the individual to shape the world in their image. Apparently, to discover the truth, you have to be willing to question everything. But how do these heretics expect to survive if they're expected to find their own happiness? How can they be trusted to take control of their lives when they don't fully know whether they made the right decision or not? How are they able to peacefully co-exist despite their differing beliefs?

Perhaps it's something you can clarify with the Space Riders when they come in for yet another visit. They've visited you quite frequently, but it was all so strange. They never asked you anything about the Prototype or the cult. In fact, the topic of conversation was always about… you. They would ask what you have been doing in “rehab” as they call it, how you are managing your red smoke cravings, what you have learned, how are the books (in Bubba’s case), and possible arrangements that are to be made once you are back in their custody. When they exhausted those topics, then they would make conversation with you...

Er...

...More like they would TRY to make conversation with you and you would give short answers. Sometimes, you wouldn't say anything at all. They never forced you to speak, nor did they ever punish you for being insubordinate. Instead, they just moved on to a different topic. This was something you never understood, but maybe they just want you to let your guard down long enough before punishing you.

The echoing of footsteps gets louder and closer to your cell, pulling you away from your thoughts. The seven Space Riders greet you, make themselves comfortable in front of your cell, and begin with the usual questions about you. You bite the bullet and decide you might as well entertain them.

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 2 months

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Change | Changing | Changed?

Sooo Ive read Change like 10 times and though I love ALL your fics, that one gained a special place in my heart as soon as you posted it. I really vibe with Roman (maybe I am autistic…) and I love projecting onto him and watching him suffer. Anyway I was wondering if you feel like it or had any ideas, if we could get a third chapter? Maybe more about how the others react to finding out what Patton and Janus did to Roman, or more protective Ollie! <3 – stealing-babies

Had this concept idea hit me: Patton (as part of being Thomas’s emotions) is hypersensitive to the effects of the other sides's rooms + the imagination. No idea what one could do with that but thought it was neat enough to share. – ax3-e0ns

Have you seen the new incorrect quotes? I feel like there could be some Roman angst/hurt/comfort potential, either with Logan or Janus, what with the stress ball or the 4am chocolate pudding scene – anon

Hey, I was wondering if you’d be interested in writing a fic where Roman’s actually the one who finally snaps and goes off on everyone about he himself has been treated? I don’t see enough of the boy standing up for himself for a change. No worries if not! – anon

Read on Ao3 Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: panic attacks/dissociation

Pairings: none

Word Count: 7191

Roman is over the top, bombastic, and enthusiastic. He is prone to fits of passion and emotional outbursts. Such is the nature of Creativity. But the others...don't like that. They aren't exactly ambiguous about it either. Or, Roman struggles to walk the line between being himself and being something the others can tolerate. It gets far worse before it gets any better. Getting better takes...a long time

The deepness of the Imagination's oceans vary according to the demands of its various creatures. On this day, when Red Prince is too quiet and a little too sad, Oliver the Kraken decides that the ocean needs to be as vast and monstrous as it can be. He takes Red Prince in his arms, cradling him against his bulbous body to afford him protection within his aura from the crushing depths, swimming down, down, down, past the shoals of fish and pods of whales to the hidden tunnel near the base of the great cliffs. The water here is icy cold, lit only by the sparse bio-luminescence of the deep-sea folk, briefly illuminating the jagged rock walls and mountainous sea terrain. Oliver moves through as silently as a monolith of his size can, Red Prince held delicately in the safety of his grip. As they reach the end of the tunnel, it begins to curve upwards, a faint violet light coming from someplace above the surface of the water.

The Kraken breaches with a soft splash in the hidden cavern, lit by the glowing crystals growing along the walls and the ceiling. Red Prince lets out a breath, sagging in his grip, his tiny fingers stroking the bumps and scars along his skin. The cavern rings with the quiet music of water lapping against the crystals and the slight breeze that blows through their hollows, interrupted by the sloshing sounds of him swimming toward the island in the center of this sheltered cove. Small piles of glowstone highlight the soft white sand underneath flowering trees. The faint smell of them wakes Red Prince from the stupor he had been in since entering the Imagination, and he reaches for them as Oliver nears the island.

"Thank you for bringing me here," he mumbles as he's deposited on a patch of pale green grass.

Of course, Red Prince. You know that you will be safe here, whenever you want to be. He shifts his arms around to prop himself up a little. I will not let any harm come to you.

"I know." Still, Red Prince shuffles a little, tugging his limbs close to himself. "I just—I suppose it's stupid."

Nothing is stupid to me, Red Prince, not if it concerns your well-being.

"Are—you like spending time with Remus too, right?"

Oliver burbles quietly, the water frothing around his arms. Yes, Red Prince, I do. And despite that, I do not favor him anymore than you.

The hidden meaning seen, Red Prince's shoulders relax and a small smile comes to his face. Oliver reaches out to lay an arm within Red Prince's reach and his hand rests on it. Little birds twitter in the trees. The crystal song changes pitch.

You need not fear anything here, he says again, and you may stay as long as you like. She-Who-Tends-The-Clouds knows you are here as well, even though she cannot get here. Is there anything else I can do for you, in this moment?

"I—I don't know." He curls up a little tighter. "I'm just…I'm just really scared. And it feels like nothing I do even helps make it go away."

The water bubbles again as his arms churn. What does it feel like? Does it feel like the type of fear that Green Duke makes?

"Sort of? I just—I keep waking up sick to my stomach like something bad's going to happen, like, bad enough that I don't want to wake up anymore."

That is worrisome indeed. The arm wraps around him and tugs him slightly back toward the water. I regret that I cannot hold you the way you might desire.

"This is great, Ollie, you're…you're great." Red Prince now sits near one of the piles of glowstone, turning to rest his cheek upon it. "I think I'm…I think I'm tired."

The bone-weary ache of his words ring through the cavern. A few birds flutter down to perch on the rock, making soft chirps as they run their beaks through Red Prince's hair. Red Prince's smile brightens just a smidge.

"Thank you, little birds."

You know that we all would gladly give you whatever you need, Oliver says, there is nothing you could ask of us that we would not try to provide to you.

"I know."

Although none of us have arms that would embrace you, would you like to be held still?

"Yes, please."

It would be our pleasure.

It is not a simple thing for a Kraken to embrace Red Prince, but Red Prince is sad and upset and in need of comfort, and so he takes two arms and wraps them gently around Red Prince and the pile of glowstone. The pile is not the most forgiving of surfaces, but glowstone is warm to the touch and yields ever so slightly if pressed. Red Prince does not seem to mind, closing his eyes as a soft sigh leaves his lips. The birds perch on his head and shoulders. One of them settles into the crook of his neck, a wing brushing his cheek. He turns his head and his lips brush the tip of its beak. It chirps.

"Not the most fairytale of places," Red Prince mumbles, "but I do like this a lot."

We do specialize in the unconventional, Red Prince, and if I may speak for the birds, we all are quite happy to stay here for as long as you need.

The ocean is vast and hungry, monsters swim its depths and light vanishes from the waters far before it approaches the entrance to the hidden cavern. But here, in the quiet light of the crystal cave, Red Prince is safe for the moment and Oliver is content.

***

At the very tops of the mountains, high beyond the clouds, grow small trees no taller than a bush that could grow anywhere else. The trees have soft and warm bark from the sun's warmth, for there is little cover up there amongst the flat planes of rock and stone. She-Who-Tends-The-Clouds nests at the very peak, between the trees, sleeping in the light of the endless spinning galaxies of stars. The wind blows cold in the darkness of storms alone, where the clouds can rise high enough to block out the infinite skies. Otherwise, the sweet warm gusts of wind waft the secrets of the valleys up, up, where she may peruse them in comfort and safety.

It makes it far easier to rest easy when she has her charge nestled against her chest, humming a quiet song to keep her company.

I have missed your voice, Red Prince, she says gently, I cannot say I have heard it nearly enough in the recent times you have come.

"I haven't really felt like singing all that recently."

I know, says she, and leans down to nuzzle her snout against his chest, is there anything I can do?

"Just sitting here with you is nice. I haven't really had a lot of places that I feel safe enough to just exist in for a while."

The now familiar tingle of irritation flickers down her scales and she lays her head down next to him, watching him fiddle with a small amulet—from the kindly man who lives deep in the woods, no doubt, he had long ago taken a liking to Red Prince and provided him with many gifts and trinkets. She puffs a small smoke ring. What is this one for?

"He said it was to bring a sense of comfort to me." He runs his thumb over the engraving, the shape of a blooming flower worked beautifully into the metal. "I don't know if it was just supposed to be figuratively or if there's some magic in it, but…I like it."

It is a most thoughtful gift. Partway between sentiment and practicality, is it not?

Red Prince smiles. "Yes, it is."

Then it is perfect for one such as you. She nudges him with her snout to make him chuckle. Perhaps he has been refining his gift-giving for you intentionally.

"I didn't come here to be teased," he protests, but it is only lightly, and she relents as soon as she began, turning her head to rest once more towards the edge of the mountain to sniff the breeze. "I…I said thank-you, and that I'd be…interested to learn from him."

Her ears prick up slightly. Oh? I did not know you would be interested in such a craft.

"I'm trying new things."

It does not take a dragon of superior wit and mind to know that Red Prince has long be afraid of sharing new things with Those-Who-Do-Not-Shape, and as such, has even hesitated to try something in the safety of the Imagination. Her chest warms with contentment, a low and pleased rumble thrumming through the surrounding stone. Red Prince smiles. She turns once more to press her snout into Red Prince's stomach.

Words cannot express how pleased I am to hear that, Red Prince.

"Yeah," he says quietly, "I know. I…yeah."

The breezes forgotten for the moment, she sighs happily and lets Red Prince run the medallion across the ridges of her snout. I do not wish to push you, but I have questions if you would answer them.

"I trust you."

I will not abuse it, Red Prince, you have my word. She shifts her tail to curl it around him, adding another degree of safety even atop this mountain where none else would dare to tread. Does Green Duke still help you?

"Remus is great. He's—he's really helpful, he's—I wouldn't—I don't think I'd be able to do any of this without Remus."

What does he do to help, if you would tell me?

"He helps take the heat off me when I need it, or he's always there to help me escape if I need to. He also helps me explain what's going on with me or—or if I need to do things a different way than what they want."

I see. Are you…safe with him?

"I've never not been safe with Remus."

She lets out a quiet growl, not quite a reprimand, not quite not a reprimand. You were frightened when he came upon you on the grass, where The Deep One and I were tending to you.

"Yeah, but that wasn't—that wasn't really because of him, it was…I think it was…"

Even now, just speaking of it, Red Prince hunches in on himself, curling up in the lea of her. With another soft rumble, she moves them a little closer to one of the small trees, affording him something to clutch if he needs it. He rests his cheek against the warm soft bark, taking in the shade. She gives him the time he needs, but keeps up the gentle rumble of her breath to ground him.

"…I was scared of him being there because the others would—because I thought they would just immediately be mad at me, not because I thought Remus would hurt me."

And the others, do they still frighten you?

Red Prince lets out a long sigh, slumping against the tree and her chest in turn. He looks like the little child whose favorite toy has floated away in the river, and the old man who has seen a thousand thousand years and still must watch the sunrise.

"Yes," he says with that voice of infinite sadness, "every day."

I am sorry, Red Prince, that I cannot always protect you from the hurt they cause you.

"It's not your fault. I know…I know most of it's my fault."

No, she says firmly, raising her head up to look him in the eye, it is not your fault, Red Prince, you are scared and hurt, and that is not and never will be a burden that falls on your shoulders and your shoulders alone. You are scared, that is true, and you are hurt, that is true. But you have been taught to be scared and hurt, and you are far too gentle of a soul to have done that to yourself.

Red Prince sniffles and oh, her intention was not to make him cry, and so she leans forward to gently lick away his tears. He tucks the medallion into his pocket and hugs her back, the tears subsiding quickly as he falls into a doze against her heat.

You are welcome to come back here, Red Prince, whenever you need.

"Will you take care of me like this if I do?"

Yes, of course I will.

***

Patton sits next to him on the couch and Roman immediately tucks the medallion into his pocket on the far side of his leg. He can tell by the way Patton shifts that he notices it, but doesn't say anything. Remus comes over a moment later and sits on his other side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pressing a smacking kiss to his head.

"Hey, Roro."

"Hi."

"You doing okay today?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Across the room, Janus gives him a look but doesn't say anything. After another moment, he gets up and ruffles Remus's hair, kissing Roman's forehead. Roman tenses a little and Janus doesn't seem to take any offense, moving away and sitting next to Logan. "Well, shall we decide what movie we're watching tonight?"

"I'm partial to something along the lines of The Imitation Game," Logan says, looking up from his notebook, "but I am aware that we've been going with my choices quite a few times over these past few weeks."

"I'd be down with watching that," Virgil says, "but I think I'd rather—I mean if we're throwing out choices, I wanna put Pacific Rim out there."

"Ooh, I do like watching giant robots punch giant aliens." Remus nudges Roman. "What about you, Roro?"

"Um, I don't really have an opinion right now."

"Okay." Janus says quickly before anyone can say anything else, "that's fine, sweetie. What about something like one of the documentaries we've been working through?"

"That sounds great," Patton says, but Roman can tell he's still looking at him, "Roman, does that work for you?"

"Yeah, I like documentaries."

"Settled, then." Logan stands up and fetches his laptop, beginning to hook it up to the TV. "Roman, would you mind helping the—"

"Yep."

He doesn't give anyone the time to say anything else, immediately going over to Logan's side to fiddle with the cords and make sure everything's good. Behind him, he can feel the eyes creeping up his back and rounds his shoulders. Logan touches his back lightly in thanks as he finishes, quickly going back over to let Remus lie on top of him. Janus chuckles at the two of them even as Patton yelps, quickly getting up and going to sit by Virgil.

"Sweetie? Can I play with your hair?"

"Um, if you want to."

"Thank you." Gloved fingers begin to scritch lightly through his hair and he closes his eyes, letting Remus's weight sink him into the couch. The sensation is soft and makes his brain go a little fuzzy, and he thinks that maybe he'll fall asleep here, before the documentary starts…

"Is everything ready?"

Patton's voice wrenches him back to wakefulness and he knows that Virgil, Janus, and Remus can all sense it. Remus lets out a quiet growl, holding him a little tighter. Janus kisses his fingertips and ruffles his hair again. Roman keeps his eyes open for the rest of the documentary and there's a sickness curdling in his stomach that he can't quite shake.

"Hey," Remus whispers when the documentary is loud, "hey, Roro, just stay with me, okay? Just hang out."

"I'm trying."

"I know, and you're doing great. Hey, can you name all the colors on the screen right now?"

He turns his head and looks at the animals, the plants, the skies. "Brown…white…purple…green…blue…black, yellow, red, and pink."

"Hey, nice, good job." Remus nuzzles into his neck. "You're my favorite brother."

"I'm your only brother."

"So?" He nuzzles into him again and it tickles. "You giggling down there, Roro?"

Roman glimpses Logan glancing at them and braces himself to be scolded, but Logan only smiles fondly at them and shakes his head, looking back at the screen. Remus follows his gaze and huffs, flopping down like a cat and making a show of being comfortable while shielding Roman's head from everyone else.

"You're safe," he whispers into his ear, "you're safe, I've got you, nothing's gonna hurt you right now."

There's nothing like this in the Imagination, Roman knows, nothing like this comforting weight and warmth and safety that he can't really get from the dragon or Ollie or anything else. He curls into Remus and tries to lose himself in the documentary. It's interesting, something about how these animals have adapted to living in urban environments. But he sees a rat scurry through a dark, dank alleyway, and can't help but feel like he's recognizing something in himself.

***

"Remus," Logan calls, walking down the hall, "can I speak to you for a moment?"

"What's up, Lolo?"

"Can we…" He indicates Remus's door. "Would you mind if we spoke somewhere more private?"

Remus nods and opens his door, welcoming Logan inside. Logan fiddles with a notebook, turning pages back and forth. After a while, he sighs and looks up.

"I have a question about Roman, and I want you to know that I don't intend to cause him hurt by investigating this information."

Remus raises an eyebrow. "Well, this definitely doesn't make me incredibly inclined to help you."

"I don't think it's anything that you did, if that's any consolation."

"It's not, but proceed."

Logan sighs. "Can I have your word that you will not immediately attempt to cause me physical harm when I ask this question?"

"I will not immediately break your spine, no."

"Is that the best I'm going to get?" Remus grins a little two widely and he sighs again. "I suppose that's a yes. Very well: I am…concerned that something has happened between Patton, Janus, and Roman, and I don't know what to do."

Remus takes a deep breath and sits down, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What's he told you already?"

"Something stemmed from the incident between the three of them when Thomas was still uncomfortable with his homosexuality, but I don't know—"

"The 'incident,' is that what he called it?"

"…no, that's my word for it."

"'Cause it was a fucking incident, alright." He reaches out and grabs a squid ink sac. It bursts in his hand. "That was—shit, and you and Emo didn't learn about this until later, did you?"

"I was not aware of an incident until Roman told me about it recently."

Remus growls at him and he steps back with his hands raised. "You mean that Roman was physically locked out of the Imagination for months, and you guys didn't fucking notice?"

Logan's expression drops. The notebook clatters to the floor. "Roman was what?"

"How the fuck did you not know about it? The Imagination—shit, Lolo—"

"No, I knew that Roman didn't go into the Imagination for a while, but I didn't—I was not aware that it was because his entrance was prohibited. What—why—"

"Because Roman's existence hasn't actually been appreciated by everyone around here for a long time and things like stuff he needs to do to stay alive are viewed as privileges that can be revoked."

Guilt and regret tremble at the corners of Logan's mouth and he adjusts his glasses. "I know I have played no small part in this—"

"No shit."

"—but I didn't…Remus, you must understand, I never meant to…I had nothing to do with this. I didn't know. I wasn't—I don't—I wouldn't—Roman is Creativity, how would I—"

"I believe you," Remus says quietly, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder, "I know, Logan, I know."

Logan lets out a shuddering breath, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. "I apologize. I did not foresee myself becoming this upset."

"Yeah, I know."

"The…the incident, if I may still call it that—"

"That's fine, yeah."

"—would I be incorrect in assuming that it was not the only one of its kind?"

"Well, they never tried to banish Roman from the Imagination again, that's for fucking sure." Remus shakes his head. "God, I've never—I've never fucking seen Roman like that before and I never want to see him like that again. But yeah, Lolo, I don't—you're smart enough to know that Patton and Janus have been holding some sort of power over Roman for a long time."

"Yes."

"That's not an accident. Roman's really vulnerable to stuff like that—and you need to know that I'm telling you this because if this somehow gets back to them," he continues, tightening his grip on Logan's shoulder, "I'm going to know exactly where it came from."

"I won't betray your confidence."

"You'd better fucking not. Yeah, Roro's the Ego—he's fragile in ways that Patton and Janus can exploit. Uniquely exploit, because Patton can feel what's going on in the Imagination to a certain extent, and Janus…"

"Janus knows Roman," Logan says softly, "and that is perhaps all he needs."

"Yeah."

"You said Patton can feel what's going on in the Imagination?"

"Well, Thomathy isn't exactly unaffected by what happens in the Imagination, nor is he immune to what his Ego does to take care of him. So when Roro's trying to make himself feel better, Thomas can feel it, which means Patton can feel it."

"So Patton knows when Roman's trying to cheer himself up."

"Yeah."

"How…how is this a bad thing?"

"Well, if you have a conversation with someone and they immediately run to make themselves feel better…"

Logan's expression shutters and his jaw sets. He adjusts his tie and covers Remus's hand with his own. "I don't know what else I can do for Roman, especially since I have contributed to the pain he has felt, but if there is anything, please, tell me?"

Remus looks at him, eyes narrowing slightly. He seems to be content by what it is that he's found, however, and nods sagely with a seriousness that seems almost foreign to him. Logan nods back and picks up his notebook.

"Is there anything else that I should know?"

"Not right now, I don't think."

"Can I…is Roman in the Imagination right now?"

"Why?"

"I…wanted to tell him that I had an idea for another board game I think he and I could play together. You could play it with us too!" They start moving toward the doors. "It's a mystery horror themed thing—"

"Sold!"

"Remus, I didn't even explain what it—"

"You said 'mystery' and 'horror.' Lolo, I'm in already."

***

"I'm sorry, he did fucking what?"

Logan puts his hands on Roman's shoulders and a different shudder goes through him, one triggered by the dry warmth as opposed to the near flinch in response to Virgil's shout. He leans into the touch as much as he can.

Virgil, of course, senses his fear, and quiets immediately, slouching a little to make himself seem smaller. "Hey, I'm sorry, Princey, I didn't mean to shout."

"It's okay."

"It's not," Logan says softly, "and that's alright too."

"L's right." Virgil even goes so far as to ease himself into a seated position on the other side of the room. "I know how bad yelling can be for you, Princey. I'm—shit, I'm just really upset for you right now."

Roman peeks out at him under his hair, surprised to see a soft smile on Virgil's face. After a moment, he holds out a hand, and Virgil gets up and ambles over. He sits down next to the base of Roman's chair, tangling his fingers with his. He gives a few reassuring squeezes and Roman squeezes back.

"Can I—so obviously I'm gonna try not to shout again, but can Remus keep telling me about this incredibly fucked up thing that happened to you?"

Roman nods. Logan squeezes his shoulder. He drifts away again, for he has no need to relive this more than he already does, focusing on the comfort of Logan's touch and the way that Virgil squeezes his hands every once in a while. Remus's voice stays low and even, but there's an undercurrent of steel that doesn't quite vanish even when the words never raise louder than the low thud of the wind against the walls of the Imagination's cabin.

"—incey? Princey?" Roman blinks. Virgil looks up at him. There's a furrow between his brows but he makes an effort to smile. "Hey, there he is. I'm so fucking sorry, Princey, that's fucked up. That's really fucked up, and I'm sorry that I've—I'm sorry that I've ever had anything to do with making this worse. I don't really—I'm not great with words, but I—"

Roman squeezes his hand. "You didn't do it to me, I don't…I don't blame you for that."

"But I've been doing the same sort of shit. Hey, hey," and here his voice softens a little when Roman goes to protest, "I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I'm not trying to run my own fucking pity party over here, I just—fuck, Princey, you're owed so many fucking apologies about all this shit, okay?"

A lump suddenly appears in his throat. He swallows heavily.

"Oh, hey, hey, c'mere…" Warm arms wrap around him and he's leant back into a strong chest. "Hey, it's okay, you can cry, Princey, that's okay."

"Shh, little one," Logan murmurs when Roman starts to try to apologize, "you're safe here. You're doing very well."

There's a soft thwoop sound and he peeks out to see Remus has summoned a massive mattress on the floor of the cabin. The windows are open, the late-afternoon breeze blowing in with the soft sweet smell of grass and flowers. Virgil and Logan must've had some sort of silent conversation, for he's lifted up into two pairs of strong arms and laid down on the mattress. Remus tucks a blanket over them and then gleefully flops down, much to the surprise and chagrin of the other two.

"Hey!"

"Remus!"

"Cat pile time, everyone hush and cuddle Ro."

Roman chuckles, a little watery, but snuggles into the midst of the three of them. Logan sighs, far too fondly, and presses a kiss to his temple. Virgil scoots a little further away so none of them are at risk of losing circulation, still holding onto Roman's hand.

"I vote that we don't talk about this anymore for right now," Logan says quietly, "all in favor?"

"Me."

"Also me."

"Yeah," Roman mumbles, "can…can we just stay here for a while?"

"Of course, little one."

***

"Sweetie," he hears distantly, "sweetie, it's alright, it's just me, I'm not here to hurt you, can you open your eyes for me?"

Roman opens his eyes. He's lying on the floor in the hallway. It's dark. Someone is leaning over him.

"Sweetie," he hears again, "sweetie, can you say something?"

"J-Janus?"

"There you are, my sweet prince." Janus smiles and cups his face. "Can I help you sit up for me, sweetie? I don't think the hallway is very comfortable at this point at night. There's nothing wrong with sleeping on the floor, believe me, but I think a fine prince such as yourself would be better suited to your bed."

Roman blinks again. "I'm…on the floor?"

"Yes, sweetie, you're on the floor. Do you remember how you got here?"

"I was…I was in the kitchen."

"Yes, that's right. You were making chocolate pudding."

"Why was I making chocolate pudding?"

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I believe you said it was because you've lost all control."

"That does sound like me."

He chuckles. "Now, sweet prince, can we see if we can sit you up? Come, come, lean on me…that's it, there you are."

Roman blinks a few more times as he slowly lifts himself up, holding onto Janus's shoulders. Janus slips more of his arms around his waist to help him, murmuring more encouragement in his ear as he goes. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sits up, leaning now against the wall. Janus crouches there with him, tucking his hair back behind his ear.

"Janus?"

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever for, sweet prince?"

"I was—I'm—I didn't mean to—"

"I'm not angry with you, sweet prince," Janus says gently, "I promise. I'm only worried—can we get you to bed?"

"I don't want to impose—"

"Sweetie, I'm not asking you because I have some obligation, I'm worried, and I want you to be safe in your bed so you can rest." He leans down and kisses his forehead and everything is fuzzy for Roman, and he doesn't know what to do, but warm touches are warm touches and he's always been weak to a soft voice with gentle words. "So?"

"…okay."

He leans against Janus's side as they move down the hallway, opening the door into Roman's room. He pulls back the covers and lies down, leaning to help tuck him under the sheets. "There you are, sweet prince, is that better?"

"Why…why're you only nice to me when there's no one else around?"

Something shutters across his expression before it settles on something terribly sad. "I don't know, sweetie. I'm—I'm trying to be better about it, but I seem to keep messing it up."

"I don't know what to believe anymore, Janus." His voice grows thick. "I don't know whether you're going to be nice to me or hurt me."

The bed dips as Janus sits down near his head, still carding his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry, Roman. I'm so, so sorry."

"You hurt me, Janus," and now he begins to sniffle, "you—you keep hurting me."

"I'm sorry, sweetie, I'm sorry."

Janus doesn't move away, not as Roman sniffles and sobs his way through saying how much pain Janus has caused him, not when he tells him how difficult it is to keep moving forward, not even when he says how scared he is right now, with his belly showing and Janus's teeth at his metaphorical throat. He just sits there, listening, pressing kisses to Roman's hands and cheeks.

***

"Patton?"

"What is it, Roman?"

"Shut up."

Virgil mutters oh, shit. Logan takes a deep breath. Janus's shoulders tense. Remus steps closer.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Roman says through gritted teeth, "shut up. You don't know what the hell you're talking about. You don't get to talk over me like that. You don't get to act like I'm just some good-for-nothing spoiled kid that doesn't know anything."

"Now, Roman—"

"No. I've had to sit here and have you talk at me for ages. You're gonna listen to me for once." His hands ball into fists. "You don't get to act like you're the one who's always going to be right. You don't get to do that, not to me. You don't get to act like I'm the one who always comes into this sort of thing with a preconceived notion of how it's going to go. I'm the one who's tried with you. I've tried so many times to just talk to you and you never listen to me."

"That's not—"

"It is. It is true, because every fucking time I have to walk away from those 'conversations' with bruises all over me because you can't be bothered to think about what your words do to me. Because they hurt, Patton, and you don't get to act like they don't. You don't get to act like you don't know what you're doing when you tell me I'm stupid or petty or a bully, you don't get to act like you're hurting me because you don't have a choice or that it's my fault I'm getting hurt."

Remus brushes against his arm. A silent keep going.

"You don't get to act like you don't know why I'm scared of talking to you sometimes, not when you've claimed the authority to remove my fucking coping mechanisms like they're some luxury that you think I don't deserve anymore. You don't get to hold that shit over my head like you have the right to it. No, I don't want to talk about this stuff with you. No, I don't feel safe to talk about with you, and no, I don't feel bad about saying any of that because it's true."

"Those are very hurtful things to say, Roman."

"It's hurtful to tell someone they're wrong when you haven't even taken the time to actually listen to them. It's hurtful to invite someone to a 'conversation' and then just lecture them the whole time. It's hurtful to hold someone's insecurity over their head for actual fucking years and use it whenever you want because it's a convenient way to make someone listen to you."

Patton just looks at him. Roman's breath suddenly catches in his throat. He's yelling at Patton. He's yelling at Patton.

"He's right, Patton," he hears Virgil say, "you're—I'm not gonna say the rest of us are blameless here, but you're really unfair to Roman sometimes and that's not cool."

"And now, how am I supposed to react to all of these accusations? Are you all going to gang up on me now?"

"We're not ganging up on you," Logan says, "the rest of us have barely said anything."

"But you're not disagreeing with Roman."

"No, we're not, because he's right." Remus squeezes Roman's shoulder. "And you know he's right."

"I don't think it's right that he's making me out to be this big bad guy who's trying to hurt him on purpose!"

"I don't think it's right to act like we don't know what they're talking about," Janus says softly, and Patton turns to look at him, "you know we've been unfair to Roman, Patton. We've been cruel to him, almost, and even if we didn't know the effects of what we did when we did them, I think we both know better now."

"Why are you looping me in with you?"

"Because the reason Roman was so receptive to praise and positive attention was because it was so foreign to him he didn't even think to question it," he says, voice a tad sharper now, "and there's really only one person who could've started such a thing."

Patton goes quiet for a long, long moment. Then he looks at Roman. Roman flinches just at that look.

"Roman? Is…are you…did I really make this a lot worse for you?"

Trap. This is a trap. This is a trap, this is a trap, this is a trap.

"You can tell me," Patton says, which doesn't make him think it's any less of a trap, but then Janus nods at him and he manages to swallow.

"Yeah," he mumbles, "yeah, it's—it's really bad, Patton."

Silence. Remus squeezes his shoulder tightly. There's a roar of blood in his ears. Distantly, he hears Virgil mumble something to Logan and Logan starts talking. They're all talking now, but Roman can't say a thing. He's so scared. He's so scared. He's going to pass out. He's going to throw up. He's going to have a sword thrust into his chest and split his ribs.

"Roman," he hears Remus say, cutting through the fog, "Roro, you did great. You did it, it's over now. If you need to run and hide, you can. We'll take care of it. It'll be okay."

He thinks more than says I can go?

"Yeah, Roro, you can go."

Roman's gone in the blink of an eye.

***

The forest is dark. There is no moon. The sky is black. The trees loom over the clearing. The wind is bitingly cold. The grass crunches and snaps. No living creature dares move.

Roman curls up on his knees in the middle of the clearing. The wind whips across his bare skin so harshly it feels like a blade. In the dark of the night, there is no refuge from the biting cold, no place where he could go and be free of the pain ravaging him inside and out. Breath shudders out of him in pitiful clouds of steam. He shakes and trembles.

The reverberations of the approaching footsteps are so powerful that he feels them deep in his chest.

With jerky movements, he looks up. It's difficult to tell at first what's different, just because the mass is so large it's hard to distinguish it from the surrounding sky, but as he moves, the faint silhouette of the wolf becomes discernible from the forest. Glowing eyes gleam down at him, light reflecting off of the fangs, as the enormous paws come to a stop right in front of him. His head bows, his snout lowering to breath warm air across Roman's frigid form.

The wolf, unlike the other creatures in the Imagination, does not speak. Not in the way that Oliver or She-Who-Tends-The-Clouds speaks. But he knows Roman, more perhaps than any aside from Remus, and so he needn't speak to be able to communicate. He leans down, taking Roman's limp form in between his giant teeth, beginning to carry him through the woods. His tongue presses against Roman's freezing arms, trying to convey some warmth back into him, but he is too massive and too focused on carrying him to safety to be able to do something more right now.

There is no fear sweeter than the kind that curls in Roman's stomach at this moment, for what could be more terrifying than the one that carries him in his jaws? They move through the dark forest, over fallen logs and past trickling streams, deeper still into a thicket where the warm air from the valleys below has created a dense fog. A few skittering noises as different small critters move away from the wolf's path. They reach the base of a cliff and he recognizes the entrance to the wolf's den.

He's carried into the den, laid down on soft moss next to a small fire. The warmth licks at his limbs as the wolf lies down with a growl, circling him with his bulk. Roman turns and snuggles into the soft fur of the wolf's belly, hearing another soft growl that sounds almost like a huff of endearment. The fire snaps and crackles, a soothing noise as the wolf's heart beats steadily against his side. He continues to let out low huffs and growls, reassuring Roman of his presence and safety in this moment.

The fear re-surges. He retches, clapping a hand over his mouth. He curls up tighter, as if he could squeeze it from himself. The wolf growls again, a little louder, and his tails flicks up to almost cover him as though it were a blanket. He knows it is ridiculous to be scared, here, between the paws of the wolf, but he is only small and cannot help it.

Another huff of breath and the snout pushes against him.

I know, he thinks, I know it's okay to be scared, but I—I—I—

The wolf rumbles again, tongue darting out to lightly lick his hand.

Can I just be scared? Is that okay?

Another rumble, and this time he feels the wolf shift slightly so he can curl better around him. He noses gently at Roman's head, lapping at his hand again, his tail lightly tickling under his chin. He closes his eyes and leans into the gentle attention, letting the wolf protect him. The sound of the fire soothes the frantic part of his hindbrain, the fur too tempting not to burrow into just a little. He's barely the size of a thorn in the wolf's side. The wolf rumbles, lying his head down and leaning it against him so he's pressed in on all sides.

The sickness recedes ever so slightly. Exhaustion quickly replaces it. The wolf breathes slowly. Roman turns his cheek to rest against the soft fur.

***

"I just don't understand!"

"You're hurt because Roman has expressed that you've hurt him."

"Well, yeah!"

"I don't think you get to be mad at him for that, Patton."

"I'm not mad, I'm just very disappointed that—"

"Okay, no, you don't get to do that either. That's not—Patton, the reason this got as bad as it did is because Roman doesn't feel like he can express that he's upset. At you or anyone else."

"But that's—how is that fair?"

"Okay, I think we're going in circles here—look, Pat-Pat, the point here is that Roro's upset—rightfully so, and he needs to time be upset about it now that he knows it's safe for him to be upset."

"It's always been safe for him to be upset!"

"No, Patton, it hasn't."

"Not when we've been jumping all over him for just expressing how he's feeling."

"He knows he can come and talk to me, he does! I don't understand why—"

"Patton, when was the last time Roman sought you out? To talk to you, or even just to hang out?"

"…"

"Patton?"

"…oh, no."

***

It takes a long time.

Roman spends a lot of time in the Imagination. Patton can feel it, can feel how hurt Roman is and how Thomas must be feeling by association. Everyone spends more time just…existing around each other without actually doing anything.

It takes a long, long time.

Fear never completely goes away, but it does become a little less omnipresent. Pain fades, or dulls, but the memory still causes flinches.

In time.

***

"Roman?"

"Hm?"

"Any ideas?"

Roman glances up at the others. They're all looking at him expectantly. Logan raises an eyebrow and gestures for him to go on.

A slow smile spreads across his face.

"Well, I did think of something."

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