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lefaystrent · 23 days

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Me, Myself, and These Guys Who Kinda Look Like Me Ch. 5

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: Thomas/The Sides

Summary: It starts with dreams. Then Thomas starts seeing the dream people in the waking world.

Thomas doesn't know how to bring it up to anybody or if he even should at this point.

AKA, Thomas has to acknowledge the six colorful characters in the room, much to their long-awaited delight.

Ao3 Link: click here

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

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Patton, as it turns out, cannot cook. At all.

To be fair, none of them ever had the chance to gain prior experience. The singular two times the others did cook, it had been oatmeal and ramen. Not exactly complex meals.

They appeared to be relatively competent adults though. They had been observing Thomas for years and should be aware of the basics of cooking.

Oh. That's where things went wrong, didn't it? They had been watching Thomas. Not Gordon Ramsey. Thomas Sanders.

Thomas knows how to scramble eggs at least. The thing in Patton's pan right now? Not eggs.

"I just went to the bathroom for like a minute," Thomas says in that way that clearly means, "what the fuck happened?"

"Everything is fine," Patton claims over the smoking pan. "Question though, do you like your eggs extra crispy, or...?"

Thomas would just like to have a skillet after this.

The pan chooses that moment to inexplicably catch on fire. Which shouldn't be possible, but so were plenty of other things that Thomas has experienced in his life lately. Why not this too?

Thomas screams. Patton starts screaming too. Then Patton, in his hurried desperation to right the situation, goes to grab the pan not by the handle like a sane person but where the fire is. With his bare hands. Thomas knows they just had a conversation about how they couldn't truly feel pain, but that doesn't stop the spike of panic as he watches the disaster in slow motion.

Between one blink to another, Virgil appears. He doesn't rise up like Roman demonstrated yesterday. He bamfs in right beside Patton, snapping at him to stand back. Startled, Patton dodges back as Virgil takes control. He pulls the sleeve of his hoodie down over the handle to act as an unconventional potholder, and he rushes the pan to the sink. More smoke billows from the water splashing against the hot pan and the fowl smell of burnt eggs permeates the air.

"What were you trying to do?!" Virgil screeches, and Thomas senses that it's a rhetorical question meant to just make them reevaluate their life choices up to this point, but Patton answers anyway.

"My best!"

Virgil curses and ensures that all of the fire is extinguished before sagging where he stands. He leaves the tap on, either just in case or too tired to shut it off. Patton tiptoes up to him and tugs sheepishly at his shoulder.

"Kiddo? I'm sorry."

"Don't do that," Virgil growls. He holds himself up over the sink, hands braced on either side. "Way to scare the living daylights outta me."

"It's probably more my fault," Thomas cringes. "I left him without supervision."

"Aw, Thomas! Now just because you needed a potty break does not mean it's your fault! We're all adults here."

"Adults don't say 'potty' to each other," Virgil groans. He reaches over the sink and cracks open the window to let out the influx of smoke. "And do you realize how close you were to burning Thomas's apartment down?"

"Well, it was just the eggs–" Thomas tries to alleviate the tension, but Virgil whirls on him.

"It doesn't matter! What would you guys have done if I hadn't showed up when I did? Would you have just stood there screaming? Would you have grabbed the pan and knocked it over and then the fire caught onto something? You have to be more careful!"

Thomas and Patton shuffle guiltily. They could have handled the situation better, in hindsight. No excuses really. Thomas can envision that happening, the two of them freaking out so hard that they create an even bigger danger mess. What would Thomas have done if flames really did spread? Hurt himself trying to put it out like Patton had almost done? Run screaming and forget to call emergency services? They were lucky that Virgil stepped in, and it sounded like they had really scared him.

"Thank you, Virgil," Thomas says. "For coming when you did."

"Yeah, Virge, that was good timing."

"Did you know?" Thomas asks. Could they sense things from in their rooms? Like, could Virgil see what they were up to and came running?

Virgil scowls and crosses his arms around himself. "No? I guess my spidey sense told me that you guys were doing something stupid. Thought I'd check in. You're just lucky I was here."

"Yeah, you're right. Thank you," Thomas expresses again, and he puts effort into showing his gratitude with his eyes.

Thomas isn't sure, but Virgil's eyes might have gone a little glassy at that. Before he can confirm, Virgil spins around and shuts off the sink. "No need to thank me. Your pan's probably ruined anyway. And if you're hungry, I'll make you some more oatmeal. No one touch anything. Please."

Thomas politely requests toast to go with it because he craves carbs, and Virgil gives a long-suffering sigh and shoos them out of the kitchen.

"Do you think he's mad at us?" Thomas asks Patton when they're in the living room. He keeps his voice hushed. "What am I saying, of course he's mad."

"I think he's just worried. That's his way of showing he cares."

"I can't believe you guys tried to set the house on fire without me."

They both squawk and Patton falls over onto the couch at Remus's sudden appearance behind them. A smile curls up Remus's lips, his mustache twitching left and right, and his eyes narrow in glee. Virgil looks up sharply at the disturbance, notes Remus has joined them, and dismisses it with an eye roll. He continues bustling around the kitchen.

"We wouldn't do that to Thomas's home! ...on purpose."

"Lame. Next time, instead of cooking oil you should try kerosene."

Thomas, a man who loves to eat raw cookie dough, knows his limits. "That is not edible."

"No it's edible, just not advisable."

And there's Logan rising up. Thomas embraces the fact that his house will never be empty anymore. He crawls onto the couch beside Patton. If that puts Patton between him and the others, well that's just a bonus. He gives in to the urge to hide and rests his head on Patton's shoulder, more or less curling up into a ball against his side.

Remus bounces his hip against Logan to make him stagger. "Some people used to think lobotomy was advisable. Depends on who's doing the advising, don'tchya think?"

"Let me rephrase then, kerosene contains hydrocarbons which, were it to be consumed, could result in impaired breathing and eyesight, as well as internal burns, rapidly declining blood pressure, convulsions, coma-"

"Were you saying something, Nerdy Wolverine? All I'm hearing is blah blah blah."

It's entertaining to see how similar Remus interacts with Logan as Logan does with Roman. It's the flair for the dramatic and sass clashing with Logan's tendency towards the literal and common sense.

"Do you think they'd notice if we left?" Thomas whispers to Patton jokingly. When the other doesn't respond, Thomas looks at him.

Patton sits incredibly taut. His fingers bunch up in the material of his khaki pants. His eyes are glazed and out of focus, staring ahead and seeing nothing. Thomas doesn't think that he's breathing. Do they need to breathe?

Oh. Thomas should have asked first before invading his personal space.

"Sorry," Thomas says softly and scoots away, putting distance between them.

"Hm?" Patton hums absently. He blinks like he's coming back online and his head lolls around to Thomas. "What did you say?"

Thomas shakes his head quickly and hurries to busy himself with his phone. "Nothing, don't worry about it."

Patton doesn't quite frown, but he's pensive and pondering. Thankfully, he doesn't push and lets the awkwardness go.

Thomas berates himself internally. Why did he do that without asking first? Or just sit on the other end of the couch? He had been caught up in the emotions that they had shared earlier. This thing between all of them, this developing two-way friendship, is only just budding. He has to give it time for everyone's sake and not get ahead of himself.

If he's honest, his own needs are to blame. He could really use a hug. He's been cooped up in his apartment for days and he misses interacting with people. Like...normal people? Gosh, is that a rude thing to think about? He likes these people, he does... He just wants an unconditional display of affection with no weird strings attached.

Is it a good or bad thing that he doesn't have a boyfriend right now? He can't fathom how that would go. Who would want to stay with a person who is constantly haunted by dream people? Wait, wait, that raises the excellent question of what will Thomas eventually do when he does meet someone and gets back into dating? Is this– is this for the rest of his life?

Thomas can't pretend his attention is focused on his phone. It's not and the screen is black from disuse.

He didn't mean to face his impending fears this early in the morning.

Compartmentalize. He needs to do what Logan taught him yesterday. He needs to put these worries in a box, lock it up tight, and push it into the background. He's still recovering, and he hasn't learned everything about them yet. Let him deal with this when he has the energy and all of the facts.

Down the couch, he doesn't notice that Patton watches him with a pained expression.

***

After breakfast, Thomas evades the others by engaging his worst enemy.

Chores.

His hamper overflows from fire fits of days past. He tosses them in the washer, guesstimates how much detergent to pour in, and then starts the wash. He sets a timer on his phone on the off chance he remembers to obey the alarm and switch the load.

He stares at his bed in its sweat-stained sheety glory. It would take him all day along with his clothes.

No, Thomas, you will not be a gremlin. You're feeling better now, toughen up.

The gremlin part of his brain claws for a compromise. He has spare sheets. He can replace them now and wash the dirty ones tomorrow.

Changing them is easier said than done. The dirty ones come off swift, but the clean ones? Why does it take all the muscles in your body just to get a fitted sheet on a mattress? And by the time you've got wrangled the rest of the blankets and pillow cases? Phew, what a work out.

Thomas lays exhausted on the freshly made bed. He used to work out sort of, you know, before he got sick. Now he's a shadow of his former self. He shouldn't be this out of breath and wanting a nap. How weak, pathetic. A tiny whiny man.

...right, he's still sick.

He heaves himself up and tosses back some more ibuprofen. The fever hasn't returned exactly, or if it has it's relatively low. His joints protest like the old man he is, and there are other mild aches. If he pushes himself too fast, too soon, he'll just end up miserable. And he'll do anything to avoid that wretched migraine from coming back.

He lays back on the bed again, sideways across it with his legs hanging off. He basks in the comfiness. The others didn't follow him up or ask questions, for which he is glad. He doesn't want them looking at him like lost puppies whenever he leaves the room.

He stares at the popcorn ceiling and makes out shapes as if they are clouds.

He's going to have to change a lot of his routine, once he gets in the swing of it again. Maybe establish some boundaries? Even if they promise to respect his privacy, he isn't sure he'll ever be able to sleep naked again. Which sucks because that's his preferred method of pajamas. Clothes are terribly confining.

And what will he tell his family? His friends? He doesn't know if he can keep this a secret. He's incredibly inept at lying to those who know him. He gets too skittish, too overcompensating. It's laughable. They've already been worried enough about him these past couple of weeks, and that's just when he thought he was going insane. They'd see through any farce.

He can just never leave his apartment ever again. Is that an option? No one will ever suspect.

Actually, would anyone be able to see them anyway? If he walked outside his house, could his neighbors see them strolling along in the parking lot? And if they were now visible to everyone, would this bring like, government attention to him? What if authorities start questioning why these six guys who live with him don't have birth certificates or social security numbers?

Thomas daydreams city officials stopping by his house wielding warrants. "Sir, you're under arrest for harboring illegal dream people." And then he'd have a criminal record, and all his loved ones discover his dirty secret anyway. Awesome. Fantastic.

"Do you ever feel....like a plastic bag," Thomas sings quietly to himself. He sighs and rolls over onto his side.

Roman is reclined on the bed beside him. It's interesting, because it doesn't scare him right out of his pants (ha, Nightmare Before Christmas referrence). He's getting too used to them randomly popping up now. Man, he's really gotta have the boundaries talk sooner than later, doesn't he?

But it's not so bad. Roman lays there flat on his back, gazing up at the ceiling as Thomas had been. He wonders if Roman is mapping out pictures too, creating life where there once was none.

"I always loved to hear you sing," Roman confides. His arm floats in the air, hand dancing to an unknown tempo. "And perform. I used to memorize the lines right alongside you. I sang like I was a part of the show and not just an onlooker. I would pretend..."

His face is open and lost in memories. Thomas forgets his worries for the moment. The poignant tone of Roman's words, the underlying passion, it's entrancing in its tragedy.

Like Thomas's problems can ever compare to theirs.

"What would you pretend?" Thomas asks, hushed and gentle and not wanting to break the atmosphere.

The barest bit of pink tints Roman's cheeks. His lips quirk up as he glances at him from the corner of his eye. "I used to pretend I was you. Someone I respected and admired more than anything."

Thomas resists the urge to cover his face in a fit of bashfulness. It's not like he often has pretty guys in his bed waxing poetically about him. And here he has a literal Prince Charming who has been his unknowing personal backup singer for years.

Roman's smile morphs into a wince. He flops his arm down onto the bed. "My apologies, Thomas. I can't imagine how daunting this situation is for you. If you should need anything, even if it's for us to give you space, you have but to ask. I don't wish for us to burden you."

"You're not a burden," Thomas replies automatically, stubbornly.

Aren't they though? the ugly voice in the back of his mind says. He viciously beats it down and shoves it in his mental basement. He won't be that kind of person.

Roman turns his head to look at him, eyebrow raised. "Just earlier we set a fire. This is only the second day since achieving corporealness."

"In all fairness, it wasn't that bad. And Virgil was there to put it out. So it balanced out."

"Yeah, Virgil's good like that," Roman muses. He's scanning Thomas's face, searching for something. It reminds him of the subdued way he looked at the others last night, after he offered to carry Thomas to bed. The bit of cautious wonder. Of tender hope.

Thomas thrums a cadence with his fingers into the bed sheets. "I talked to Patton this morning..."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Thomas nods. Well, as much as a person can nod while laying on their side. "Yeah. We kinda...talked about the situation, more or less. I told him I want to help you guys."

Roman is nothing short of stunned. Flabbergasted. Gut-punched.

They can't think that poorly of him, can they? To think it's that out of character for him? Roman just said he admires him. Thomas clings onto that.

"You do?" Roman squeaks out, and Thomas hates how bemused he sounds.

"Yeah, what I can I mean," he pours sincerity into his words. "I don't know how much a guy like me can do, but I'd like to try. I'm not going to kid myself and say this will be a walk in the park, but I'm sure we can all figure out something together. And... uh, if you want. I don't know if you'd be interested, but I'd love to sing with you sometime. If you want, I mean. Your voice, I mean, it's good. Really good. But only if you want, of course."

As he fumbles his speech, Thomas reminds himself repeatedly that Roman just expressed an interest in doing as much, and no this is not being too presumptuous.

Roman springs up, bolt upright. There's a feral, hungry glee that shakes him and he nearly squeals out, "Really?! Really really?!"

"Really really," Thomas promises, smiling up at him. The excitement is infectious and Roman launches into a whole tirade of song choices.

"We could do Hamilton! Or Disney! I'll make a man out of you! It's the boppiest bop to ever bop! Or no wait, a ballad! We could do a ballad! A piano cover of something. Better yet, we can write our own song! Thomas! Thomas, I have so many ideas, you have no idea!"

Thomas has awoken his inner child. It's Christmas and Fourth of July clashing in showers of sparks. There are stars in Roman's eyes, and he holds his fists up, knuckles covering a wild grin. He's bouncing in place on the bed and it's the cutest thing Thomas has ever seen.

"I'd like to hear them," Thomas says.

Roman needs no more prompting. He stretches out on the bed again, laying on his stomach. He kicks his feet up behind him whimsically while he gushes and makes callbacks to Thomas's past videos and expands off of those. He's talking a mile-a-minute and Thomas hardly needs to contribute. Nor does he want to. He wouldn't dream of interrupting.

This bit of his morning is not a chore. It's a privilege.

***

Lunch time rolls around. They only become aware of this in the midst of their brainstorming session because Remus throws open the door.

The closet door.

"Did someone order a pizza?!" he screeches loud enough to make ears bleed.

Roman's reaction is to grab the nearest object (a pillow) and catapult it at the intruder. Remus karate chops is out of the air.

"Have you ever heard of knocking!" Roman bellows. "Me and Thomas are having an important discussion that doesn't involve you!"

"You've been hogging him since yesterday! It's my turn to ride on Thomas the Dank Engine!"

"I haven't been hogging him!"

"Little piggy say what?"

"I haven't been hogging him! Just because you're jealous–"

"Oink oink oink! Here a pig, there a pig, everywhere a pig pig!"

"Why are you so insufferably juvenile?!"

"Uh, bitch, why do you have a stick up your ass? And not the good kind!"

"Fellas," Thomas says most agreeably, sitting up and clasping his hands in his lap. "I think we need to take a deep breath."

They both cut themselves off mid-insults. They glance at him, and yes it's clear that even though Thomas was the subject they were fighting over, they had forgotten he was there or that he can now witness their spats.

And gosh, isn't that bizarre? They're fighting over him.

Roman crosses his arms and sulks, appearing contrite. Remus puts his hands behind his back and whistles in a poor imitation of innocence.

These two might be worse together than Logan with either of them. That's just impressive.

Thomas clears his throat and embodies his best mediator persona. "Now Remus, was there a reason you came in here? You said something about pizza?"

Roman mutters, "He was making a stupid porn joke."

"You're stupid," Remus snipes back. Before Roman can sputter out a defense, Remus bounds over and snatches up Thomas's hands in his. "There's food downstairs ready for you. The nerd said it's important for you to eat to keep your energy up or whatever. I suggested you should just eat batteries, but nobody ever listens to me."

"I wonder why," Roman growls, but Thomas is already being dragged out of his room. Remus keeps an iron grip on his fingers and pulls him along.

There's an erratic edge to Remus's words while he babbles to Thomas. It's mostly nonsensical ideas, like a stream of consciousness gone straight to brain rot. It's peculiar as it is demanding of attention. A train crash he can't look away from.

As they descend the stairs, Thomas stares at their joined hands. He considers Remus's words from before. How much do the others really listen to him? Or to each other in general? What hidden dynamics are at play here?

The others are all waiting for them below minus Bowler Hat. The table is set for one, and it's actually not pizza. It's pan-seared porkchops with broccoli and mashed potatoes. His nostrils flair as the smell wafts over him. His stomach rumbles appreciatively.

"You guys didn't have to do all this," Thomas protests. He lets Remus steer him to the chair and plop him down. He keeps his hands on his shoulders. "I know I've been sick, but I can make my own food now."

Virgil gestures to the murdered pan in the sink. "Let's just say for all our sakes, we don't mind."

"Yes, it's no issue," Logan chips in. "We are more than capable of providing you with assistance. It is no trouble, I assure you."

"I set the table," Patton says with a tiny smile. "No more stove privileges for silly ole me!"

Roman indulges him with a clap on the back. "You did well, Padre. And everyone else! This is a meal fit for a king!"

Virgil scoffs, "It's just meat and veggies. It's not a big deal."

"I forgot I had porkchops," Thomas admits. "When did you guys even take them out to thaw? I didn't notice."

Logan refastens his tie, a little smug, "Last night. I theorized that by today your illness would abate enough to allow you to eat a proper meal."

"Well, I don't know what else to say but thank you." Would this become a thing? Should he let it be a thing? Would it be such a bad thing if he did? They could cook him food if it made them feel useful, and then he could avoid cooking and get to eat it all. Just himself, never sharing.

No, that just– that would be like having servants and would be a weird power hierarchy, and he's just not going to go that route. He's a big boy, he can cook his own dinners.

He picks up his fork to tuck into dinner.

"Are you going to hover over him for the entirety of the meal, Donny Whacko?"

Remus's hands are still clamped on Thomas's shoulders, and he remains standing right behind him. Thomas pauses with his fork in the air. He didn't realize when Remus had grown eerily quiet, but the chattering had indeed stopped, and he grips tighter at Thomas's shoulders.

"Remus?" Patton says, as gentle as a person encroaching on a wild animal that they just want to help. "You gotta let go, buddy."

At once the hands are gone from his shoulders. Then they return on the sides of Thomas's head, spindly fingers holding him in place while Remus delivers a loud smooch to the top of his scalp. Every hair on Thomas's body stands on end.

"Remus!!" literally everyone screams.

"What, like you all haven't been thinking about it too," Remus replies in his reedy voice. "I can't help that you're all horribly repressed."

Furious and flustered, Roman rolls up his sleeves as if he's going to remove Remus by force, but then he suddenly back pedals. His eyes shift from Remus to...something else.

"I do so enjoy you making my job harder," a voice that is certainly not Remus's comes from behind Thomas.

Thomas turns. His peripheral catches a minor struggle of limbs, a flash of yellow, and then nothing. No one stands behind him.

"Why does he have to be so dramatic?" Virgil groans rhetorically.

Logan answers him literally, "He does not have to, it is simply a life choice."

Thomas looks back at them. "Did Remus just get kidnapped?"

Patton attempts to smile through a grimace, "I think it's more like he was given a time-out."

"Was that Bowler Hat?"

"Yeah, he does that sometimes with Remus. Nothing to worry about, kiddo."

Thomas very much worries about it. They can't tell him not to worry about it after that. After Remus kissed him and got sent to baby jail for it. Thomas can't react to the implications of the sign of affection, that in particular is a bit too much right now, but he does race car drift into indignation. Regardless of Remus being overtly clingy, Thomas doesn't think he deserved to be dragged away like that.

HIs reaction is because Remus had just voiced how no one listens to what he says. And the way that his hands didn't want to let go of Thomas. A burgeoning sense of protection has him sitting down his fork.

"I... I think I would have rather talked about it," Thomas tells them. He surprises them, he knows he does. And maybe that's his fault with how readily he's shown to want to avoid the issue so far.

Logan is the first to act. He smooths down the front of his shirt and sits in front of him at the table. "If you would like to discuss, we can."

"No," Thomas shakes his head, tone firm. "I want to talk to you guys. All of you. An important part of handling things is communication, right? And the longer I wait to do this, the more we might misunderstand each other, and I don't want that to happen. I want us all to be comfortable. Not just me, but all of you guys too."

Patton takes a step forward, falters, then presses his index fingers together. "When you say all of us..."

Thomas's eyes narrow. "I mean all six of you. Would that be a problem?"

Patton throws up his hands and waves them around in distress. "No, no! Not at all! That's not what I meant." He too takes a seat. He leans over the table, trying to convey in his expression sincerity. "I'm sorry, it's just that, well we'd like to talk to you. We just don't want to overwhelm you all at once."

"And Bowler Hat, as you call him, may decline to come to the discussion table," Virgil points out.

"Why would he?" Thomas asks. "I just talked to him last night."

"You did?" Virgil spits out, eyes critically assessing. When he sees that Thomas does nothing more than raise a brow, he rolls his shoulders and puts on an unaffected air. "Okay, cool. That's cool. So you weren't...scared?"

"No? Why would I be?" Thomas asks.

No one answers.

Thomas looks from face to face. They're hiding secrets. Every one of them.

"Why would I be?" he says again, more soft in trepidation.

Logan's brows are furrowed. He taps a finger against his chin. "Thomas... did you notice anything...odd regarding his appearance?"

"You mean other than the caplet and gloves?"

"Yes, actually. What else?"

Thomas searches for an answer amongst then. Roman stares holes into Patton who squirms in his seat.

"What am I not getting?" Thomas questions Patton.

And there's the same guilty look in his eyes like this morning at the failed breakfast. "Thomas, how much did you see of him? Was it dark? Did you see him fully I mean? Or remember when you first saw us?"

Not that he noticed. Nothing that–

Hadn't Bowler Hat purposefully avoided him? He had been turned away, looking out the window. And he scurried away to the kitchen with Virgil first thing. And he didn't show back up until it was dark in his room.

"Is he...is he different?" Thomas asks them, borderline scared now. "Is he not the same thing you guys are?"

"Yes and no," Logan answers, too collected, too calculating his words. "He is similar to us in most areas in terms of our attachment to you and the state of our metaphysical beings. The largest difference is in appearance."

"He didn't want," Virgil begins, but trails off when everyone turns to him. He scowls and looks angrily at the floor. "It's not for us to tell. He was just afraid of how you'd react. He can't help the way he looks. He just is."

"The snake's already out of the bag," Roman says, remorseful. "Thomas, it's not that we didn't want to tell you. We just wanted to respect his wishes while giving you time to adjust. But I can see that it's causing you more stress than not. I'm not sure we can manage to convince him to come out, but we can tell you about it. The truth would've had to come out eventually."

He doesn't want them to feel forced to tell him anything.

He also doesn't like them keeping secrets that might affect him and each other.

It's a tousle between being a people pleaser and wanting some modicum of control back over his life.

"I want you guys...to feel like you can talk to me."

"That's all we've ever wanted," Patton whispers.

Thomas closes his eyes. He pushes his plate aside. "Then I think we need to talk."

#nothing in this chapter went as I planned #I fell in too deep send help #sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #me myself and these guys who kinda look like me #writing #fanfiction

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