#platonic tlamp

[teacupfulofstarshine]

LOVELY, DARK, AND DEEP CHAPTER 10

PLEASE HEED THE CONTENT WARNINGS!!! this chapter features Evil Scientist Lady and her Fucked Up WorldView a LOT, and there are also some Major Plot Events that involve Violence. i will put a summary in the end notes if you decide at any point that this particular chapter is too much - that's super valid! i will also mention here that no main characters are going to die in this story and no one dies in this chapter either.

huge huge thanks to @flamingfawkes for beta’ing!

CW: extreme disregard for human life, mentioned human and animal cruelty, toxic workplace environment, violence (both imagined and actual, mildly graphic), gun mention, minor blood, death threats, extremely unethical character, unethical science, stalking

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // chapter 8 // chapter 9 // read it on ao3!

“This is the same result we’ve gotten the last twenty times -”

“I don’t care, Steven, run it again!”

Steven sighs, punching at the keyboard to run the statistical analysis sequence again. “This is ridiculous! I’ve run this sequence so many times it feels like my eyes are going to bleed. Why can’t we just turn in the results we have and -”

“Because she’ll behead us,” James snaps, “and then she’ll destroy our reputations and our families and they’ll get no severance. I have three young children at home, Steven, I need this money.” Steven softens a little, fingers running smoothly over the keys as he combs the data again. Next to him, James has a computer screen full of frame-by-frame stills of what little data they recovered from the probe before it was destroyed; Penny across the room is surrounded by ancient texts a mile high and at least three laptops.

“Why is she so interested in this, anyway?”

“It’s beyond me. Since when do we question the whims of what we’re told to do?”

Steven squints at the screen, pushing his chair back and rubbing at his eyes. “If I have to stare at these numbers for one more second, my brain is going to explode. I feel like my eyeballs are going to melt out of my skull. I wanna scream.”

James pulls up another image, staring at the blurry image of the merman before him. Steven pushes away from his own screen and squints at James’s. The merman in the photo looks young, not much older than his kid brother, but they don’t know anything about the lifespan of these creatures. He looks confused, squinting at the camera. As James flicks through the stills, the merman transitions from confused to angry to enraged, and then he attacks.

“He’s not happy about the camera.”

“Would you be happy about someone spying on you and your family?” James says, switching to the next still.

“I wouldn’t be happy if I thought someone was doing anything we do in this lab to me or my family.” James elbows Steven, but luckily no one else seems to have heard.

“This lab isn’t the most ethical place I’ve ever worked, but it pays the bills,” James mutters. “And we’re not even in the experimentation lab. We just do data analysis. We’re removed from the situation.”

Are we? Steven wonders. He sees James reach out and touch the framed picture of his daughters, and keeps his mouth shut. He turns back to his computer, watching the little spinning color wheel of his mouse as the program calculates the same numbers again and again. The results come up identical to the previous ones, and Steven clicks “Run Program” again wordlessly.

They work in silence for a while, the three of them, broken only by James’s muttering and the occasional thud of one of Penny’s books and the clicks of keyboards and mice. If they weren’t so reliant on technology, Steven thinks, there would be an enormous corkboard spanning three of the four walls, covered in pushpins and handwriting and red string connecting images. He debates actually building one, if only to increase the levity in the room, but decides against it.

He’s seen people punished or fired or who-knows-what-else for far less, after all.

Instead, after his program tells him for the twenty-third time that his results are the same (and didn’t someone say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?), Steven scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms and opens the data entry window. Maybe the problem with the results has to do with the entry of the data; did he input something wrong? It’s possible . . .

Here he goes again, he supposes. He stands up, stretches, and leans back to crack some vertebrae. “I’m gonna grab a coffee, take a short screen break, and go back to the beginning. Maybe there’s something in the input that I missed. You want anything?”

James groans, thunking his head against the desk. “I want something with enough caffeine to kill three elephants, please.” Steven nods, looking over at Penny. She shakes her head, and he heads for the shitty coffee machine a few doors down.

Several floors below, a young woman pulls her lab goggles up to rest on top of her head with her perfectly-pinned protocol-compliant bun. “The latest round of tests is completely done, ma’am. I think you’ll find the efficacy . . . striking.”

She takes the clipboard, glossy perfectly-painted nails pinching the sheets of thin paper and flicking between them. “I’m afraid I don’t do so well with the scientific side of things - Kathleen, was it? Explain this to me, would you?”

“Certainly, ma’am. As you know, the kill time for the most effective neurotoxin currently available, tetrodotoxin, varies from thirty minutes to four hours. Average time for symptoms to manifest is seventeen minutes, and from there the symptoms progress through tingling of the lips and tongue, headache, vomiting, muscle weakness, ataxia, et cetera. Death occurs as a result of respiratory or heart failure, and the poison is nearly undetectable if you do not specifically test for it.”

“The untraceability is a plus, but that is far too wide a range of times, and too slow a time even at its fastest.”

“Of course, ma’am, but as far as naturally-occurring marine poisons go - actually, as far as naturally-occurring poisons go, full stop - it is the most effective. Until now, that is.”

“Oh? What are your findings?”

“Which trials would you like to start with, ma’am?”

“The human trials, Kathleen. The only ones that matter. I hardly intend to go around killing mice and hoping that no one traces their deaths to a novel neurotoxin.” She laughs airily, and Kathleen nods along.

“Certainly, ma’am. The most recent data points indicate an average efficacy time of thirteen minutes for our compound neurotoxin, with a full range between nine and seventeen minutes passing before subject death. Subjects began to show symptoms around five minutes, give or take twenty-five seconds.”

“And those symptoms were?”

Kathleen flips through the document. “Seizures, vital organ failure, blindness, painful muscle spasms, suffocation from the inside out.”

She hums, tapping a manicured finger against the report. “Well, Kathleen, that is certainly impressive, especially for a preliminary human subject trial. These results . . . I must say, they are not nearly as disappointing as I anticipated when I came down here.”

“Ma’am?”

“How long have you worked for this company, Kathleen?”

“Almost five years, ma’am, but I’ve always been an assistant. This is my first time as lead researcher and biochemist on a project, ever since you . . . laid off the previous lead researcher.”

“Kathleen, let me be frank. These results are not what I hoped for. The efficacy time and symptom onset times are both far too long for my liking, and the range of efficacy time is too broad. By all accounts, I should consider this a failure.” Kathleen swallows, but remains poised. “However, you’ve managed to shave off a considerable amount of time from the tetrodotoxin readings. The range of symptom onset time is an acceptable breadth, and your results are far beyond anything your predecessor ever accomplished for me. This is truly impressive, all things considered.”

“Thank you, ma’am. How should I proceed?”

“I want the efficacy doubled - tripled - I want it upped by anywhere between four and five hundred percent. I want the pain increased, too. Feel free to increase your requests for test subjects, but get me the results I want. You said the original tetrodotoxin was untraceable?”

“That’s correct, ma’am.”

“Can you keep that feature intact?”

“As of right now, it is intact, ma’am. I will endeavor to keep it so in future experiments.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Welcome to your new position as head of this research division. Don’t let me down.” She holds out a slender hand, and Kathleen takes it, trying not to seem too eager.

“I won’t, ma’am.”

“How soon can you start this experiment up again?”

“The cleaners should be finished by tomorrow morning, ma’am, and I can tweak chemical formulas until then.”

“Excellent.” Her watch beeps, and she lifts it, pursing her bright lips as she examines the message she’s just received. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another matter to attend to. Someone will drop off your master access key for Lab Three within the hour.”

She steps into the elevator and lifts her watch up to her face, swiping through the messages from her secretary. One finger reaches out to press the button for the digital analysis labs floor, and the other taps away at her watch.

When she steps off the elevator, her secretary is waiting. “Ma’am.”

“What do they have for me?”

“Unclear. They said it was something they wanted to report directly to you and you alone, but it seems to be something big.”

“Hopefully it’s a big step in the right direction, or they’ll be taking a big step out of a job.” She relishes in the way the employees she passes all unfailingly flinch and then snap to perfect attention when they hear the sharp echo of her heels against the floor. She lifts her head and walks faster, striking the tiles with her heels like a gavel, sharp and precise against a judge’s desk.

The computer labs are disorganized when she enters, but there is a string of promising-looking numbers on the main display monitor. There is a woman surrounded by books and a man pulling up photos on his computer, and there is a third man standing in front of her like a toy soldier. She focuses on that one.

“I hear you have news for me? Make it swift, and make it good.”

He swallows, hard, and her eyes idly trace the line of his throat. If he disappoints her, perhaps she will drive her heel through it, to make an example of him. That would be far too messy; perhaps his dominant hand will do.

“I have narrowed down the location of the missing net, ma’am. I believe it to have washed up somewhere around these general GPS coordinates.” He fiddles with a remote in his hand, and the image on the screen changes. It shows an aerial satellite view of a secluded strip of beach, framed by rocky cliffs with larger rocks studded out into the open water. “It should have washed up somewhere in this one-point-three-seven-mile strip of beach. The whole area is property of one Doctor Thomas Sanders.”

She snarls. “That man. He won’t let us on that beach willingly until hell freezes over.”

The other man, the one scanning through photo stills and video footage, jumps up, knocking his chair backwards. “I found something!”

She turns towards him, and his excitement freezes and sputters into something much more controlled and terrified. “Show me.” He clicks something and pulls up video footage from one of their surveillance drones, zooming in on a particular patch of ocean along the stretch of Sanders’ beach. Her eyes widen when she sees what he’d noticed - a hump of red-and-white tail arcing above the waves before a pattern of ripples streaks off towards the cliff. He pauses the footage, rewinds it, uses a laser pointer to show an opening concealed in the cliff face.

“There’s some kind of grotto in there, hidden by the cliff. It’s on Sanders’ property, he has to know it’s there. And it looks like the merman from the destroyed drone knows it’s there too. Which means -”

“That must be where he’s keeping them.” Something burns in her chest, brilliant and terrifying and all-encapsulating, like wildfire. “We’ve found them, at long last.”

“What would you have me do?” her secretary asks. “I can arrange for a recovery squad at your earliest possible convenience, ma’am.”

“Assemble the squad, but do not have them move out. They will wait for my orders. When they go, you are to go with them.” Her secretary nods, once, sharp and sure. “Dispatch a crew to Lab One and clear it out. I want it prepped for containment, vivisection, chemical tests - the works. Get at least three tanks set up and one strap-down human table.”

“A human table, ma’am?”

“Yes. We have to deal with Sanders once and for all to ensure that he does not ruin any future experiments.”

“Will we be taking him as well?”

She hums thoughtfully. “No. Pull up the file we have on his known associate?”

A few swift clicks and flicks and a photo appears on the large screen: a young man with brown-and-purple hair, sleeves rolled up, carefully lowering a perfectly viable specimen into the ocean and letting it go, like some kind of fool. “His doctoral student, ma’am. The longest one he’s ever kept - this one has been with him a few years.”

“Excellent. When you raid the lab, take him.”

“Should we kill Sanders?”

“No. Rough him up a little, but leave him alive. Taking his protégé and leaving him alone, helpless to rescue him, will be the highest form of torture for such an insufferable person. The agony will eat him alive until his dying day.”

Her secretary nods, taking the notes down dutifully. The other employees look vaguely horrified, but she pays them no mind. No sacrifice is too great to be made in the name of progress, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a weakling who will never get anywhere in life.

She refuses to be one of those weaklings.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan wakes up confused.

He’s warm, warmer than he thinks he’s ever been in his whole life. When he stirs, he moves farther than he meant to - he must not be underwater. That’s enough to send a jolt of concern through his sleep-addled brain. Why isn’t he underwater? Why was he sleeping if he was above the surface? There’s no way his dad is here, and Roman hates surfacing, where are they? Where is he? But he’s so comfortable . . .

Someone shifts beside him, an arm draping across his waist, and Logan forces his eyes open. He shifts his lower half, confused when two things move instead of one, and there are layers upon layers of thin, flat, soft things wrapping around him. What is happening?

Slowly, slowly, his mind clears, and he remembers the events of last night. He grew legs - he was a human, once, before he was mer - he couldn’t sleep underwater with Dad and Roman - Virgil was teaching him to walk - Virgil put “clothes” on him - Virgil was embarrassed that he didn’t have those “clothes” on him - Virgil took him out of the lab to sleep - Virgil agreed to cuddle him since his pod couldn’t -

Logan feels the strange burning in his face again as he shifts. He can’t see well in this new human form, but when things are close enough to his face they’re relatively clear. And Virgil, still sleeping, is close enough that Logan can smell him - he smells like salt water mixed with something sharp and something sweet and something else that Logan can’t quite identify but finds addicting nonetheless. Sunlight streams in and pools around Virgil’s face, illuminating the tangled mess of hair spread around him and flopping into his face, the small puddle of water leaking out from his open mouth onto the soft thing he’s resting his head on, the way his chest moves slowly with every breath. His arm is wrapped around Logan, pulling him close. Logan thinks he might explode if he focuses on this any more, so he rolls from his side to his back as carefully as he can, not wanting to wake Virgil. Virgil tightens his arm around Logan and mutters something indecipherable in his sleep, but he doesn’t wake.

Rather than focusing on his very confusing feelings for the very pretty man next to him, Logan focuses on what he can see of the room around him. He makes a list in his mind of things that he plans to ask Virgil about later today, including:

1: There are many draws attached to the small, smooth cliffs surrounding them. How do they stay there?

2: There are lots of “clothes” scattered all around the floor, and there were several on the bed, too. Is that normal for humans?

3: Last night, Virgil did something that made the room light up with trapped sunlight! How did he do that?

4: How did Virgil get ice to stay in those big frozen sheets in such a warm place to let the sunlight in?

5: How did Virgil make ice into that weird shape that he filled with water and drank last night?

6: How did Virgil get the water to come into this place?

7: Do all humans have a specific area set aside for sleeping? Logan and his pod usually just sleep wherever they can, but Virgil seems to have this soft slab set aside with all of these soft things to be comfortable and sleep in every night. Is this a Human Thing or strictly a Virgil Thing?

Logan looks out through the sheet of ice that protects Virgil’s area from the outside and gasps. He can’t see well, but there’s a glittering expanse of blue that shifts and moves and oh, is that the ocean?

He’s spent his whole life (well, his whole remembered life, anyways) in the ocean, and he’s seen some truly wondrous things. He travels around the world with his pod, he knows the ocean is big, but seeing it spread out like this is . . . awe-inspiring. Logan has never seen the ocean like this, and now that he has he doesn’t think he can ever not see it like this again. It’s like a perfect sheet of sea-glass, rippling and unbroken but dynamic in a way that he never really gets a sense of when he’s beneath it.

He knows that there are waves, of course. There are smaller swells out on the open ocean, and larger ones when the Second Goddess dips her fingers down from the Upper Ocean and swirls the storms to a thundering burst. There are waves along the shoreline, ones that he frolics in with Roman and batter him against the shoreline. There are waves created when he or his pod members surface. But watching the movement of the ocean from up here is . . .

Even with his imperfect vision, he is completely at a loss for words as he stares at the ocean.

Eventually, Virgil stirs next to him, and Logan turns away from the ocean to stare at him. Virgil is close to him, arms wrapped tightly around him, face pressed against him. Logan’s eyesight is not great, but Virgil is close enough that he can pick out little details of his face. There are brown face scales scattered all over him, but they seem to cluster on his nose and his cheeks. Logan has wanted to touch them for a substantial amount of time, and he can’t stop himself from gently settling the tips of his fingers over Virgil’s cheek.

His face doesn’t feel like Logan was expecting. The scales don’t give texture to his face the way that Logan’s do; the skin is smooth and flat. There are little bumps all over, but the brown scales aren’t raised off the skin like Logan expected. He lets his fingers trail along Virgil’s face. His bone structure seems to be exceedingly similar to Logan’s, at least in regards to his head. Logan’s finger rests gently on the curve of bone under Virgil’s eye, and Virgil exhales warm breath onto his palm.

Logan wonders what it would be like to have this for longer than just his recovery period. He wonders what it would be like to wake up next to Virgil all the time, to get to run his hands over Virgil’s face and arms and chest and examine the differences between their anatomy. He wonders what it would be like to learn to walk without falling over, and he feels a sharp, unexpected twinge in his chest as he realizes that getting better at walking means no more closeness to Virgil.

His chest feels strange, like there’s a school of small fish swarming around and tickling his insides and making him feel all foamy, like the froth churned up by a windswept sea. He feels like he does when he’s underwater - free, weightless, mobile, limited by nothing except his own imagination. He feels unstoppable.

Virgil makes a sudden, sharp inhale, blinking his eyes open slowly. Logan thinks that, perhaps, he might not appreciate being studied unknowingly - he hadn’t appreciated Virgil doing it, before he understood what was happening, when all he knew was the loss of his pod aching like a scraped-out seashell. As Virgil wakes up, Logan shifts, turning his gaze to the rest of the room.

Virgil makes a sleepy grumbling noise, opening one eye. Logan chances another quick glance at him, and when his eye slides open Logan is struck by its beauty. He doesn’t get much of a chance to admire it, however, before Virgil is jolting backwards like Logan’s struck him with lightning. Logan is confused, reaching out and gently touching his shoulder. “Virgil?”

“Wassat?! Wait . . . L’gan?”

“It is me,” Logan says softly. “Are - are you upset with me?”

Virgil yawns, jaw dropping to his chest, revealing a flash of teeth and a soft pink tongue. (Logan wants to lick it. Why does Logan want to lick it? Why is Logan thinking about Virgil’s tongue licking his tongue - why is Logan thinking about Virgil - what in the Seven Oceans is happening to him.) “Wh - no, no, ‘m okay, I just - woke up, forgot I had you with me, got confused about another person in my bed.” Before Logan can start to feel bad, Virgil adds, “S’okay if it’s you, though,” and the foamy, floaty feeling is back.

“Did you sleep well?”

Virgil laughs, low and rumbling, and Logan can feel it in his fingers where he touches Virgil’s skin. “I never sleep well.” He sits up, and the fabric of his pajamas shifts to let Logan see stretches of soft, supple skin that he usually doesn’t. Logan wants to touch it. He very determinedly keeps his hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Gotta admit, though, last night was . . . better than usual.”

This appears to be the point where Virgil first notices their position - pressed together, arm slung over Logan, basically cuddling the way that Logan normally would with his pod. (No tangle with his pod has ever felt this . . . electric, this charged, this important to Logan before.) His face flares a brilliant red, and he shifts like he wants to move away but -

“I’m sorry,” Virgil says. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No!” Logan blurts out. Virgil blinks at him a little, and maybe he was a little overly enthusiastic, but - “I sleep in a tangle with Dad and Roman all the time. I have extreme difficulty sleeping without contact with someone else. It . . . helped me greatly.”

“Oh,” Virgil says, face turning redder still, smiling shyly. “That - makes me feel better. Thanks, Lo.”

Logan smiles, and Virgil smiles too, reaching up to gently move a piece of hair away from his face. Logan thinks that, as far as deaths go, his chest exploding (which seems to be getting more and more likely every fifteen seconds he spends in Virgil’s presence, only accelerated by all this skin-on-skin contact they’re having right now) seems to be the most pleasurable.

Virgil opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it was is interrupted by a Ping! noise from across the room. “What is that?” Logan asks. Virgil, sadly, untangles himself from Logan and the blankets, sliding out of bed and heading over to one of the other structures in the room (what did he call it last night? Dex?) and picking up a flat glowing rectangle.

“Is everything alright?”

“What? Yeah, yeah, I - Thomas sent me a text, it’s a little weird.”

“What is a text?”

“It’s a kind of human messaging system, it allows us to communicate when we’re far away from each other.”

“Like a pod call?” “Kind of? I’ll explain more later, I promise, I just - I gotta go down to the lab real quick.”

“I’ll come with -”

“No!” Virgil snaps. Logan flinches, and Virgil softens, crossing the room and gently touching his shoulder. “Hey, no, Logan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just - this message, there’s something off. I think something might be wrong, and I don’t want to put you in any unnecessary danger. Just - wait here, okay? Wait in my room, where it’s safe. It’s probably nothing, he’s probably fine, but on the off chance that he’s not, I want you to stay hidden safely up here.”

Logan isn’t sure why this makes his face heat up slightly, but it does. “Okay. I accept your apology, and I . . . trust you.”

Virgil smiles, soft and heartwarming, and Logan is beginning to give more credence to his “chest explosion is fine, actually” theory. “Wait for me here, okay? I’ll be right back. I promise.”

He leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him, and the foamy feeling in Logan’s chest dissipates a little. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something . . . off. If Logan didn’t know better, he’d think that he was sensing a predator approaching.

But that can’t be right, he isn’t underwater. His danger senses are likely just overreacting to his disappointment at Virgil’s absence.

. . . Right?

*~*~*~*~*

Thomas is beginning to regret letting Roman and Patton (specifically, Roman) out of the large tank before finishing his first coffee of the morning.

“I want some!” Roman complains.

“Do you even know what it is?” Thomas says. Roman pouts sulkily at him.

“. . . No,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. Thomas gives him the deadpan, no-nonsense, I-am-your-direct-superior-take-the-damn-samples-Virgil stare that he has perfected over the past few years. Roman wilts a little more, and Thomas feels slightly bad.

“It’s called coffee,” he says. “It’s a hot drink that lots of people have in the morning. Some people drink it plain, and some people add things to it to change the way it tastes. It helps me wake up more and get focused to start my day, and sometimes I drink it late at night to help keep me awake.”

Roman looks less like a kicked puppy and more like Logan, eyes wide and curious. “I want some!”

Thomas, taking a sip of his own two-seconds-of-cream-five-cubes-of-sugar coffee, nearly spits it out. He looks at Roman, eyes the very sharp, very detachable, very toxic spines covering his body, and says, “No.”

Roman’s demeanor changes entirely, switching from “curious toddler” to “toddler about to throw a temper tantrum” in a heartbeat. “Why not?!”

“Because when people drink coffee without being used to it, sometimes it makes them a little crazy.”

“I’m not crazy!”

“Do I need to recount to you how many times you’ve threatened me and my assistant since we met you?” Thomas says, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not giving you coffee until I know I can trust you not to stab me with your poisonous spines that cover your entire body and can be fired at people.”

Roman pouts more, dropping under the water and letting out a gratingly harmonious string of mer that Thomas is pretty sure translates to Roman bitching about the coffee situation to his dad. Based on the pattern of Patton’s response, he’s pretty sure Patton is laughing at Roman.

More sulky chalkboard-violin music, and then Roman resurfaces grumpily. “Dad agrees with you and says no consuming strange human foods.”

“Did he laugh at you?”

Roman squints suspiciously at him. “You can’t speak our language.”

“Yeah, but I know what it sounds like when a dad laughs at his kid.” Roman, continuing to pout, sinks back into the tank, presumably to sulk some more. Thomas takes another very long sip of coffee that is definitely too hot for his mouth and turns back to his desk.

Virgil should definitely be awake and in the lab at this point. The samples he’s supposed to be analyzing are sitting in their little tubes, each neatly labelled with locations and dates and times and what, specifically, Virgil is supposed to be looking for. Thomas considers going upstairs and waking up Virgil, who’s almost never been late for work in this way, but he decides against it. Virgil is upstairs with Logan, and Thomas knows that there’s something building between them. He’s not sure how advisable that something is, but he trusts Virgil to make his own decisions.

Besides, he could probably use some practice. His water sample analysis skills are pretty rusty, he’s had Virgil doing them for years. “Virgil, you owe me big time for what I’m doing for you.” He carefully shifts the samples over to his own desk, slides his earbuds in, picks up a pipette, and gets to work analyzing the bacterial and algal concentrations for any abnormalities.

Thomas accomplishes about forty-five minutes’ worth of work before Roman interrupts him by flicking water at him and soaking the back of his neck. “Hey!”

“I tried your name, but your little ear bug things were keeping you from hearing me,” Roman says smugly. Thomas, not for the first time, considers retreating to the closet and throwing beakers until he feels better.

“Can I help you?”

“Dad wants to go hunting and bring back breakfast, but we can’t leave without you.”

“Are you not going hunting?”

“I’m going to stay here and observe you,” Roman says.

Thomas blinks. “Do I . . . need observing?”

“How do I know you won’t sell us out to your little human friends the second you get a chance? If I’m here, I can stop you. Plus, what if you do something to Logan while we’re not here to protect him? No, no, I’m staying right where I am and you can’t make me leave.” His spines ripple; Thomas steps closer to a whiteboard in case he needs to duck.

“I’m not going to do that, and I don’t want you to stab me.”

“Still! I’m staying here! Also, Dad’s bigger than me, and he’s a better hunter cause he’s faster and he’s been hunting longer.

“Does he need something to help him carry all those fish?” Thomas asks. Roman opens his mouth like he’s going to say something snarky, pauses, and stops.

“I . . . usually we just eat what we catch when we catch it. We make a pile of prey and take turns guarding it while the other two hunt. Then we make a sacrifice to the Seven Mother Goddesses and eat what’s left.”

After some debate, Thomas is able to fashion a sling of sorts from some waterproof tarps and leftover anchor rope to tie around Patton’s body. “You can put the fish in this pouch and carry them back here. Will you be able to navigate your way back to the grotto?”

“He will,” Roman says. “Dad knows more about the ocean than any human possibly could.” Another discordant song from the tank, chastising, and Roman huffs. “Dad wants me to reassure you that he’ll be fine.”

Patton settles into the mobile tank easily, and Thomas gets him down to the grotto leading towards the sea. “When you come back, let out one of your pod calls and Virgil or I will come and collect you and your catch. Take as much time as you need, okay?”

Patton reaches up and gently pats Thomas’s arm with one large, damp hand, and Thomas takes that to mean an agreement. “Alright, off you go.” There’s a whoosh and a rush of water as it flows from the tank into the grotto in a clean arc, carrying Patton with it. Thomas waits for a moment, letting Patton disappear into the open ocean, before returning to the laboratory.

Roman, for the most part, ignores Thomas. He asks the occasional question, which Thomas tries to answer in a way that he’ll understand, and leans over the edge of his touch tank, eyes guarded. Every time Thomas sneaks a glance, when he thinks Roman isn’t looking, his expression is wide-eyed and wondrous, like Logan’s usually are, but the moment he realizes Thomas is watching him his entire face closes up like a clamshell.

Thomas wonders what it’ll take to get Roman to trust him, trust Virgil, trust any human. Granted, he doesn’t know Roman’s history with humans, but he and Patton are both fairly scarred, and Thomas might not know the whole story but he’d bet a not-insignificant amount of his monthly income that the giant starburst scar taking up the majority of Patton’s chest isn’t the result of a clash with a marine creature.

He works quietly, fielding the occasional question, keeping one ear on the grotto tunnel for Patton’s return. He’s not sure how long he expected Patton to be gone, but he hears movement in the grotto tunnel far sooner than he’d expected.

“Thomas, what’s -”

“Shhhh,” Thomas says. He stands up, pushing away from his desk, but before he can say anything else, there’s a flood of movement coming from the tunnel. Bodies pour into the lab, swift and strong and carrying weapons that they immediately train on Thomas and Roman.

“What is this?” Roman snaps, bristling. He sounds betrayed, like he thinks Thomas is behind this. Thomas picks up a heavy glass beaker, fully prepared to shatter it upside someone’s skull if necessary, but something heavy and hard strikes the back of his skull and he feels his knees crumple. Roman cries out, and Thomas struggles to push himself up. A hand fists itself in his hair and yanks him upright, sharply. Thomas exhales sharply through his teeth, but before he can start struggling, something cool and round rests against the back of his neck, shutting him up and shutting his brain down.

Roman is puffed up like a hedgehog, apparently fully prepared to defend Thomas despite his strong and inherent mistrust. Before he can begin to attack, Thomas hears the click-click-click of shoes on the hard stone floor. Whoever’s holding his head yanks him back again, and he is forced to watch as a woman walks into his laboratory.

(It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke - a sick, horrible, twisted joke.)

She has black heels, black tights, a black pencil skirt, a black blazer, and a blood-red blouse. Her hair is scraped back into a tight bun, pulled so taut it must hurt, and is held in place with a pitch black stick. She carries a - clipboard? tablet? Unclear - held against her chest, and there’s a sleek silver weapon in her right hand.

“The one from the video?” she asks.

“Affirmative, ma’am,” says the person holding Thomas’s head. The woman nods, lifting her weapon, and fires at Roman. Thomas tries to scream a warning, earning himself another painful yank from his captor, but the projectile lodges itself in Roman’s shoulder anyway.

It isn’t a bullet, but something that looks like a small syringe. Roman swats it out of his shoulder, swaying a little, but it doesn’t stop him from swiping at the - mercenary, they must be - who tries to grab him with his elbow spines. The woman frowns, lifts the weapon - some kind of tranquilizer gun? - and fires again.

Roman screams, inhuman and animal, and tears the newest dart from his arm, throwing himself out of his tank and clinging to the nearest mercenary. His teeth tear into the man’s shoulder, spines piercing through his camouflage clothing and flooding him with neurotoxin. The man collapses against the concrete, alive but unconscious, and Roman snarls at the next man as though daring him to approach. He sways, weakened but awake, and bares his teeth.

“Of course,” the woman says, tapping something on her tablet. “His naturally produced neurotoxin must be providing him with some level of natural resistance. Unexpected, but not a limitation.”

It takes three more tranquilizer darts before Roman finally slumps down into his tank, unconscious. The mercenaries look hesitant to approach him, but the woman reaches for her tablet and they scramble to action at once.

“No - no, stop, let him go, he’s not an animal for you to cart off to your lab -” Thomas starts. The man holding him knees him sharply in the back and he cries out, coughing.

They wrap Roman in thick leather bands, roughly shoving his spines flat and binding them against his skin so that he can’t attack them again. The woman nods, once, short and sharp, and they drag Roman away, letting his head bang mercilessly on the ground. Thomas catches a glimpse of a logo - emblazoned on the back of the jackets, on the back of the woman’s tablet, on the side of her tranquilizer gun - and commits it to memory. He’s going to need it, if he gets out of here alive.

“- your phone,” the woman says, and oh, when did she get in front of him.

“My what?”

His mouth runs dry as she places the tranquilizer gun under his chin, barrel pressing against his throat, and tips his chin up. “I said, give me your phone.”

Thomas blinks. “My - the desk. It’s on the desk.”

She sets her tablet down, picks up his phone, and shoves it in his face. “Open it.”

“I - wh -”

“Unlock your phone, Dr. Sanders. Must I repeat myself a third time?” She rolls her eyes. “Doctorates are wasted on people like you.”

Thomas numbly punches in his passcode, and she swipes through to his messages app, frowning before turning the screen towards his face to reveal a message thread with Virgil. “Is this your assistant?”

Thomas glares at her, he’s not going to give her what she wants, he’s not going to just give her Virgil but then the - gun, it must be a gun, what else would they be holding against his neck like this - pushes into him harder, and it’s probably bruising, and he can’t get himself killed here because then he definitely won’t be able to take care of Virgil and -

“Yes,” Thomas says, hating himself for giving in so easily. “What do you -”

She turns away from him, nails clicking against his phone screen as she sends a text message - to Virgil, presumably, and that makes his heart sink like a stone - before dropping it on the floor and stepping on it to shatter it. “I have a message for you.”

“A - what?”

“Did they really hit you that hard, or were you this stupid before we came here?” she says coldly, picking up the tablet again and tapping at the screen. Thomas groans as the man yanks him to his feet, shoving him onto his chair and pulling a roll of duct tape out of one of his multiple pants pockets. He tapes Thomas’s wrists and ankles to the chair, keeping his weapon trained on Thomas’s temple at all times, before pressing it roughly against his head and gripping his hair again.

The woman sets the tablet on his lab table, and the screen flickers to life, and then there’s a woman in front of a dark black backdrop, smiling at him like a cat who’s caught a canary. “Thomas Sanders. How long I’ve waited for this day.”

Thomas recognizes her. He knows he recognizes her. She used to be his classmate, before . . .

His head hurts, so badly that he can barely keep his eyes open, and the memory slips away. “You . . . why are you doing this?”

“Why? Because I am a real scientist, unlike you. You refuse to do what is necessary, what must be done for the progression of the species. The sacrifice of some worthless animals is necessary for humanity to reach its zenith. You would really hinder the entire human race for the preservation of lower life forms?”

“Wh - I -”

“You think that ‘preserving the ecosystem’ and ‘keeping animals alive’ makes you a good scientist, but it makes you weak. You are weak, Thomas Sanders, and if the world was left in the hands of people like you, the human race as we know it would die out in a few centuries. Fortunately, there are people like me, who understand what must be done.”

“Caring about other people and things - it doesn’t - it doesn’t make you weak,” Thomas says, chest heaving, and the woman just laughs.

“One of many logical fallacies to which you subscribe, Thomas. They really gave you a doctorate? Of course caring makes you weak. All emotions make you weak. They corrupt your data and make your experiments worthless. You must be ruthless. You must be willing to do whatever it takes to pursue your goals and achieve the height of success. But no.” She rolls her eyes, face hardening, twirling a pen in her fingers. “You insist on ethics and principles and letting emotions cloud your judgement, and that makes you a failure as a scientist. It makes you weak. Your attachments will be your downfall.”

Thomas’s eyes slide shut, head pounding, and the man behind him yanks at his hair so sharply that he knows some has been ripped out. He forces his eyes open in time to see a smile slide across the woman’s face like a knife, teeth gleaming white as sun-bleached bone.

“You won’t - get away with this,” Thomas manages. He grinds his teeth together and curls his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms to keep himself awake. “If you leave me alive -” Thomas, stop talking, why are you reminding her that she has the option to fucking kill you “- I will not rest until I find you. I’ll - you can’t -”

“You’ll what, Thomas? If you call the police, you’ll expose those creatures you’re so intent on protecting to the world. Are you really willing to take that chance?” Before Thomas can even begin formulating a response, she steamrolls him. “It doesn’t matter. Even if you were, I’m going to take some . . . insurance, shall we say.”

“Why not just kill me?” Thomas spits. Excellent idea, Doc, poke the murderous lady with a stick like a god damn hornet’s nest, the tiny Virgil in his brain hisses. Her smile, somehow, only widens, and that’s . . . that can’t be good, can it? Smiles are supposed to be good! They’re supposed to make you happy, but all Thomas feels is creeping dread and pain, so much pain, and -

Yeah. He’s . . . pretty sure he has a concussion.

“Because if I kill you, you get to take the easy way out. Your suffering will end. But unlike you, I don’t put limits on my science. I know how to cause you the maximum amount of pain.”

Thomas eyes the toxin gun, but the on-screen woman just laughs. “Not yet, Thomas. We need something from you, first.”

“You already took Roman,” Thomas says. “What more can you possibly take from me?”

“You named it? You’re even weaker than I thought.”

“He told me his name, he’s not an it, he’s not a thing for you to play with and - and I -”

There’s a strange sinking feeling in Thomas’s chest as the woman onscreen laughs. “I knew you were emotional, Thomas, but I can’t believe this! It looks like I’ll have more hanging over your head than you thought.”

“You -”

“Say, Tommy-boy, have you heard from your precious little assistant recently?”

Thomas’s entire body flushes ice-cold and then white-hot, immediately struggling against his duct tape bindings despite the man tearing at his hair and shoving the gun into his neck and snapping at him to shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up before I do something we’re both gonna regret -

“Don’t you touch him!” Thomas snaps. “If you hurt him, I swear to God -”

“You’re not in a position to be making demands, and if you don’t calm down, I’ll paint your boring little lab bright red.” Thomas freezes, holding his entire body tensed like electricity is running through his blood.

There are footsteps on the stairs. “Doc? I got your text, what’s -”

“Virgil, run!” Thomas chokes. Virgil comes around the corner, holding his phone, staring at the screen in confusion. He looks up, eyes widening in horror as he takes in the scene.

“You know what to do,” the woman onscreen says. The other woman lifts her tranquilizer gun, and Thomas is sure that he’s screaming, his mouth is open and sound is coming out but his blood is rushing through his ears and his heart is pounding like waves against a boat in rough sea and he can’t - he can’t -

Virgil turns to run, but the tranquilizer dart hits in him the back of the neck and he collapses like a sack of bricks. The woman lowers her gun and jerks her head at the two remaining conscious, unoccupied mercenaries, who step forward and grab Virgil.

“Let him go!” Thomas screams, and his throat feels raw and his chest feels raw and his wrists are rubbed raw and his soul feels hollow and raw, like he’s been scraped out with a jagged piece of metal and only an empty shell remains. Virgil’s head lolls against his chest as they drag him down the grotto tunnel, and Thomas struggles and screams and stares after them until Virgil is out of sight.

His face is damp, and his eyes are burning, and he isn’t sure if it’s blood from his head wound or tears or some strange, morbid mixture of both.

“The greatest torture of which I can conceive,” the woman onscreen says, and it takes him a moment to realize that oh, she’s talking to me, “is to leave you alive, knowing that your precious little protégé is with me, and that there is nothing you can do about it.” She leans forward, and any trace of a smile is gone. “If you try to come after me, I will kill him. If you call the authorities, I will kill him. I already found you, Thomas. Don’t think I’m not watching. If I catch so much as a whiff of you planning something, his blood will be on your hands. Do you understand me?”

Thomas, numb and shocked, can’t even respond. “Knock him out and bring the specimens back to me,” the woman onscreen says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He doesn’t even feel the tranquilizer dart hit his neck, but he welcomes the sweeping darkness.

(Summary: Evil Scientist Lady has been spying on Thomas and she finds the entrance to the grotto where our mer friends have been hiding. She sends her assistant and several armed thugs to invade the lab, they drug Roman with tranquilizers and kidnap him. Thomas gets knocked around a lot and is mocked for being an ethical scientist and caring about people by Evil Scientist Lady and she gloats at him through Evil Facetime before kidnapping Virgil in the same way they did Roman, knocking Thomas unconscious, and leaving him tied to his lab chair. During this whole scene, Patton is out in the open ocean hunting and Logan is safely hidden in Virgil's room.)

[theatresweetheart]

Desperate Measures [ 5 ]

Fandoms: Sanders Sides, G/t

Warnings: Swearing, fear, feelings of doubt/insecurity, talk of main character being treated poorly.

Pairings: Romantic/Parental Logicality, Platonic Logince, Platonic TLAMP

Word Count:  1435 words

Taglist: @isle-of-gold @anonymous-bean @sandersships @kaytikitty  @picklesandbeyond @minty4green

Chapter Navigation: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 6

                                   +~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

“Now, now, Roman,” the second voice piped up, “I’m sure they were fine. You never know what they could be going through.”

“Alright, alright,” the human—Roman—replied.

The smaller voice paused for a moment. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine,” the human promised the second voice, a quiet reassurance. His voice then softened a tad more. “But you’re going to have to be gentler with this one. He seems to be…easily provoked.”

Easily provoked, Logan sneered inwardly, what did he know about being easily provoked?

The second voice laughed a bit gentler. “It’ll be fine. This isn’t the first time, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

The box suddenly began to tilt and the second voice hissed quickly.

“Easy!” He said, “warn him, Roman, you know how important it is for him to feel safe and listened to.”

Roman sucked in a sharp breath. “Right. Sorry. Sort of slipped my mind,” he mused quietly, then raised his tone a bit more to show Logan that he was indeed talking to him. “Hey, I’m gonna tilt the box to make this interaction easier, alright?”

Logan only gave an annoyed huff in response, as he slid on the still, slightly tilted angles of the box.

It seemed his movements had been enough of a go-ahead and the box finished turning, before finally settling and staying situated where it was.

The two flaps on the top of the container—the front of it now as it was sitting sideways—began to crack open and light flooded into the darkness, causing the borrower to wince and lift a hand to block his eyes. As soon as he was used to it, he removed his hand and let it sit down on the cardboard.

When he looked up, Logan felt his stomach drop.

He was not looking back into a pair of large brown eyes like he thought he would, but was instead focused on the form of another borrower. He almost didn’t know what to do or what to say, his mind was racing a mile a minute and when the other took a step forwards, Logan matched it with a step backwards.

The other paused, seeing the flight taking over Logan’s features. The fight had been washed behind for a moment.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the other borrower promised, lowering himself into a crouch to stay on the same level as him. “I know this probably seems really weird, huh?”

Nodding wordlessly, Logan’s eyes searched over the newcomer’s form. “You could say that.”

Weird seems like an understatement.

This wasn’t exactly how he thought this entire thing would be going. Logan had been so confident that this was the end of the line, but here he was, facing another of his kind who seemed to be relatively unhurt. At least, from what he could see. The silhouette of the other could be hiding bruises that would remain unseen until he got closer.

“What’s the meaning of this?” He finally spoke up, unable to handle the silence any longer. “What on earth are you waiting for?”

“For you to be a little less defensive, first of all,” he heard Roman’s voice rumble from above, but the human remained out of his sight-line.

The other borrower raised a hand and quickly managed to silence the larger being and Logan was floored yet again. The human was listening to someone his size? What sort of hell was this? What had he been brought into?

“This probably seems really untrustworthy,” the other said again, getting a nod in response from the bespectacled male. “A borrower and a human? Hard to believe, I get that. But you’re going to have to trust me for a little bit, at least long enough to help you get home.”

Logan almost stammered for words at that. “You’re— you’re not being kept here against your will?”

“Heaven’s no,” the other replied, a grin crossing over his features. He adjusted himself so he was sitting comfortably and allowing Logan to relax as well. Creating a more inviting environment would make it easier for conversation to ensue. Thomas knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of humans in all of their terrifying glory, so he knew how to handle the other’s frightened behaviour. “I’ve been allowed to come and go as I please, but Roman has been a rather gracious host.”

“I’d say so,” the human countered, but in a more playful tone than anything else. “I get why you’re so defensive though.”

“Oh you do?” Logan raised his voice a bit more, prompting the other to speak again.

“You’ve been stuck in a cage for God knows how long, no wonder you’re sick of human interaction,” Roman continued. “Look, you can believe me or not, but the both of us really do want to help you get home.”

“So, maybe we can start this by you coming out,” the other borrower pushed himself into a stand, catching Logan’s attention once more. “No one is going to touch you or grab you without your permission, I promise.”

He watched as the other even backed up a couple paces, looking earnest but genuine and as much as Logan hated this situation, he hated the box more.

With a huff, he drew himself into a stand as well and slowly made his way toward the opening of the box. It wasn’t comfortable, not really, knowing that there was someone constantly watching him, but there wasn’t much he could do to change that. So, he pressed on.

While it did take an extra moment to steel his nerves, it wasn’t long before Logan ducked under the open flap of the confinement and onto the smooth texture of the kitchen table.

It had been a while since he hadn’t been surrounded by something. Taking in another breath, it almost felt better in a way. It was like a fresh moment of finally being in the most freedom he had had since he was caught. While the freedom was emotional, he wasn’t going to allow himself to revel in it. Not until he was with the people that mattered the most.

Thomas grinned a bit more, a softer light in his eyes and Logan felt oddly reassured. “See? It’s not so bad out here, is it?”

“I suppose not,” he adjusted his glasses before crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes flickered between both the human and the other before shifting anxiously back and forth between his feet. “I must admit, while I had my suspicions, you seem fairly…genuine.” Roman seemed to nearly preen at the information. “But that does not excuse the fact that I was still bought.”

“It wasn’t as if I was doing it to keep you,” the explanation came hastily afterwards, “all of it was just an act to get you out of there.”

“And while I appreciate that, a little forewarning would have been appreciated so I didn’t need to be fearing for my life on the drive here.”

Roman frowned lightly. “You were fearing for your life?”

Once he heard it coming from another source, Logan dropped his gaze, nearly feeling unsure at this point. It sounded fairly pathetic now that it had been said aloud.

“Well, what did you really expect of me? I’ve been treated like nothing more than a toy by countless other humans and I have come to lose my faith in humanity altogether.” He snipped, before taking a breath to steady himself. “I have been away from my family for nearly six months at this point and I have no inkling whatsoever to how they may be currently faring.”

The surprised expressions on the others features did nothing to phase him. Nor was he going to console them.

“Though, it seems I may have overestimated and been wrong by the accusation—only because you and your…friend,” he motioned to the borrower that stood a few paces away from him—although, saying ‘friend’ when referring to another borrower and a human was odd and somewhat grounding in a way—and he kept his hands tucked into a folded position, “have been pleasant enough to offer your assistance. Not many people would do that and that— does mean a lot.”

“Thank you,” the human said after a moment, “I think.”

“Yes, it was a compliment,” Logan agreed after a hesitant moment, because complimenting one of the members of the human race just felt wrong to him. It felt as if there should be no congratulating of the kind. He had only gone through Hell and back and here he was, standing in the presence of a human and his borrower companion.

[fanders-adopt-a-fic]

And Then There Were Five

Platonic TLAMP | Post-Apocalyptic AU | Adventure | General Apocalypse Warnings

They knew they couldn’t be the only ones left alive, it was statistically unlikely, like Logan said, so there had to be someone else, but after empty building after empty buildings even Patton’s Optimism was beginning to wane.

One day the sides wake up, in the real world. Surely the world is ending, Right? Yes! Join our heroes as they stumble blindly through the wreckage of the world they knew, trying to figure out what happened.

[ma-tsu-the-male-goddess]

Logan! For the niche questions game

Thx! Lol

A Song that reminds me of them: Ok, this is really hard, so I’m going to put one here, and the rest below a readmore

Why Does the Sun Shine? By They Might Be Giants

What they Smell like: probably like hand sanitizer and jam

An OTP: uh don’t really have a specific one in mind? Maybe LAMP or TLAMP

A NOTP: Remus

Favorite Platonic/Familial Relationships: I think there’s some really fun Deceipt interactions that people do. They did do that whole Court of Law thing. Other than that maybe Patton. And TLAMP

A popular Headcanon I disagree with: that he doesn’t have emotions or want to spend time with people

Sleep position: often falls asleep sitting up in his chair while he was reading

Crossover AU: superhero/marvel/X-men au

Fave outfit: I did actually like his Christmas sweater but absolute favorite is from Thomas’s tweets. The pencil skirt just works tbh

Word Crimes by Weird Al

Running in the 90’s by Tsuko G.

Pop 101 by Marianas Trench

I Don’t Dance by Chad & Ryan

I Am A Grocery Bag by They Might Be Giants

Crofters: The Musical by Thomas Sanders (which is probably cheating)

Build A Wall from Shrek the Musical

Original Post below

[dr-gloom]

Muted

I couldn’t find the post on my blog because there’s just a lot goin on, but this is based off a post that was like: 

Person A, C, and D, all chanting in a group voice chat with B: UNMUTE! UNMUTE! UNMUTE! 

Person E: guys, shut the hell up, this is very stressful for them.

[Person A, C, D, and E all go dead silent when B finally unmutes their microphone]

Person E: ...B, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk, I get why.

Person B, softly and quietly: I-It’s okay, I’m just nervous-

Person A, distantly but very clearly: HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK I’M IN LOVE!

To be clear I did not write that post, I just can’t find the op

Anyways, they’re having a video chat on skype because I found it easier to work with an added video aspect. And Virgil is a transmale who’s only been on T for a short while. 

Part 2

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: none/platonic TLAMP?

Warnings/Tags: trans character, trans!Virgil, anxiety, Human AU

Read it on AO3

fic masterlist

like what I do? buy me a coffee or GoFundMe

Virgil wasn’t the most verbal person out there by far; no, that was probably Roman. Virgil hated his voice, hated talking (hated the dysphoria that would settle in his lungs and press down on his shoulders). He didn’t see why he had to - if he had something important to say, he could just write it down or type it out. If the person/people he was talking to cared, they’d wait for him to finish writing or typing. And this worked out fine for him, especially since his only friends were all hundreds of miles apart and he only talked to them on Skype. He’d met Thomas and Patton through Tumblr, and through them had met Roman and Logan respectively. The five of them had become extremely close in a short amount of time, and Virgil wouldn’t hesitate to say he thought of them as family. 

The first time they had all had a Skype call, Patton and Roman had spent at least ten minutes freaking out over people’s hair/faces/voices etc. and chattering excitedly about how they were so happy to finally put voices and faces to the names on their screens. Virgil was too, really, but he’d kept his mic off. The others knew he had anxiety so they didn’t push him or question it too much, and Virgil was glad they didn’t. Only now, he almost wishes they had, so he hadn’t had the chance to get too comfortable and scared to speak. 

Like he was now. 

What had started as a regular bi-weekly video chat between the five friends had quickly taken a turn for the worst (at least to Virgil) as Roman requested Virgil finally turn his mic on. “Come on, Hot Topic, it’s been months! I’m dying to know what you sound like.” Virgil frowned slightly and shook his head, typing in the chat component. 

Emo Nightmare: not a chance

Patton frowned, looking dejected, and Virgil instantly felt guilty. “But why not kiddo? We won’t judge you, we’re your friends!” Thomas nods emphatically. “Exactly. We just want you to be able to join in our conversations without having to type everything out. Surely it gets annoying sometimes.” Virgil pursed his lips.

Emo Nightmare: i guess, but...

“Then unmute!” Roman shouted excitedly, making Virgil jump. Oh no. “Unmute! Unmute! Unmute!” Virgil watched Roman as he pounded his fists on his desk to match his chanting, glancing at the other squares on his screen that his friends’ faces resided in, his stomach tying in knots. Patton’s grin grew as he pushed his rainbow hair out of his face, and Thomas laughed. “UNMUTE! UNMUTE! UNMUTE!” Thomas and Patton had joined Roman’s chanting, all banging their fists on whatever surface their computer sat on and it made Virgil’s heart rate speed up. Maybe he should do it? They deserved to know what he sounds like after all... Right? But he was nervous; he hadn’t been taking T long enough to really change his voice - it was only just starting to crack and deepen. Barely. He glanced down at his hands, picking at the cuff of his hoodie sleeve before responding.

Emo Nightmare: i dont know guys...

Thomas grinned as he read the message and egged him on. “Come on Virgil, we want to know what you sound like!” Patton and Roman agreed, a chorus of “come on Virgil”s and “it’ll be fine”s. But what if it wasn’t fine? What if they laughed at him? what if they took back their support and started calling him a girl? Or worse, what if they started using the wrong pronouns by accident? Because that was the truth of it; he was afraid his voice would invalidate everything he’d spent months building with his friends. That hearing his smooth, unmistakably feminine voice would make them forget who they were talking to, and when they weren’t looking they’d associate the wrong pronouns to the voice. It’d happened so many times before - he passes rather well, especially when he wears slightly baggy clothes, but as soon as he opened his mouth people would correct themselves and apologize for thinking he was a male. Virgil didn’t think he could take it, because somehow being accidentally misgendered was so much worse. 

Logan spoke up, having been sitting back in silence while the others chattered and badgered Virgil. “Everyone needs to shut the hell up, this is stressful enough for Virgil as it is.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and gave the other three males a pointed look. Virgil tried to hide the smile on his face (holy crap, Logan swore) by ducking his head down, his purple fringe covering much of his face at this angle. “Aw, we’re sorry kiddo! We didn’t mean to make your anxiety worse!” Patton practically launched himself at Virgil before remembering that there’s two computers and 500 miles between them. Virgil shrugged, typing his response as Roman spoke up, clearly looking regretful even as the smile remained on his face. “Whatever our Dark and Stormy Knight is most comfortable with is fine by me! ... But I’d still love to hear that mysterious voice of yours. I’m sure it’s positively wonderful!” Roman gestured enthusiastically. 

Emo Nightmare: thanks guys...

He could trust them. They were his friends. Thomas opened his mouth to say something when Virgil quickly turned his mic on, the soft background noise of Fallout Boy coming from his speakers. Whatever Thomas was going to say died on his lips as he realized what’s happening, and the other three seemed to be waiting with baited breath, expressions a mix of enthusiasm and excited tension. Logan’s mouth quirked to the side. “...Virgil, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk, I understand why.” Virgil swallowed and shook his head, speaking a bit hesitantly, his voice quiet. It’ll be okay. “I-it’s okay, I’m just nervous-”

Suddenly, Roman shot up from his seat, sending the rolling chair across his room as he dashed out the door suddenly. Virgil paled, feeling his heart shrivel in his chest. Oh god, Roman hated him now. He’s freaked out, disgusted. Maybe he was only trying to be polite earlier? Maybe he thought Virgil would sound more masculine by now? He wasn’t going to want to be Virgil’s friend anymore. He was going to start calling him a girl. Virgil started panicking, and Patton must have seen this, because he smiled weakly, speaking up and trying to draw Virgil’s attention. “Don’t worry Virgil, I’m sure he-”

Roman’s voice cut through, slightly muffled, but it’s clear he’s yelling from somewhere inside his house. “BY ODIN’S BEARD I’M IN LOVE!” 

There’s a beat of silence before Patton and Thomas start laughing. Logan smirks, and Virgil sinks down into his seat, his face absolutely red. “Oh my god....”

Logan looks right into the camera, making Virgil feel like he’s looking right at him. “I believe it is clear that you won’t be muting yourself anymore, Virgil.”

A/N: So yeah, super short, but it was fun.

Projecting? Who’s projecting their insecurities onto Virgil? Totally not me. 

Anyways I wrote this at school with a bunch of noise and forgot the word for enthusiasm so that was fun. 

[random-snippets]

Master Post

By request, a rebloggable masterpost of all my fic! 

Under a cut so I can keep it updated. 

My Stories

Note: Content warnings are on the stories themselves. Please read and heed. Explicit sexual content will be clearly marked as such.

Kiss Prompt Fill #7 Summary: The bedtime kisses ritual didn’t start with kisses. Human AU Characters: Paternal Moxiety Word Count: 1438

Kiss Prompt Fill #6 Summary: They have a ritual before bed, and it’s perfect. Pairing: Moxiety (Romantic) Word Count: 1102

Kiss Prompt Fill #5 Summary: Patton wants to give his Dad a kiss goodnight. Human AU. Pairing: Romantic Logince, Paternal Royality/Logicality Word Count: 813

Rebuilding Summary: After the events of SvS Redux, Roman retreats into the imagination to have a chat with an old foe.  Word Count: 3695

Second Chance Summary: Human AU. Janus and adopted son Virgil have a talk after Virgil gets into a fight at school (paternal Moxiety, paternal Anxceit, romantic Moceit) Word Count: 4911

Lacking Summary: The others worry they aren't enough for Patton. Pairing: Romantic LAMP Word count: 725

Excessive Summary: Patton worries he's too much. Pairing: Romantic LAMP Word count: 666

Puppy Summary: Based on a prompt. Virgil wants to help Patton feel better, and he decides he'll do so by becoming something Patton loves. Pairing: Moxiety (platonic) Word count: 2770 Note: This story may or may not be continued, but can stand alone.

Untitled Prompt Fill Summary: Patton is sick. Virgil takes care of him. Pairing: Moxiety (platonic) Word count: 1,235

Solo Summary: Virgil has never been to a party before. It had been an unspoken agreement through the years: when Thomas was having a party of any kind, the best thing Anxiety could do was stay as far away as possible. Pairing: Familial LAMP Word count: 6,302

Cramps Summary: Patton has cramps. Virgil helps him out. Human AU Pairing: Romantic Moxiety Word count: 1,960 You Will Be Found Summary: Patton is feeling off today. Virgil helps him. Pairing: Platonic Moxiety  Word count: 1,987

Snow Day Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Summary:  Every year, the sides go to Roman’s realm and spend a few days enjoying the snow. Well…most of the sides. Set pre-Accepting Anxiety Pairing: Familial LAMP Word Count: 7,108

Thunder Summary: The four sides spend a relaxing morning together during a thunderstorm. Mood piece. Pairing: LAMP  Word count: 1,010 Dad Summary: Virgil misses his Dad. Pairing: Paternal Moxiety Word count: 1,449 Role Reversal Summary: Virgil helps Patton through a nightmare.  Pairing: Moxiety (Platonic) Word count: 1,553

Back Pain Summary: Virgil’s back goes out. (Human AU, Vent Fic) Pairing: LAMP Word count: 5,815

Cold Summary: Virgil is cold a lot. Pairings: None Word count: 252

Proud Summary:  After the events of the CLBG, Patton and Virgil have a talk. Pairing: Platonic Moxiety Warnings: Unsympathetic Deceit Word count: 2,286 Lavender Summary:  Logan has a headache. Roman helps him out.  Pairing: Platonic (or pre-romantic) Logince Word count: 2,324

Insomnia Summary: Virgil can’t sleep.  Pairing: Familial TLAMP Word count: 2,148

A Christmas Wish Summary:  A direct sequel to this drabble. Virgil has been on a quest deep in the subconscious for almost six months. The other sides are beginning to lose hope. But Christmas is a time for miracles, right? Pairing: Platonic/Familial LAMP Word count: 4,132

Riding Out the Storm Summary: Something is wrong with Virgil, and Patton’s dad-senses are tingling. Pairing: Platonic Moxiety Word count: 1,252

Platonic Summary: Patton thinks there’s something wrong with him–something broken. Virgil shows him there’s not. (Asexual Patton) Pairing: Moxiety (queerplatonic), Romantic Logince (Background) Word count: 2,877

Little Things Summary: A series of short headcanons about the sides taking care of one another Pairing: LAMP/Polyamsanders (platonic or romantic) Word count: 612

Thespian Summary: Roman puts on a production in the mindscape, but he fails to mention the fact that his character dies in the play. Virgil is a bit upset. Pairing: Prinxiety (platonic or romantic) Word count: 2,352

Superfluous Part 1  Part 2 Summary: Roman, Patton and Logan are in a relationship. Virgil is okay with that. Really. It’s just that it gets…lonely, sometimes. Pairing: Roman/Logan/Patton, eventual LAMP/CALM/Polyamsanders

Kiss Prompt Fill #4 Summary: Logan has been thinking about his relationship with Virgil. Misunderstandings abound (angst with a happy ending). Pairing: Analogical (romantic) Word count: 1,417

Kiss Prompt Fill #3 Summary: Roman returns home from an exhausting quest only wanting to see one face. Pairing: Royality (romantic) Word count: 818

Kiss Prompt Fill #2 Summary: Logan is not a morning person, but Roman makes it worth his while. Pairing: Logince (romantic) Word count: 990

Kiss Prompt Fill # 1 Summary: Virgil is learning to trust the others. Patton just straight up adores him. Pairing: Moxiety (platonic or romantic) Word count: 437

Fade Summary: Thomas is outgrowing the characters he created.  Pairing: LAMP (platonic) Word count: 2111

CuddleVerse Part 1 Part 2 Summary: A series of short stories centered around LAMP/Polyamsanders cuddles (platonic for now) Pairing: Polyamsanders (platonic or pre-romantic. Series may involve kissing as well as cuddling later but will not be explicit)

Anti-Anxiety Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Summary: Virgil overhears the other sides plotting to get Thomas onto Anti-Anxiety medication, and believes they want him gone for good.  Pairing(s): None

Starved Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4 Part 5  Part 6  Epilogue   Summary: Virgil is touch-starved. He creates a solution for himself, but things quickly turn sour.  Pairing(s): LAMP/Polyamsanders (platonic or pre-romantic) Word count: 13,434

Untitled Drabble #10 Summary: Virgil is injured. In the ambulance, his mind wanders. Prequel to Untitled Drabble #3. Pairing(s): LAMP/Polyamsanders (romantic) Word Count: 692

Overcooked Summary: Patton is having a rough day. Virgil is there for him. Pairing(s): Moxiety (platonic/paternal) Word count: 1,773

Perfect Summary: Virgil worries it can’t work, the four of them together, but it’s perfect. Pairings: Lamp/Polyamsanders (romantic - mentions of sexual content but no explicit content) Word count: 1,420

Cube Summary: Logan is the master of the Rubix cube Pairing(s): LAMP/Polyamsanders (platonic or romantic) Word count: 888

Storms Summary: Kid fic. Logic meets a new trait during a thunderstorm. Pairing(s): Analogical (platonic) Word count: 2,143

Better than Bullets Summary: Virgil and Patton watch scary movies. Pairing(s): Moxiety (Paternal) Word count: 1,206

Fairy Lights Summary: Sometimes Virgil needs Patton cuddles. Pairing(s): Moxiety (Paternal) Word count: 628

Mrs Fluffybottom Summary: Virgil accidentally ruins Roman’s beloved toy. He tries to make it up to him. Fluffiness ensues. Pairing(s): Prinxiety (platonic or romantic) Word count: 2,037

Excepting Anxiety Summary: Roman is having a hard time with their latest script. Pairing(s): Prinxiety (platonic or romantic) Word count: 1,313

Untitled Drabble #9 Summary: Roman can’t find Mrs Fluffybottom. Pairing(s): Prinxiety (platonic or romantic) Word count: 430

Comfort Summary: Virgil doesn’t feel good, so he goes to Patton for comfort. Pairing(s): Moxiety (paternal) Word count: 470

Laugh Summary: Roman and Virgil watch funny movies, but Roman has an ulterior motive. Pairing(s): Prinxiety (platonic or pre-romantic) Word count: 875

Reassurances Summary: Sometimes, Virgil just needs some reassurances. Sometimes he even manages to ask for them. Pairing(s): LAMP/Polyamsanders (platonic or romantic) Word count: 1,034

University AU Headcanons Pairing(s): Analogical, Royality Word count: 1,540 Untitled University AU Ficlet Summary: Virgil and Logan take turns getting each other to get some sleep already. Pairing(s): Analogical Word count: 674 Elephanting Summary: (University AU) Roman and Patton go on a date. Pairing(s): Royality Word count: 422

Untitled Drabble #8 Summary: The logistics of a cuddle pile can be complicated. Pairing(s): LAMP/Polyamsanders Word count: 497 Sick Summary: Virgil is sick. The others take care of him. Pairing(s): LAMP/Polyamsanders (platonic or romantic) Word count: 1,906 Untitled Drabble #7 Summary: Patton is ticklish. Roman is crushing. Pairing(s): Royality Word count: 629

Home Summary: Roman has been away on a quest. Virgil waits for him to return. Pairing(s): Prinxiety Word count: 933

Untitled Drabble #6 Summary: Virgil forgets his make-up. The others are surprised. Pairings: LAMP/Polyamsanders Word count: 982

Untitled Drabble #5 Summary: (Human AU) Virgil hates flying. Pairing(s): Analogical Word count: 100

Untitled Drabble #4 Summary: (Human AU) Virgil doesn’t want to get a shot. Pairing(s): LAMP/Polyamsanders Word count: 100

Untitled Drabble #3 Summary: (Human AU) Virgil is injured in the process of preventing an accident. His boyfriends worry about him. Pairing(s): LAMP/Polyamsanders Word count: 481

Untitled Drabble #2 Summary: Virgil worries about their new relationship. Roman confronts, then comforts him. Pairing(s): Prinxiety Word count: 612

Untitled Drabble #1 Summary: “Is he coming home?“ Pairing(s): LAMP/Polyamsanders (platonic or romantic) Word count: 326

Bad Days Summary: Virgil has a bad day. Patton helps him through it. Pairing(s): Moxiety (platonic or romantic) Word count: 2,388

Box of Puppies Summary: Roman has an idea. Virgil is anxious about it, but not for the reasons Roman assumes. Pairing(s): Prinxiety (platonic or romantic) Word count: 1,422

Fairy Tales Summary: Logan reads to Virgil Pairing(s): Analogical (implied crush) Word count: 1,205

Migraine Summary: Virgil suffers a migraine. Patton helps him. Pairing(s): Moxiety (platonic or romantic) Word count: 1,007

Sleep Talking Summary: Virgil talks in his sleep. Logan is amused. Pairing(s): Analogical Word count: 288

Hero Summary: Virgil will never be Thomas’s hero Pairing(s): None Word count: 348

Forgetting Summary: Sometimes, Virgil forgets who he is supposed to be. Pairing(s): None Word count: 373 CW: Self-loathing, angst

[mintgreenglasses]

I dunno if any of these sound readable to you but here @bleepblopbloop56

SanderSides

•Nuances of Necessity by rainbow-sides

Some touch-starved Logan and platonic LAMP. Eight chapters. Finished.

•tumblr ficlets by lovelylogans

Fluff. And Hurt/Comfort.

•Meant Not to Be - Prinxiety by death-of-a-phangirl

Roman is a fire mage and Virgil is a water mage. The two best friends reunite at 18 after 12 years.

•Wake Up Call by @romanamongthestars

Human AU. polysanders. Virgil signs up for a wake up call app and meets three individuals that will change his life. “Wake Up Call.” (Link is for the prologue, the beginning of this work.)

•Powerless by patentpending

Unabled/Abled AU. Roman is a superhero. The other three are unabled. Virgil is resentful of his place in society, says yes to a shady caller for a steady income, and makes enemies with The Prince. So. Many. Nicknames.

•Keep him safe by Whatwashernameagain

(Brooklyn 99 AU) Roman and Logan are police detectives. I'm living for their bromance. It is glorious. Patton owns a bakery.

•Read To Me by Rosalynd on AO3

Virgil gets hugs from Logan. Sweet hurt/comfort Analogical

•Starved by randomslasher

Touch-starved Virgil. Multichaptered (6) fic. Hurt/comfort. TLAMP.

•Once Upon A Dream by parsnipit

LAMP. Prince discovers that the other sides have never had dreams before and decides that he must remedy that. One miscommunication, several poor attempts at flirting, and a boatload of self-loathing later, three of the sides find themselves in a relationship—and Anxiety is not one of those sides. He would only cause nightmares, after all. (It takes a sword fight, an argument with Anxiety’s self-loathing personified, and a sobfest to convince him that this is not the case.)

[teacupfulofstarshine]

living in the real world (ain’t it fun) CHAPTER 10

CW: panic attacks, shouting, cursing, touch starvation, threats of bodily harm, self-deprecation, self-hatred, negative thought spirals, unsympathetic actions, unhealthy handling of emotions, unhealthy work habits, unhealthy emotional coping mechanisms

are you prepared for the roman/anxiety confrontation? i promise you are not >:3

huge thank you to @flamingfawkes​ for beta’ing!

wordcount: ~4.6k

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // chapter 8 // chapter 9 // read it on ao3!!

Anxiety stays in Logan’s lap for almost ten minutes. No one speaks while he sits there, hugging Logan tightly. Logan tries to shift, but Anxiety whines and presses closer. “Is - can we stay?” he whispers. “I feel like if you let go of me, I’m going to float away.”

“You are likely touch-starved, to a fairly extreme degree,” Logan says.

“If you don’t want to touch me, you can let me go.”

“I will do no such thing.” Logan sounds almost offended at Anxiety’s implications. “You are hurting, Anxiety. I will not allow you to continue hurting if I can alleviate your suffering in any way. You are not hurting me by touching me.”

“You hate being touched,” Roman says. Anxiety presses his face further into Logan’s shoulder, hiding, and Logan turns to stare straight through Roman.

“I have a low tolerance for touch, Roman, much lower than you and Patton. But I require it to subsist, as we all do. Thomas is a human, and all humans need touch and social connections to survive. We represent his desires, his wants, his needs - we share them. I am not opposed to providing and receiving touch, but I am easily overwhelmed.”

“Lemme know when you gotta stop,” Anxiety says.

“I assure you that I will, Anxiety. However, I am alright, so there is no reason for you to move.”

Patton slides off the bed, kneeling next to Logan. “Anxiety? Kiddo, can I touch you?”

Anxiety turns to look at him, and Patton lifts one hand. “Just your shoulder. I wanna put my hand on it, maybe squeeze it a little. Is that alright with you?”

“Yeah,” Anxiety says, pulling his face out of Logan’s shoulder. Patton gently rests his hand on Anxiety’s shoulder, squeezing, and rubbing his thumb back and forth. Patton takes a deep breath, like he’s gathering his courage for something, and then he winces. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m just old,” Patton laughs. “As old as Thomas is, anyway. And that means I can’t sit on my feet for too long without them falling asleep. Gotta move around a little!” He shifts to sit cross-legged, wincing with Thomas when his knees crack audibly, and then he puts his hand back on Anxiety’s shoulder.

“Kiddo,” Patton says, and then, "Anxiety. It's my turn to apologize, okay?"

"You - you don't have to," Anxiety says. "You were trying your best, weren’t you? Just like Logan? I just misinterpreted your intentions, like I did with his, so -"

"No. I do need to apologize," Patton insists. "Is it alright if I apologize to you?"

Anxiety blinks. “You . . . if you think you need to, Patton.”

Patton looks serious, unusually so. “I do. I do need to.”

“Do you want to stay where you are?” Logan asks Anxiety. “You can move, if you like.”

“If you’re comfortable, I’m okay staying.” Logan nods, and Anxiety turns his eyes back to Patton. Thomas takes a deep breath, and Patton smiles gratefully as his chest swells with fresh air. He curls his free hand into a fist, squeezes it so Thomas can feel the indents of his nails in his palm, and then he relaxes it.

"Anxiety, I’m sorry," Patton says. "I - I'm at the core of Thomas’s emotions, and the stronger they are, the more affected I am. I experience all of them, but I try to only express the happy ones, because the negative emotions . . . I don’t really like them that much. I mean, does anyone? They make me feel all icky inside." Anxiety visibly deflates at that. "Wait - no, Anxiety, I didn’t mean - I wasn’t talking about you, I -”

Anxiety sighs, patting Logan’s shoulder before shifting out of his lap and sitting across from Patton. "You're not wrong, though. I am a negative emotion. I'm just - I bring Thomas down, I know that. And I bring everyone else down with me. I'm -"

"Stop!" Patton cries, and his face shines bright blue as tears pour down all of their faces yet again.

"Patton?"

"Anxiety, you - I - just listen, please? Listen to me? I can't - I want to tell you that the emotion you represent doesn’t have negative repercussions more often than not. I want to tell you that anxiety like Thomas’s is inherently a good thing, and negative effects are few and far between. I want to tell you that, but I can't because - because that would be a lie. But that's - that doesn’t mean - you are not a bad person, Anxiety."

Anxiety’s mouth hangs open in shock. “I’m -”

"- Not a bad person," Patton repeats. "Anxiety can be really difficult to handle sometimes. I know you know that better than any of us. But that doesn't mean that you are a bad person! When I told you that you were being silly it - it was because I - because you - I -”

Patton drags a hand down his face. “Anxiety, I was afraid to handle my own negative emotions. I pushed you away because - because - I was afraid that having you around would make it harder to conceal my negative emotions. I’ve been hiding them for so long that I’ve forgotten how to feel them in a healthy way, how to deal with them in a healthy way. I didn't want to admit that I had emotions that were anything less than the happy-pappy-Patton-pending sunshine that I project. And that was wrong of me. Just because emotions aren't happy doesn't mean that they're bad. And I never meant to make you feel invalid. I never wanted you to think that - that I don't value you or your contributions to Thomas, because you do contribute to Thomas. You’re more than the monochrome villain that we painted you as, and we - I - have done a truly abhorrent job of making you feel welcome or accepted or validated and -"

Thomas swipes the back of his hand across his eyes; Logan puts his fingers to his face and frowns when they come away wet; Anxiety scrubs his sleeve across his eyes. Patton pulls away from Anxiety’s shoulder, folding both hands in his lap before lowering his head. "I am so sorry that I tried to ignore the emotions that you bring to the table because I - I was afraid to feel them. You are not a bad person, Anxiety, and I made you feel like you were when you were just doing your job. And I - I will always hate myself for that. I'm - you don't have to, but if - if you can find it in you - I - I'm so sorry, Anxiety, I promise that I am, I -"

Anxiety surprises all of them by leaning forward and hugging Patton; Patton holds him back like he thinks Anxiety will shatter if he loosens his grip. “Pat,” Anxiety says. “You - you made mistakes, mistakes that hurt me. And it’s going to take a while for me to be okay with that. But you - you sound like you’re really sorry for hurting me.”

“I am,” Patton whispers.

“I forgive you,” Anxiety says. “I believe that you’re going to try and do better, and that’s - that means a lot, Patton. I forgive you.”

“Thank you.”

“And Pat?”

“Yeah?”

Anxiety leans back, staring directly into Patton’s eyes. "You don't have to hate yourself forever."

"What?"

"You said you would always hate yourself for making me feel like I was a bad person, but it wasn't just you. You know that, right? And I - you were doing your best, Patton. I mean, I don't know about Princey over there, but you and Logan appear to have been trying, at the very least, and I can respect that. I forgive you, Patton, and that means you don't have to hate yourself, right?" He looks anxious about the idea of Patton hating himself forever, and Patton smiles through his tears.

"Oh, kiddo." Thomas feels something warm swelling in his chest as Patton and Anxiety hug, again, and then Anxiety slides out of Patton’s lap. Patton stands up, pulling Anxiety and then Logan to their feet, and then Thomas turns to look at Roman, still sitting in the corner by the closet. There’s a strange look in his eyes, and Thomas tries to match it with the tangle of negative emotions sitting heavily in his stomach. It’s jealousy, he thinks, but there’s something else mixed up in it - sadness, he thinks.

“Roman?” Thomas asks. Roman flinches a little, looking up at him. “Are you okay?”

Roman looks away from Thomas, staring resolutely out the window. “Fine.”

“Roman, you also have to apologize to Anxiety,” Thomas says firmly.

"What's the point? I suck at it, and he's not gonna accept it anyway! He already said so. Yell at me all you want, I don't fucking care."

"Language," Patton says. Roman rolls his eyes and turns his back to them. Anxiety stands up, taking one, two, three careful steps towards him.

“Princey, I never said I wouldn’t accept your apology.”

“I tried! I already tried apologizing to you, and you rejected it!”

“It wasn’t a real apology,” Logan says calmly. “You apologized because you felt obligated to, not because you felt genuine remorse.

“Yeah,” Anxiety says, kicking the carpet. “I dunno what you think I am, Roman, but it’s - it’s probably not right.”

Roman, who has been fidgeting a little, sits perfectly, ramrod still. “What I think you are?” His voice is quiet, flat, and Thomas is a little bit scared of the sudden lack of emotion in his chest. “You want to know what I think you are, Anxiety?”

He stands up, curling his hands into fists, and when he turns around his eyes are furious. “What you are,” he spits, and Thomas is honestly surprised that fire doesn’t spew from his mouth, “is a menace. What you are is a disgrace! Every single time I come up with something beautiful, something wonderful, something amazing, every single time I push Thomas towards an opportunity that would only catapult him upwards, it is you who drags me down!”

He gestures to Patton and Logan, and the fire Thomas expected out of Roman’s mouth is now blazing through his chest. “Specs squared over there is at least capable of pretending to support my ambitions! But oh, no, not you, Anxiety! You just appear out of the shadows, like a villain, like a god damn demon, and you tear me to ribbons!”

Anxiety stands his ground as Roman gets closer, balling his fists. He’s putting on a brave face, but Thomas can feel his heart beating so fast it’s vibrating. As Roman gets closer, Thomas suddenly becomes acutely aware of the height difference between Roman, a young adult, and Anxiety, a child.

“You offer nothing!” Roman’s voice is venomous, and Anxiety isn’t the only one whose hands are shaking. “You don’t do anything useful! All you do is look for the darkness in a situation, and you refuse to see the light! Hell, you could be looking at the purest sunbeam there ever was - you could be looking at Patton himself and you would still find something wrong!”

“I’m not perfect, Roman,” Patton starts, but Roman is on a roll and he’s not stopping now.

“You’re pathetic! If you can’t find the darkness, you’ll create some just to ruin everything for everyone else! You refuse to believe in anything happy! All you do is look for flaws!”

“That’s my job!” Anxiety bites back.

“It’s a shitty job, and no one needs you to do it! We’d all be better off without you! Thomas, especially, would be better off without you! Your job is meaningless to me, and - and so are you!”

Anxiety’s whole body is shaking, but he steps closer to Roman, pushing his shoulders back. “Did you ever consider that maybe -”

“No! I don’t want to hear any more negativity out of you! Do you have any idea how happy I was when we woke up and I thought you hadn’t manifested?” Roman laughs, bitterly, dragging his hands through his hair and tugging it so tightly everyone else winces. “I thought I could finally create freely, finally help Thomas achieve his ambitions! And now here you are to ruin my life, yet again!”

“I don’t ruin your life on purpose, you know!”

“Oh, really? You coulda fooled me! We were all getting along just fine, and then you showed up, and we almost crashed the car! That could have killed Thomas, who you claim to be protecting! Then you ran away, which hurt Thomas, and then you bit me, which hurt Thomas even more! All you do is hurt Thomas! We were better off without you!”

Thomas isn’t sure when he stood up, but he’s on his feet, and so are Patton and Logan. Outrage is searing through all of them, but Anxiety stares up at Roman, face setting like flint. Before anyone else can speak, Anxiety leans forward, and sneers, “Got it all out of your system, Princey?”

Oh, this is going to be a disaster.

"Did it ever occur to you, in the midst of your little pity party, that what you wanted wasn't best for Thomas either?"

Roman bristles. "How dare you -"

"How dare I?! You think you know me? Well, I know you too, buddy! You run yourself ragged trying to come up with ideas constantly - if Thomas listened to you all the time he'd never get anything done in the real world! He'd stretch himself too thin doing too much and he'd kill himself, Roman! The only reason you haven't died yet is because you aren't fucking real!"

Anxiety lifts his chin, glaring directly into Roman’s eyes. He’s not backing down. "There's nothing wrong with being creative, Roman. But you push so hard that if I wasn't around to reign you in, Thomas would burn out! If that happened, he'd lose you completely! Do you even know what that feels like?"

"I - wh -"

"No! You don't! Do you know why you don’t? Because I keep it from happening! You like to play the big hero, the prince, the knight in shining armor, but I know the truth! You may swan around acting like you’re some grand protector of Thomas’s psyche, but the only one who actually does any protecting around here is me!"

Anxiety’s voice is starting to distort, to double and layer and twist the way it had when he’d first appeared and made Thomas pull over, and Thomas sits down, hard, nearly floored by the terror running through him.

“You think that I don’t know what you really think? I am Thomas’s anxiety! I am his negativity! I am self-loathing and hatred and fear and doubt and all the dark and dirty little secrets you hate about yourself, which means that I know EXACTLY what you think about me, because it’s what you think about YOURSELF!”

Roman’s face loses all color instantly. “Wh -”

“Roman?” Patton asks, soft and feather-light, and Thomas feels like he’s about to break.

“You HATE yourself! You think you’re not good enough for Thomas, so you consistently push yourself past your limits so that you can maybe, finally, prove yourself worthy of being his creativity! So that you can maybe, finally live up to this princely persona you’ve built for yourself to camouflage your massive insecurities! But you don’t want to DEAL with those insecurities, so you project all your fears and self-hatred onto me! It’s the perfect solution - I’m already a villain, right? Already the bad guy? Newsflash, asshole - YOU CAN’T JUST SHUNT YOUR SHIT OFF ONTO ME SO THAT YOU DON’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOUR PROBLEMS, ROMAN!”

Roman’s entire body is shaking. Patton has his hands pressed over his mouth; Logan is running his hands up and down his tie repeatedly, rocking back and forth. Thomas looks between them rapidly. “Roman?” Thomas whispers.

Roman drops to his knees, presses a hand over his mouth, and the freshly-ended tears spill over again.

Before anyone else can react, Anxiety kneels in front of Roman and hugs him. Roman sits perfectly still for a moment before his face breaks and his shoulders shake and he crumples against Anxiety like wet paper. Thomas’s chest heaves with his sobs.

“Roman -”

“I’m sorry!” Roman chokes. “I’m sorry, is that what you want me to say? I’m sorry, Anxiety, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

“Roman, you’re panicking -”

“Oh, well spotted, Panic at the Everywhere!”

“Roman, stop!”

“Why?! I thought you wanted an apology from me? Well, here you go!” Roman pulls out of Anxiety’s hug and does a mocking bow before tugging at his hair again. “The great Prince Roman, reduced to an undignified, snivelling mess at your feet, admitting to all his faults and flaws and -”

“Jesus, Princey, BREATHE.” Roman’s chest is heaving, and he’s choking on his sobs, meaning the rest of them are as well. “Come on, you have to breathe, you’re gonna suffocate at this rate - Thomas, I need you to help me, please!”

“Wh - how can I -” Thomas is struggling to get air in, and he’s starting to get a little bit lightheaded.

“Listen to me, Thomas. Breathe in for four seconds. Logan, help him count?”

Logan nods, counting the seconds aloud and pressing two fingers against his carotid artery. Thomas, Anxiety, and Patton breathe along to Logan’s counts as Anxiety takes Roman’s hands and holds them tightly to keep them out of his hair. “You too, Princey, come on. In for four, hold for seven . . ."

They all sit and breathe together while Logan counts, in-for-four hold-for-seven out-for-eight. Eventually, Roman’s breathing evens to almost normal, and Anxiety squeezes his hands tightly.

“Prin - Roman.” Anxiety’s voice is still distorted, but it’s a little less harsh on the ears.

“What,” Roman says miserably.

“We need to talk about that."

“We really don’t.” Anxiety sighs.

“Roman -”

“Roman,” Patton says. Anxiety turns to look at Patton, whose face is shining blue and purple, and he shifts out of the way, letting Patton kneel in front of Roman. Roman flinches when Patton takes his hands, but he looks up at him anyway. "It's - it's okay to have negative feelings. And I know I’m the biggest hypocrite in the world for saying this, but you can't bottle them up or pretend that they don't exist. You have to acknowledge them and talk about them if you want to feel better. Ignoring them feels good in the moment, feels like you’re handling it, but . . . it just hurts everyone when it explodes. Because it will explode.”

Patton gestures to the room at large. “It did explode."

“I know,” Roman whispers miserably. He looks down at Patton’s hands around his. “I just - I hate this! I hate talking about the negative stuff. I’m the dreamy fantasy guy! I'm not supposed to feel like this! I’m not supposed to feel sad or unimportant or worthless or - or - or broken.”

"Fuck that noise," Anxiety says. "Not - not your feelings, but your feelings about your feelings. That came out weird - um - geez, I - Roman, what you feel . . . it's . . . it's not wrong. You aren't broken for having feelings that aren't good. Nobody feels good all the time."

"But - but I feel this way so much," Roman protests. "I - I should be better than that. And half the time there's nothing actually wrong with me anyway! The thoughts just show up, unwanted, and I just - I - it's stupid. I’m stupid, for feeling this way."

“Roman,” Patton and Thomas say.

"Roman," Anxiety says. "Whatever you feel isn't stupid. No matter how long you're feeling like that - hell, even if you always feel this way - it's still valid. It's not stupid or bad or wrong. You're not stupid or bad or wrong."

“But - but I don’t want to feel this way.”

“I don’t want to feel this way either, most of the time,” Anxiety admits. “I know my job is important, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t have its downsides. It has a lot of downsides, I’m not gonna lie. And it sucks, it sucks so much, Roman, but - but it’s - it’s okay.”

“How is any of this okay?”

“It’s okay to not be okay, Roman,” Anxiety says quietly. “It’s okay to say ‘I’m not okay right now’ out loud.” Roman stays silent, and Anxiety exhales. “Roman, you have to say it."

"Say what?" Roman mutters. He glares at Anxiety, but the words and the glare are both completely devoid of venom.

"That you're not okay. If you wanna feel better, you . . . you have to admit that you aren't feeling great right now. It's gonna suck, but you have to. It's important. And no one’s gonna think you’re stupid for saying it. I'm not gonna think you're stupid for saying it. Hell, I say it all the time. You have to say it, Roman, so you can start feeling better."

Roman looks to Thomas. “I’m not going to think you’re stupid, Roman.” Roman squeezes his eyes shut and stays silent for a long time, but Anxiety just waits, patiently. Finally, Roman breathes the words out.

"I'm - I'm not okay."

"And that's okay," Anxiety says softly. "It's okay to not be okay, Roman."

Roman looks up like Anxiety’s just grown a second head ". . . Say that again?"

"It's okay for you to not be okay right now, because you will be okay. You aren't right now, and that’s okay, because you will be."

Roman pulls his hands out of Patton’s, stands up, and offers a hand to Anxiety, Anxiety eyes it for a second before letting Roman pull him to his feet. “I am sorry,” Roman says - quiet, sincere, lacking all of the bluster and force of his earlier apology. "I - you're right. I was projecting onto you. And I said some - some truly unforgivable things, back there. Some truly ungallant things, things that any real knight or prince would never say. And I - I didn't - well, I meant them at the time, but now I recognize the error of my ways. I’m - Anxiety, I’m -”

“Virgil,” Anxiety says.

Everyone in the room does a double-take. Anxiety’s face turns from pale to pink to red, and he won’t meet anyone’s eyes. “My name. It’s Virgil. I just - you know everyone else’s, and I’m not hiding from you guys anymore, so - I figure you might as well -”

“Virgil,” Roman says, and Thomas’s heart aches at the tenderness in his voice. "Virgil, you - if you never forgave me, I would understand. But I want you to know that I am so, so sorry, Virgil. I - I tied you up, I dropped you, I told you all of the horrible things I think about myself because I hoped it would make me feel better. But now I just feel guilty, and horrible, and - and I am so, so sorry.”

"I forgive you, Princey.” Roman looks shell-shocked, but Virgil continues. “And for what it's worth . . . I’m sorry too. I know I can be harsher than I have to, sometimes, and I usually feel pretty bad about it afterwards. But I admit that I was a lot less careful with you because you always acted so above-it-all, and you so clearly hated me that it was easy to overreact and get carried away. We fueled each other’s fires, so . . . yeah. 'M sorry, too."

Roman opens his arms, and Virgil only hesitates a moment before stepping into them. They hug, Roman pressing his face into Virgil’s hair, and Thomas swears he hears Virgil’s shoulders crack with the force of Roman’s hug. Patton’s face is shining yellow, and Logan has shifted from rubbing his tie to flapping one hand.

Thomas feels his chest lighten, like some of the steel bands have snapped, but he knows that there’s one last apology that has to be made. “Virgil,” he says. Roman gives Virgil one last squeeze before letting go, and then Virgil takes a step back, looking at Thomas.

“Yes?” He still sounds hesitant, nervous, and Thomas wants to destroy that tone forever.

“Come over here, please?”

Virgil shuffles over, feet dragging against the carpet, and Thomas exhales. “It’s my turn now.” He gently takes Virgil’s hands in his own, and for the first time he notices how small and fragile they are. They’ve been building Virgil - no, not Virgil, Anxiety - up into a monster for so long, but his hands feel like bird bones in Thomas’s. He looks up at Thomas with wide eyes, and Thomas feels his heart break a little at the vulnerability he sees there.

He takes a deep breath, takes a moment to compose himself. He looks past Virgil and sees Patton smiling encouragingly, Logan nodding, Roman giving him a thumbs up. He thinks about what they’d all said, and then looks back at Virgil.

"Virgil, I'm sorry. Earlier, you said I treated you like you were something foreign, and you - you were right. People always talked about my anxiety like it was nothing more than a disorder, and I thought that way too. I was convinced that if I could just manage my anxiety, all the problems in my life would magically disappear. I . . . I think a lot of your villainization came from me. I looked at my anxiety and I saw nothing more than a flaw. But here, now, looking at you, I don't see a flaw. I see a strong, selfless person who constantly sacrifices everything to protect the people he loves - people who up until today have done a really shitty job of appreciating everything he does for them."

"Thomas . . ." Virgil whispers. His eyes are wet, but Thomas’s are finally dry.

"Virgil, you are important," Thomas says firmly. "You - you are so important to me. Sometimes you can be a little excessive, but I can see why you felt you had to be, given the way we all reacted to you. We can work on that together, we can work on all of this together. I'm sorry that I made you feel like I didn't want you here. And - and maybe I didn't want plain old anxiety, but I definitely want Virgil. You're not bad, you're just . . . you were just trying to do your job. You just wanted to keep me safe.”

“I wanted to keep you all safe,” Virgil says. “Even though you never thought of me that way, I have always considered you four to be my family. And I take the job of protecting my family very seriously.” He glances down at his body and snorts. “I mean, generally I don’t look like a fuckin’ twelve-year-old when I’m performing that job, but I’m still capable.” He looks back at Thomas. “I know I hindered you too much on more than one occasion, and I’m really sorry about that. Protecting you is all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

"I know that now," Thomas says. "We can work on being a better family together, all of us, but honestly? There’s nothing wrong with who you are. I'm sorry I made you feel unwanted just for doing your job - just for being who you are. But I promise, I do want you here. I want you here exactly the way you are, because there's nothing wrong with the way you are."

Virgil smiles at him, a shy, genuine smile. Thomas lets go of his hands and opens his arms. “You don’t have to, Virgil, but if you want to, I -”

Virgil is in his arms before he knows what’s happening. “I forgive you, Thomas, of course I do, I was never mad at you, I just wanted to keep you safe I - I’m so sorry that I hurt you, I -”

“Stop apologizing, Anx - Virgil,” Roman says. “That’s gonna take some getting used to, but I’m happy to make the adjustment.”

Virgil twists in Thomas’s embrace to look at Roman. “I mean, I should probably apologize for biting you in the woods.”

“I mean, I was behaving like a jackass at the time, and I did hogtie you in said woods. So . . . call it even?” Virgil laughs, and it’s watery and weak but it’s enough to set off everyone else.

“Yeah, Princey. Call it even.”

[teacupfulofstarshine]

pattonella part 13: kingdom alert: the princes are fiiiiiiiightiiiiiiiing!

cw: mentions of injury/infection/illness, mentions of death, arguing, overworking, parental figures who are not the best 

wordcount: ~3.3k

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9 // part 10 // part 11 // part 12 // read it on ao3!! 

virgil stays in the infirmary for almost a week after he first wakes up. 

he spends a lot of his time sleeping, since he’s too weak to do anything else. for the first few days of wakefulness, he barely has the strength to squeeze logan’s and patton’s hands when they hold them. despite his barely-open eyes, he smiles every time he sees them. 

“i’m sorry,” he says once, voice raspy and hoarse. patton tilts his head in confusion.

“why are you apologizing?”

“for scaring you. i came home unconscious . . . on logan’s horse . . . and you didn’t know . . . what was happening . . . i’m sorry . . .” his chest heaves slightly with effort, and patton leans in to brush his hair out of his eyes. 

“it’s not your fault. you saved roman’s life, vee, you saved everyone. you all came home alive, and that’s all i can ask for.” virgil smiles at him, eyes half-open, and yawns. “are you tired, vee?” 

“‘m always tired lately.” 

“that’s normal,” emile says, carrying over a large teapot. “you expended an enormous amount of magic when you were fighting. your body is trying to recover that energy; that’s why you’re sleeping so much. this tea helps you recover your energy as well, so keep drinking.” 

virgil makes a face at the cup of tea emile has in his hands, but he still lets patton help him sit up. he takes the tea and sips at it gently, blowing off the cloud of steam. emile dips a washcloth into a pail of cool water, wrings it out, and drapes it across virgil’s forehead, removing the old cloth that has grown warm. 

“is logan going to visit today?” virgil asks. 

“prince logan said he would stop by after attending to his duties at court,” emile says. “remy will be back in a little while, he’s attending to the king.” a somber tone falls over the infirmary at the mention of the king. 

“what . . . exactly is wrong with the king?” patton asks. “we know that he’s sick, of course, but - but we have no idea what’s actually wrong with him. do you know? are - are you allowed to tell us?” 

emile exhales, nodding slowly. “the king was injured in battle. he hid it because -”

“he’s a self-righteous idiot and a coward,” remy mutters, shoving the infirmary door shut behind him. emile’s face brightens when he sees his husband, dimming when he sees how pale and drawn remy looks. “he didn’t want to worry people, so instead of letting me treat his injury and having a recovery time of maybe two weeks, he hid it until it got infected and then he hid the infection until he collapsed and now it’s so far gone that there’s nothing i can do to heal him. it’s killing him from the inside out.” 

“the king will die?” patton asks. 

“we all die eventually,” remy says, “but it’s true that the king is ailing more swiftly than most. i’d say he has . . . three years left to live, at most.” emile reaches up and gently kisses remy’s cheek, pressing his face into his shoulder. 

“there’s a reason the rush is on to get thomas officially named crown prince,” emile says. “if he does not bear the official title when the king passes on, there will be a power struggle.” 

“why? thomas is the eldest prince. roman and logan would never stand in his way of becoming king, would they?” 

“no, but without an official heir appointed, it is possible that anyone with a connection to the royal bloodline, however small, could present themself as heir apparent. it would take months, perhaps even years to sort through the muck and mire of all that inherently political bullshit, which would derail the peace and prosperity of this kingdom. it is imperative that thomas is officially named the crown prince before the king dies.” 

“do we have to be married for thomas to be named crown prince?” patton asks. “is an engagement enough to satisfy the law?” 

“unfortunately, no. engagements can be made and broken at the drop of a hat, but a marriage is not so easily annulled. the wedding ceremony must be completed before thomas can be named crown prince.” 

“i think that’s a stupid rule,” patton mutters. virgil laughs softly, and patton squeezes his hand. 

“the most likely scenario at this point is a triple function.”

“a what?” 

“logan and roman will have a double wedding to the two of you, and then once the wedding ceremony is completed, thomas will immediately be officially named crown prince. that way, no matter what happens, the kingdom will be secured.”

“and then we party?” patton asks. remy laughs. 

“yeah, babes. and then we party.” 

*~*~*~*~*

“everything alright?” 

logan jumps three feet into the air at the sudden noise, whirling around to see roman behind him, hand raised as though he was about to lower it onto his shoulder. “take a deep breath, lo, it’s just me.” logan presses a hand to his chest, exhaling sharply. 

“you startled me, roman. please do not do that.” roman rolls his eyes, bumping his shoulder against logan’s as he steps towards the window logan’s been pensively staring out of. “can i be of assistance?” 

“do you know any good smiths?” 

logan hums, clasping his hands behind his back. “you spend far more time consorting with the villagers than i, roman. if anyone were to possess such information, it would be you.”

“yeah, but you spend all your time with the tax records and shit, i figured you’d know.” 

logan frowns. “what is all this about, roman?” 

roman looks at him, and logan realizes he’s been crying. “roman -”

“i went to see father.” 

logan wants to swear. “roman, i thought we agreed to go together if we went -”

“we did! but i saw remy going to treat him, so i followed him, and when the door opened he saw me and he beckoned me inside and what was i gonna do, say no to the king?” 

“what did he say to you?” 

“he asked me if i was married yet.” 

“and you told him?” 

“no, but i have a partner.” 

“what did he say?” 

“‘that’s not good enough, roman,’” roman grouses, dropping his voice into a gruff imitation of their father’s. “'you of all people should understand how imperative it is that there is no issue with succession. thomas must be named my heir and become crown prince before i shuffle off this mortal coil -’”

“don’t talk about father’s death like that,” logan snaps. 

“and how else should i talk about it, logan? father has been dying for years. and he’s making me rush my relationship with patton just so that thomas can get the official version of a title we all know he has!” 

“father does not want to die without officially naming an heir. i understand that.”

“you really think someone’s going to be stupid enough to challenge thomas’s birthright?” 

“it will not hurt to be prepared. you are responding irrationally.” 

“right, because you’ve never done anything irrational in your life, logan, like riding into battle with no backup and no plan because your stupid magic boyfriend thinks i can’t take care of myself! what does he know, anyway? he doesn’t know anything about me or us or -” 

“virgil saved your life,” logan says, voice low and thunderous. he takes a step forward, then another, and roman takes a step backward, then another. “if it wasn’t for his vision, you would have died . many more people would have been injured or killed if he had not come when he did. or did you forget the fact that he fell into a coma because he expended so much magic saving you? healing you? keeping you alive?” roman flinches away from his anger, and logan can’t bring himself to care.

“logan, i -”

“this conversation is over,” logan says, voice icy and cold. “i will see you at dinner, prince roman. send a servant if you have need of me.” he turns around and stalks down the hallway, footsteps sharp and precise against the stone floor. he hears roman throw a punch at something behind him, but he doesn’t call out, and logan doesn’t turn around. 

*~*~*~*~*

“lord san - patton?” 

patton looks up from the basket of yarn he’s picking through to see nate standing in the doorway, fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. “nate! come in!” 

“you have a visitor,” nate says. he sounds oddly formal, and patton tilts his head in confusion. “sir claire, knight of the kingdom, second in command to his royal highness prince roman, requests an audience.”

“oh! um . . . send her in, sure!” patton remembers her riding just behind logan and roman when they’d returned from battle, but he’s never actually spoken to her. 

nate steps into the hallway and murmurs something, and then claire steps in. she’s not wearing full armor, but there’s leather wrapped around her forearms and legs, and her hair is tied up in a knot atop her head. she’s panting slightly, face shining with sweat, as though she’s just come from the training grounds. 

“lord sanders,” she says, bowing to him. patton stands up, not sure if he’s supposed to curtsy back at her or not, but as he’s gathering the material of his dress claire continues speaking. “i would request something of you, lord sanders.” 

“um . . . okay! is it something you need from roman?” 

“it actually concerns his highness prince roman.” 

“is he hurt? is he alright?” 

claire shakes her head. “i believe he had an . . . altercation with his highness prince logan earlier. prince roman came to the training grounds two hours ago, and he has been putting any guard he can through rigorous dueling. he’s finally exhausted his supply of human opponents, and he has been hacking away at training dummies for the past thirty minutes. his hands shake with exhaustion, but nothing i do or say convinces him to stop and rest. i worry he may pass out from heat or over exertion or -” 

patton wrings his hands nervously, and claire takes a deep breath. “i do not mean to alarm you, lord sanders. i merely thought perhaps, as you are beloved of prince roman, you might accompany me to the training grounds and convince him to rest, if only briefly?” 

“of course,” patton says. “nate, go to the kitchens, get some cold water, as much as you can carry, and some sort of snack. cheese, maybe? and nuts? something to get roman’s strength up. meet me on the training grounds.” 

“at once, lord sanders,” nate says, bowing his head respectfully to patton and claire before sprinting out into the hall. patton slips his shoes on and follows claire out to the training ground. 

“how long have you and roman known each other?” 

“the prince and i entered knighthood training at the same time. were he not the prince, i suspect i may have been picked for captain of the guard, but i am not stupid. i know the ways of the kingdom. the third prince, should there be one, becomes captain of the guard, leader of the knights. prince roman has the skills to back the position up, at least. he is the only person who has ever bested me in combat.”

“it sounds like you really like him.”

“i admire and respect him greatly. it pains me to see him like this.”

“i’ll get him to calm down,” patton says. “what was he fighting with logan about?” 

“it is unclear to me, lord sanders, but it distressed him.” 

“you can just call me patton, if you want!”

“that is very kind of you, lord - patton.”

the stone walls of the castle keep it cool, even in the warmth of summer, so patton had chosen a dress with a long skirt made of lighter fabric. the minute he steps foot outside, he can feel himself starting to sweat. claire, wearing training clothes and leather guards, doesn’t seem bothered at all, so patton pretends that he isn’t, either. 

he can hear sounds of exertion before they even reach the arena. patton gathers the fabric of his skirt up into his hands so that it doesn’t drag along the dusty ground as claire opens the gates to the training arena for him. roman is surrounded by a series of training dummies, stuffed with straw and carrying crude replica weapons. roman is shouting and grunting as he throws himself at the training dummies. 

“his strokes are sloppy,” claire says. patton doesn’t know anything about fighting, but he sort of sees what she means. he’s watched roman train before; he usually keeps all his limbs close to his body, watching with narrowed eyes and striking with quick, precise movements in rapid succession. this looks like a hurricane given human form. roman’s limbs flail wildly, his chest is heaving, and his hair is matted with sweat. 

patton hurries across the arena floor. “roman!” 

roman whirls around, holding his sword out, but his arms are shaking and the tip of the blade drops down into the dust. “patton?” he pants. 

“ro, sweetheart, how long have you been out here?” 

“not - not long, i don’t . . .” roman drives the tip of his sword into the arena floor and leans on it heavily. patton lets his skirts fall down around his ankles again as he reaches out to take roman’s arm and help support him. 

“come sit with me, ro, okay? come on. come sit down.” roman doesn’t protest, quietly staggering over to the wooden benches lining the arena. patton moves slowly to allow roman to shuffle along at his side, carefully helping roman sit down. “claire said you’ve been here for hours, ro.” 

roman sighs. “so she sent you to come reign me in?” 

“she sent me out here to ask you to take a break. she’s worried about you. so am i.” 

“i’m just training. that’s my job, patton.”

“you’re destroying yourself,” patton says firmly. “what happened?” 

roman stares off at the horizon. patton doesn’t pressure him to talk, gently leaning his head against his shoulder. after about ten minutes of sitting in silence, roman finally says, “lo and i got in a fight.” 

“a fight?” 

“i went to see father today. we had an agreement with the two of us and thomas that we wouldn’t go see him on our own. he can be a bit . . . intense. and lo and i got into an argument, and . . . he used my full title. he never uses that unless he’s super pissed off. and like, i’m pissed at him too! he was being an asshole! but . . . so was i, i guess . . .”

nate approaches, setting down a pitcher of water, two cups, and a basket of bread and cheese and nuts. roman shoves a hunk of cheese in his mouth as patton pours them both water and nods his thanks to nate. roman downs a glass and a half of water before staring off again, eyes unfocused. 

patton hums, reaching out to set his hand on roman’s knee. “do you wanna talk about it?” 

roman hesitates for a moment, swirling the water in his cup around, and then he does. 

*~*~*~*~*

“are you going to tell me what you’re brooding about?” 

“i do not brood,” logan grouses. 

“are you going to tell me why you’re pouting, then?” 

“i do not pout either.” logan pouts at virgil, who bites his lower lip to keep from laughing. logan continues to pout as he gently picks up a clay teapot and pours virgil another cup of the magic-replenishing tea. virgil wraps his hands around logan’s as he takes the cup, and logan’s face smoothes into a small smile.  

“i . . . had a disagreement with roman, earlier.” 

“i don’t like the way you’re saying disagreement.” 

“he saw our father.” virgil, sitting up to sip at his tea, pauses as logan’s hands ball into fists. 

“how is he?” 

“our father? the same as always. asking about if we’re married yet so he can name thomas crown prince and die already.” virgil winces, and logan sighs. “forgive me, my love. our father . . . he is constantly rushing our lives. he would have had us wed to anyone, regardless of feelings, so that thomas could have his position as crown prince secured. thomas fought for us to have a chance at happiness, hence the ball for roman’s birthday. our father gave in, but he is . . . irritated that we have not yet wed.” 

“would it make things easier if we got married?” virgil says. logan reaches out and takes one of his hands. 

“i am not going to rush you or have roman rush patton because of our father’s succession issues. you are more than a political bargaining chip to me, virgil. you are . . .” logan’s cheeks and ears flush pink, and virgil can’t hide the besotted smile on his face as he watches logan’s gaze fix on a specific point over his shoulder. “you are invaluable to me. you are incredibly precious. i will not have you feeling like a pawn to be manipulated when you are - you are so much more than that to me.” virgil’s gaze slides to the black chess queen, propped neatly on the nightstand where he can see it.

“you’re important to me, too, l.” 

“roman was insinuating that we were irrational for running into battle to save him. he was implying that you are - are stupid or something, that you don’t know things, when without you he would be dead and we would have suffered innumerable casualties! that fool, what was he thinking , he -” 

“you were worried about him,” virgil says. 

“roman is capable. he does not require worrying about, so he likes to say.” logan scoffs.

“you’re his big brother, lo. you were going to worry no matter what happened. i worry about patton no matter what, and i bet thomas worries about you and roman no matter what. that’s just what brothers do.” 

logan pulls his hands into his lap, fidgeting with his fingers. “i . . . suppose i should apologize to him.” 

“hey, if he was being a jackass, he should apologize to you, too.” logan leans in and gently presses a kiss to virgil’s cheek. virgil makes a very undignified squeaking noise that he will deny vehemently to anyone else. 

*~*~*~*~*

“logan?” 

“roman.” 

“i . . . uh . . . ‘m sorry. i didn’t, uh . . . mean to insult virgil, or . . . or imply that he’s stupid. i know his magic takes a lot out of him, and i know he . . . he really used a lot when you guys came to save us. i just . . . i don’t like feeling like the stupid kid brother you all have to chase after, you know?” 

“i find that i owe you an apology as well, roman. i was, perhaps, unnecessarily harsh on you when last we spoke. i felt that someone had to defend virgil’s . . . honor is not quite the right word, but it is the closest i have.” 

“i can take care of myself, you know.” 

“i know, roman. but when virgil burst into the throne room and told us that he had seen you being slain . . . after the truth of his prediction with my horse incident, thomas and i were understandably distraught. we always fear the worst when you ride out into battle, and virgil seemed to be implying that those worst fears would be realized.” 

“i get that. and i . . . i am grateful, for what he did. for what you did.” 

“i know.” 

“father just . . . rattled me.” 

“i confess that i am irked as well. he has been ill for years, and remy is confident that he is not on death’s doorstep despite his illness. there is no reason for him to be so insistent on this marriage. patton and virgil are more than just marriage partners.” 

“i love him, lo. i - even if i didn’t have to, i would want to marry him.” 

“i share the sentiment.” 

“. . . i do love you, lo. even if you’re an annoying big brother sometimes.” 

“and i love you as well, despite your constant annoying younger brother status.” 

“hey!” 

(patton, hiding in the hallway, giggles and scurries off to the hospital wing.)

[teacupfulofstarshine]

LOVELY, DARK, AND DEEP: CHAPTER 8

cw: mild angst, injury mention, vivisection mention, human experimentation mention, boatloads of unethical science

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // read it on ao3!!

wordcount: 7086

“This is a terrible idea,” Thomas says. It is far from the first time he has said this to Virgil, generally speaking. It is also far from the first time he has said this to Virgil regarding this specific situation. This does not deter Virgil in the slightest. Logan looks up at Virgil from where he’s curled on the lab table, newly-human legs tucked up underneath his newly-human butt. 

“I would like to learn to walk,” he says. “I think it is a valuable skill to have, even if I do not intend to live on the land for the rest of my life. If I am to return to visit, and -” Logan’s eyes flicker away from Virgil’s face and rest on his shoulder, face heating up. “- and I would very much like to, it would benefit me to be able to masquerade as a human. I find walking essential to this charade.” 

“There are plenty of humans who don’t walk,” Virgil says. “Babies can’t walk, and elderly people sometimes can’t walk, and there’s any number of disabilities that might prevent someone from walking. Walking isn’t what makes us human.” 

Logan’s eyes meet his, and Virgil fights the blush rising on his cheeks with every fiber of his being. “What is it, then?”

“Walking?”

“No. What is it that makes you human that I do not have?” 

“Jesus, Lo, I don’t think ten thousand years of human philosophy has managed to answer that, and you want me to give you an answer now?” Logan tilts his head, confused and adorable, and Virgil is talking before he realizes it, rambling and spilling words out of his mouth like tap water cascading down a sink. 

“Being human isn’t about walking like a human or talking like a human or anything like that. Humans are so vast and diverse, and - and it’s like the ocean, you know? All those creatures are so different, with different methods of eating and sleeping and breathing and living and dying, and it’s - it’s not like you can just put one label over them that will encompass the spirit of what makes the sea the sea, or what makes a human a human. It’s - it’s -” 

He pushes his fingers through his hair, greasy from two days without a shower. “It’s about your capacity to care . It’s about your ability to look at someone else, anyone else, and acknowledge that they deserve everything you do. They deserve to live, they deserve to love and grow and thrive and be . Being human, it’s - it’s about looking at someone else and knowing that inside them is a person just as complex and mysterious and weird and wild and wonderful as you are, and they’ve got just as much depth and personhood and emotion and life as you do, even though they might be your polar opposite.” 

“So being human,” Logan says quietly, “is about being able to recognize your own complexities in another?” 

“If you wanna put it like that? Yeah, I guess.” 

“I suppose I am more human than I ever realized before, then.”

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Virgil says, and he takes a step towards Logan. Logan looks up at him, eyes wide and trusting and open, and Virgil holds a hand out. “I don’t think it’s bad at all. I know you’re all scared of us, because of what we could do to you, but - but I hope you can trust that the Doc and I, we - we don’t want to hurt you. We don’t want to let anything happen to you. You deserve security and stability, and if we can help give you that, we will.” 

Logan studies him for a moment with bright, critical eyes, and Virgil finds that he’s unconsciously holding his breath. Slowly, cautiously, Logan lifts his hand and places it into Virgil’s, and Virgil smiles, and Logan’s face breaks into a gentle smile, and Virgil has to fight very hard not to lean in and kiss him. (He pretends that he doesn’t see Thomas standing behind Logan, making very obvious mocking heart noises.) 

He holds out his other hand for Logan to take, and Logan doesn’t hesitate to place his hand in Virgil’s. They were scaled, before, but now every place a midnight blue scale used to live has, instead, a freckle. Virgil wonders how long it would take to count them all. 

(He definitely doesn’t think about laying in bed with Logan, holding him close, breath mingling in the space between their faces, sleepily trailing his index finger over the freckles covering Logan’s entire body, connecting them like constellations. He doesn’t think about trading stories with Logan, sleepily explaining his world’s constellations and heroes and myths as Logan does the same. He doesn’t think about Logan, laying on the bed and looking up at Virgil with the same open trust he’s displaying now as Virgil takes out a paintbrush and lovingly, painstakingly, connects each and every freckle into a beautiful portrait that, even in full glory, could never hope to match or even rival the splendor that is Logan himself, masterpiece untainted.)

(Virgil does not think about any of these things.) 

Carefully, he steps backward, holding Logan’s hands and pulling gently so that Logan rises into a standing position. He’s wobbly and unsure, like a newborn fawn, and Virgil quickly shifts so that he’s gripping Logan’s forearms instead of holding his hands. “Whoa, careful!” 

“I will never get used to these useless fins,” Logan mutters, glaring at his legs. “They are so unwieldy, and I have to concentrate on moving both of them instead of just one! I do not like it. I have decided.” 

Roman snickers from his touch tank, and music rises from Patton’s. “It’s hard for baby humans to learn to walk, too,” Virgil says, ignoring the other mer and focusing on Logan. “Kids fall all the time. It’s not about never falling. It’s about getting back up and trying again. Besides, I’m right here the whole time. You don’t have to worry, I won’t let you fall.” 

“I trust you,” Logan says, simply and honest and open, and Virgil feels a little something inside of him shift at such a plain display of trust. “I cannot see you very well, but I trust you.”

“What do you mean, you can’t see me?”

“I find that anything not directly in front of my face is very . . . blurry at the moment. I have lived with this my entire life. I had my electricity to compensate for this in the water, but now I have nothing.” 

“So what you’re telling me is you need glasses?” 

“What is ‘glasses’?”

“How are we supposed to get him those?” Thomas says. “He can barely walk, and he doesn’t know enough about human culture to pass for one. As far as the government’s concerned, he doesn’t even exist!” 

“Yeah, I know that, but he needs to be able to see, Doc.” 

“You’re gonna jeopardize his existence for that?” 

“Of course not!” Virgil snaps. “I’m just saying, it’s something we have to think about if he’s gonna be spending any sustained amount of time in a human form!” He takes a careful, slow step backwards, then another, then another. Logan mirrors him with an unsteady, slow step forwards, then another, then another. 

“I just want you two to be safe,” Thomas sighs. 

“I’m not a child,” Virgil mutters rebelliously. Before Thomas can retort, Roman drapes himself over the side of his tank and offers a spine about the length of his forearm to Thomas. 

“Do you still want this?” 

“Did you fire that at the tank?”

“Nah. I just kinda wiggled it around for a while until it popped out. They get loose and fall out sometimes, it’s not a new thing or anything.” Thomas takes the red-and-white spine and steps to the nearest lab table. He pulls out a scalpel and starts to carefully dissect the spine, looking for the poison inside it. 

Virgil turns his focus back to helping Logan. “I know it’s hard,” he says, holding his hands. “The amount of injury small humans sustain when they’re first learning how to walk is truly staggering. Hold on to me, okay? I won’t let you fall too far.” 

Logan looks at him with wide eyes. “What if I hurt you?” 

“You won’t, Lo. Trust me.” 

They practice walking back and forth across the lab floor for almost an hour. Roman makes unhelpful comments from his tank, and Virgil makes rude gestures at him. The gestures are somewhat less effective than normal, because Roman doesn’t understand what “flipping someone off” means, but it makes Virgil feel better, so he keeps doing it. Logan slowly improves as they keep practicing. 

“You know what would make you better at this?” Virgil asks. Logan shakes his head. “Being able to see properly.” 

“We are not taking the newly-humanoid merman to the optometrist,” Thomas says firmly. 

“Well, what the hell else are we supposed to do with him? We can’t just let him be on land half blind, Doc!” Virgil protests. 

“We can’t just let him get captured by the local cryptid hunter because you drag him into town, either.”

“First of all, I’m the local cryptid hunter, so Logan will be fine. Second of all, he needs to be able to see!” Virgil squeezes Logan’s hands tightly before he can consciously process what he’s doing, as though intending to reassure him. Before he can panic too hard about what he’s just done, Logan squeezes back. 

“I appreciate your concern,” Logan says softly. “I think your mentor may be right. It may be too dangerous to bring me into town and expose me to copious amounts of humans. I cannot say that I am not nervous about the idea of being exposed to more of them.” 

“I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” Virgil says, and immediately he’s swarmed with a surge of guilt. He’s basically been talking about Logan like he’s not even here, like his own opinions on what they do with him doesn’t matter, and God, how shitty does Virgil have to be? 

“I know you did not mean to,” Logan says. Virgil barely restrains a wince. 

“But I did,” he says. “And I didn’t mean to. I - I’m sorry, Logan. I didn’t mean to make it sound like we were making arbitrary decisions about you like you’re not conscious and opinionated.” 

“I am not mad,” Logan says. He looks puzzled that Virgil thinks he is. “I did not think you were maliciously attempting to control me.” He tilts his head adorably. It takes every ounce of self-control Virgil possesses (which isn’t much) not to gently squish his cheeks and kiss him senseless. (He’s not even sure if mermen know what kissing is.) 

“Well this is . . . concerning.” 

For a split, horrible second, Virgil thinks that Thomas is referring to him and the way he is very obviously ogling over Logan. His mind races to come up with some sort of defense, some explanation, but when he lifts his head he realizes that is not the case. Thomas is frowning at his laptop. 

“What is it, Doc?” 

“Get Logan somewhere he can sit and come over here. The results are back from the toxins in Logan’s net.” Roman’s entire body bristles like a sea urchin in his tank at the mention of the tank Logan was in; the color drains from Logan’s face and he goes perfectly ramrod-still. His hands are shaking, and Virgil smooths his thumb over Logan’s bandaged knuckles before he can stop himself. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, carefully guiding Logan back to the lab table. He slips an arm under Logan to hoist him up onto the table. Logan curls his hands in the hem of his shirt and very deliberately breathes deeply. “We won’t let you or your pod get hurt.”

Logan still looks terrible, and before Virgil can stop himself, he says, “Do you want a hug?” 

“A . . . hug?”

“Yeah, it’s - Christ, how do I - you put your arms around someone and squeeze, it’s a comfort thing, I -”

“I know what a hug is,” Logan interrupts. “I receive them from my dad and brother frequently.” Virgil’s face burns bright with shame. “What I meant was . . . was why?” 

Virgil blinks. “Because you’re upset. And that makes me upset, cause I don’t like it when the people I care about are upset. Hugs make people feel less upset.” 

“You care about me?” Virgil thinks about how nice it would be if the earth swallowed him whole in this exact moment. 

“Yeah. We . . . we’re friends, aren’t we?” 

Logan stares at him for a moment, and then his eyes soften and crinkle and he smiles. “Yes,” he says softly. “We are. I think I would like a hug.” 

Virgil leans forward, carefully wrapping his arms around Logan’s chest and hugging him close. Logan loops his arms around Virgil’s neck. He’s trembling, and he smells like fish and saltwater and seaweed. Virgil’s smelled some variation of this combination for the past several years, being a marine biologist and all that, and he’s largely desensitized to the way the ocean smells. But there’s some sort of undercurrent to the way Logan smells - something raw and fresh and dangerous and almost electric, the way the air smells right before a thunderstorm. 

Logan pats his shoulder gently and starts to lean back, and Virgil gives him one more gentle squeeze before leaning away. He doesn’t want to be weird about it, after all. 

“Thank you,” Logan says. Virgil takes his hand and squeezes it. 

“Yeah, Lo. Of course.” 

Roman reaches to gently squeeze Logan’s ankle, and a large, clawed hand comes up out of Patton’s tank and gently holds Logan’s hand. Virgil hurries over to Thomas and peers at the screen. “What did the results say?” 

Thomas frowns. “It’s not good. We were right, it was a neurotoxin, but there’s something wrong with it.” 

“Yeah, it was in a net that injured and almost killed someone.”

“No, it’s more than that. It’s derived from natural sources, but this toxin, it’s - it’s just . . .” Thomas pushes a hand through his hair. “It has genetic markers for multiple species of aquatic life. I picked out jellyfish and pufferfish DNA, specifically.” 

“Fucking yikes.” 

“Oh, it gets worse. There’s no way this DNA could have come from a genetically stable or viable hybrid. It’s like . . . it’s like someone took the genetic sequences for the deadliest, most dangerous marine toxins they could isolate and crammed them all together to make some kind of - of - of super poison or something. They weren’t trying to make a new life-form. They just wanted to create the most toxic thing they could, and I think they succeeded. It’s a miracle this net didn’t kill Logan outright.” 

Roman makes a loud, angry noise from his tank; a melodic snarl rises from Patton’s; Logan shudders and curls his free arm tightly around himself. Virgil’s blood runs cold at the thought. “What would it take to do something like that, Doc?” 

“Whoever this was did a pretty crude job of it,” Thomas sighs. “All the splicing is haphazard, and it’s honestly a miracle they managed to make this stable enough to do damage to any organism.” 

“Still, the fact they made this . . . who knows what else they may have done?” Virgil asks.

“I don’t know.” Thomas drags his hand down his face, and he looks older than Virgil’s ever seen him. “This - this is the most unethical application of science I’ve seen in a long time. I hate to think about what else this person might be doing.” 

“What about Roman’s spine?” Virgil asks. “Any results there?” 

Thomas nods. “Yeah. Whatever’s in his spines is far less lethal than the hybrid shit in that net. It’s more focused on paralysis and incapacitation.”

“Well, yeah, I could have told you that,” Roman huffs crossly. “I use it to stun prey so that I can catch and kill it more easily. That’s what it’s for .” 

Thomas is still frowning worriedly at the spine. “Doc, what’s wrong?” 

“Roman’s poison . . . based on my analysis, in the hands of someone who can use CRISPR technology, it could be altered to produce far more devastating effects. If whoever set this net gets their hands on Roman, the experiments they run could prove disastrous.” 

“Roman getting captured at all would be disastrous,” Virgil says. He dimly notices that Roman looks shocked to see Virgil defend him. “We can’t let anyone else know about these three. They belong in the ocean, and anyone else would try and keep them prisoner on land.” Virgil’s heart wrenches at that; he’s been ignoring that Logan will eventually have to leave, and he’s not about to start thinking about it now.

“I want to run more tests on the net that Logan got tangled in,” Thomas says. “If we can break down the technology of the barbs, we may be able to trace the origins of the net.” 

“What would we do when we found those origins?” Virgil asks. Thomas exhales. 

“I don’t know exactly. I just . . . we’d have to do something. We can’t do nothing. That’s not an option.” 

“I agree,” Virgil says. Thomas smiles, and Virgil feels pride bubble up in his throat. 

“I want to compare the net toxin to Roman’s, too. Maybe comparative analysis will help me learn something about both of them.” 

“Again, you could just ask me,” Roman grouses. 

“I probably will, once I develop a detailed questionnaire,” Thomas says. “But there’s also examinations and comparisons that we can make at the molecular level that we can’t get from just talking to you.” 

“What in the name of the Seven Mother Goddesses is a molecular?” Roman says. Logan turns to him, eyes wide and curious, and the tip of Patton’s head pokes up from his tank. He has their undivided attention. 

Virgil never thought he would be trying to teach sixth-grade biology to a trio of mermen, one of whom he’s extremely gay for and another one who’s older than human civilization, but here he is. What the fuck is his life, anyway? 

*~*~*~*

“See to it that this chamber is thoroughly cleaned and sterilized in time for my next experiment. And be sure to inform the crew that I want the excess waste disposed of discreetly this time, or they will find that they have been disposed of discreetly.” 

The secretary nods, obediently sending the orders as she peels off the blood-stained rubber gloves and tosses them into the biohazard waste receptacle. “Was the experiment a success, ma’am?” 

“If by success, you mean did the poison have the effect I intended, no. However, I believe I have isolated the patch of incorrect genetic code, which means that I will be able to improve the efficacy for next time. I doubt I would have found that on my own, so in that sense, yes. It was a success.” 

The secretary notes this on her tablet. “Tell me, what is the status of our acquisition of the human subjects?” 

“Approximately 79% of the specimens you request have been corralled and sedated. They await testing in Chamber C whenever you are ready, ma’am.” 

“And the rest?” 

“Being gathered as we speak, from the usual sources.” She nods, washing her hands and switching her anti-slip laboratory shoes for her characteristic red heels. “I have an alert set to ping when the shipment comes in. I will alert you at once.” 

“Excellent.” She steps out of the lab. Her heels click satisfyingly on the floor, and she tilts her head up. “Walk with me. Run through the list of current projects and update me on the status.” 

“At once, ma’am. Which one shall I begin with?” 

“Tests of the aerosol form of the net toxin. How have the lab rats fared?” 

“Only a 50% mortality rate, but that is higher than we had initially predicted.” She hums noncommittally, and the secretary continues, pulling up the file on her tablet. She continues to talk about the status of the aerosol experiment until they reach the private office, laid with marble. 

She walks over to the windows overlooking the ocean, hands clasped behind her back. “What of the fleet of drones? Have they discovered anything yet?” 

The secretary swipes a few pages on her screen. “Not yet, ma’am. A whole fleet was dispatched to cover the quadrant where net 17-C was located, as well as the surrounding areas in case our calculations were off. A team is monitoring the feedback round the clock, and they will alert me with the most urgent priority if they find something.” 

“Excellent.” She stares out the window, lost in thought, and the secretary gathers what little courage she has. 

“Ma’am, if - if I may ask a question?” 

“You already have.” The secretary’s blood runs like ice, but she merely laughs. “Continue.” 

“Why are you so invested in relocating this net? You seem so adamant that you’ve caught something valuable, but why not set another net and attempt to catch another?” 

She is silent for a long time. The secretary swallows. “I - I did not mean to offend, ma’am -”

“Silence.” She falls silent instantly. “Have I ever told you why it was here that I set up my facility? Why it could not possibly have been anywhere else in the world?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“My family,” she says, “used to vacation at the beaches around here. I loved the beach when I was small. I loved collecting creatures from the tide pools and seeing how they worked. One day, I saw the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on in my life. It was a merman, with a beautiful red and white tail and spines everywhere. He was sunning himself on the beach in the early morning.” 

The secretary’s eyes widen. “I had to have him. I tried to get him to come with me, to get him to tell me how he worked, to get some of his spines, but it failed.” She rolls up the sleeve of her blazer and shows the secretary two perfect half-moons of faint, raised white scars on her arm. Bite marks. 

“That monster bit me and disappeared into the sea. I never saw him again. How dare he?!” She yanks her sleeve down and covers her arm again, snarling. “But it’s alright! It’s fine. I will find that traitorous merman again, and it will be my pleasure to exact revenge on him. I will vivisect him slowly and painfully and I will finally gain the knowledge which has been denied to me for so many years.” 

Privately, the secretary is suspicious of this plan. She isn’t sure if she believes the story about the merman, but the evidence of scars is difficult to refute. Still, she knows it’s not wise to disagree with her publicly (or even privately), so instead, she says, “That makes sense, ma’am.” 

“I hate not knowing things,” she seethes. “Knowledge is the epitome of human power. I will gain as much knowledge as I can, and then I will have the greatest weapon and the greatest shield in all of human history. I will not let some fish keep me from knowing all there is to know.” 

The secretary wonders how long this train of thought is going to keep up, and then the tablet in her arms begins to shriek. She begins swiping at the screen, frantically sifting through the sudden influx of error messages. 

“What is it?” 

“Reports from the lab - the drone monitoring squad, they - one of the drones caught something on camera -”

She whirls around, and the secretary startles and nearly drops her tablet. “Take us there at once!” 

“Yes, ma’am!” The elevator ride down to the monitoring room is tense. She can’t seem to stand still, tapping her feet and her fingers and all but vibrating with energy. The secretary bites her lower lip and sifts through the reports, trying to figure out what exactly is happening. 

She sprints down the corridor, the secretary hurrying behind her, and throws open the door to the monitoring room. Everyone in it jumps, and before she can say anything one of them throws an image up onto the wall of screens. 

It shows what looks like a young man, frowning at the feed, before swinging the lower half of his body up and around to reveal a gorgeous red-and-white-patterned tail, covered in long, sharp spines. He brings his tail down in a graceful, vicious motion, and the spines jettison from his tail and pierce through the camera lens. The feed glitches, staticky, and then cuts out. 

SIGNAL FAILED flashes across the screen in bright red letters. 

She rests her hands on the nearest table, ducking her head down. Her shoulders begin to shake, and the secretary sees every single person in the room swallow in unison. They’re all terrified, and she is too. Every person in this room is about to get fired or mysteriously vanish or both. 

Without warning, she throws her head back, and - and she’s - 

Laughing?

Wild, raucous laughter, bordering on a shriek, bordering on hysteria, the kind of laughter you’d expect to hear from a portrayal of someone who’s criminally insane in a movie. The secretary holds her breath. 

“I knew it!” she shrieks, slamming a hand down on the table. Everyone in the room flinches. “This is proof that there are mermen in this ocean, and I will have him if it kills me!” 

She whirls around to face the secretary, eyes wide and wild and slightly unhinged. “I want at least two more fleets of stealth drones dispatched to those coordinates. Get me as much information as you can. And you!” She points at a random technician. “Isolate the footage of that mer and send it to my office immediately. I want to review it personally.” 

“At - at once, ma’am!” the technician gulps. 

She sweeps out of the lab, dictating to the secretary the whole time. The secretary sends up a whispered prayer to whatever gods intervened to keep them all alive another day and hurries after her.

*~*~*~*~*

Patton has never seen the appeal of a mate. 

He is ancient. He has outlived almost every creature he has ever met. He can dimly remember being a guppy, frolicking about the ocean with the other elder mer, spying on the beginnings of human civilizations when they began to rise. Humans have always congregated around the water, he thinks, and he has seen many stages of human life. 

He has watched humans celebrate the birth of their young at the water. He has watched them come of age, watched them marry, watched them travel, watched them grow their families. He has watched their burial rites, and he has guided many humans safely to the seafloor and given them a final resting place. He has offered many a prayer to the Seven Mother Goddesses for a happy union, asked many a flying fish to guide a human soul safely to the Upper Ocean. 

He has seen pods grow and fight and dwindle and die. He has watched many, many eons of life in the ocean. Never once has he wanted to participate in the creation of more life. He does not want a mate; he has never had the desire for that kind of relationship. 

Patton knows that mates are important to some, but they are not important to him. He does not need a mate the way he needs water in his gills. His pod is very small, and he has no mate, but he is satisfied with his existence thus far. Roman and Logan may not have come from a mate, but they are no less his. 

Patton may not want a mate, but he also knows what mer are like when they want mates. He hears the way Logan and the smaller human - Virgil - speak to each other. He can sense the growing affection in Logan’s voice when he tells him what he and Virgil have done that day and defends Virgil from Roman’s criticisms and shyly tells Patton that he wants to return when he is fully healed. 

The human concept of mates is different from the mer concept. Patton knows this much. He does not know very much about human mating rituals. 

Based on what he does know, he would say that Virgil and Logan share similar tendencies. 

Patton does not particularly care about this fact. He had been quietly accepting that Logan was lost to him forever, that he would never see his guppy again, but this human rescued him. He kept Logan safe, tended his injuries and fed him and sought out Patton and Roman to bring them to Logan. He had stood in front of Patton and sworn that he would return Logan to the ocean once he was healed. Patton knows that he terrifies most humans, but this one had not flinched. His voice had been firm and strong, and he had sworn that Logan would not be a prisoner. 

There are worse humans Logan could want to mate with, Patton supposes. 

Roman sinks below the water of their shared small ocean and grumbles to himself. “The stupid human is making gross faces at Logan,” he huffs. 

“What kind of faces?”

“Gross ones, Dad! He’s like, staring at him with this stupid look and his face keeps going all weird and pink and - ” Roman’s tail bristles with indignation. Patton gently smooths a large hand down his tail, flattening the spines and soothing Roman. He trills, gently, and Roman responds in kind. 

“I suspect he would like to be Logan’s mate.”

“WHAT?!” Roman shrieks. 

“It is not nearly as bad as all that, guppy. Logan wants to be his mate, too. Surely you can see it?”

“Of course I can see it, but - but what does Logan know about mates? Or humans, for that matter?! This is a bad idea, Dad, we have to talk him out of it!”

“Why? Does Logan not seem happy?”

“I - that’s not the point!”

“I asked you a question, guppy.”

Roman’s gills flare out. “Yeah, Dad. Lo seems really happy.”

“Do you not want him to be happy?”

“I don’t want him to leave us.” Roman curls in on himself, and he looks small in a way that Patton has not seen for centuries. 

“Oh, guppy.” Gently, Patton reaches out and traces one finger along the band of light blue scales wrapped around Roman’s upper arm. “Logan loves us. If he had taken a mer for a mate, would you have the same reaction?"

“No, because that mer would just join our pod and it would be fine! But - but what if he decides he doesn’t love us anymore and leaves us for the humans?! ”

“Logan would not do that. He is our podmate, Roman. Even if he wishes to take Virgil as his mate, that cannot change the bonds that we have with him. Logan is not going anywhere.” 

“How are you so sure about this?”

“I have lived many, many centuries,” Patton says, leaning in to gently nuzzle Roman’s hair. “I have seen many matings, human and mer. I have watched their lives play out. I know that the taking of a mate does not necessarily mean the separation from one’s pod. However, if the pod is unnecessarily hostile to the mate, someone may feel the need to choose between their mate and their pod.” 

Roman bristles again. “Am - am I driving Logan away?”

“No, Roman, ” Patton soothes. “ But if you continue to be angry and disparage Logan’s feelings, he may take offense. I am not saying that you must become best friends with Virgil overnight. All I ask is that you keep an open mind about what is to happen, hmm?”

“I only promise to try,” Roman huffs. 

“That is all I can ask.” Patton shifts to coil his large tail around Roman, who lets out a soft chirp and snuggles into Patton’s chest. “I love you, guppy.”

“Love you too, Dad.” 

They doze together for a while until Roman stirs. “One of the humans is here. Not Virgil, the other one - Thomas, I think.” He shifts and swims up, poking his head and torso out of the water. Patton yawns and rises up as well, letting one of the fins on the side of his head breach the water’s surface so that he can hear what is going on. 

“Do you need to go and hunt again?” Thomas asks. “Logan’s getting hungry, and I can go get some of the fish we have in the fridge, but if you all need to hunt anyway you might as well go, y’know?” 

“How would we bring the fish back to Logan?” Roman asks. Patton notices that while his tone is cool, he is no longer being outright rude. 

“I have a woven bag that we use for diving sometimes. You could load that up with fish. Or, if you want, I can drive the boat out and anchor it in the ocean, and you can just dump your catches on the deck so we can bring it back to Logan. Your call.” 

“I will consult my father,” Roman says, dropping back under the water. Patton lets his tail arch up out of the water as a sort of “hello I was listening” to Thomas as he pulls his head back down. 

“What do you think?” he asks Roman. 

“I don’t like the idea of that human following us around,” Roman says. “But I’m not the pod leader, so it’s not my call.”

“Ask him if this ‘boat’ is the thing he was riding on when we first met him,” Patton says. Roman swims up to the surface and drops back down. 

“He says it is.” 

“Ask him which holds more fish.” 

Roman pops up again. “The boat, he says. He also says that we could fill the bag with fish, empty it on the boat, and then bring it back down to fill it with fish again.” 

“I like that idea. Tell him we accept his help.” Roman looks disgruntled, but he still swims up to tell Thomas what Patton has said. 

When Patton lifts his head out of the water, he brings the water with him, wrapping it around his head and neck. The gills along his ribcage flare out angrily when he pulls himself up out of the water, but he ignores it in favor of looking at Logan. His guppy smiles and reaches out to touch his fins gently. 

“Have a plentiful hunt,” Logan says. “Be safe, Dad.” 

“Of course, guppy,” Patton says. 

“The cart is right next to your tank, Patton,” Virgil says. Patton lets out a low, rumbling click and locates the small ocean, carefully lowering his body into it. His gills flare out happily as he submerges in the water, and once the majority of his body is underwater his tail slithers in and curls on top of him. 

The small ocean moves with jerky, hesitant lurches. It is very uncomfortable inside there, and Patton is curled up on top of himself like an eel. He dislikes being in the small ocean for extended periods of time, but if it lets him move freely between the ocean at large and the place where his guppy is, he can tolerate it. 

Once the cart stops moving, Patton feels hands on his tail. They lift him up and over the edge of the small ocean, carefully lowering him down into the real ocean surging up into the grotto. The process continues for a few minutes until hands grip beneath his arms, lifting him up. Patton wraps his gills in water as Virgil lifts him up, groaning under the strain. He all but throws Patton into the water, and Patton inhales sharply as the cool water of the ocean flows around him. 

“Sorry!” he faintly hears Virgil call. Patton lifts one hand up and waves at him, hopefully conveying that he is not mad and unharmed. 

He swims about in the grotto for a little bit until Roman enters the water with a tremendous splash. “Thomas says that he is going to get the boat,” Roman reports. “He will meet us on the open ocean and give us the fish bag.” 

Patton lets Roman lead him out through the little tunnel. He can feel the change in his gills when they swim into open water, and he gleefully pushes forward into a spiral as he lets himself lengthen. Even at his smallest, he is far too big for any of the small oceans the humans attempt to keep him in. He relishes this chance to stretch his fins. 

Roman swirls around him, flaring and flattening his spines in joy. Patton carefully sends a few clicks towards the surface as they swim further out, sensing for Thomas’s boat. He feels Roman swish forward and sees him swim close, dragging a large impaled fish behind him. 

“First catch!”

Patton carefully tears off one of the choicest pieces of the fish and darts down to the sea floor, digging a small hole in the sand and laying the fish inside. He and Roman make short work of what’s left, and Patton lays the skeleton into the hole as well, covering it back up. 

“O Seven Mother Goddesses,” he intones. “Accept this offering and bless our hunt today.” Roman repeats the blessing, pressing one hand against the covered hole, and then they swim off into the ocean. 

When Thomas drops anchor, Patton and Roman swim up to greet him. Patton rises up in a column of water, leaving his larger set of gills submerged in the ocean as he watches Thomas. “Here’s the bag,” Thomas says, handing something to Roman. 

“What will you do while we hunt?” Roman asks. 

Thomas picks up some human thing. “I’m running tests on water samples.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I’ll be plenty busy while you hunt, and I won’t leave this spot, so you can come and drop off fish whenever you fill up the bag. Are you going to bring all the fish you catch back to the boat?” 

“No,” Roman says. “We usually eat a few while we’re hunting. Dad eats a lot more than us, so he usually eats a lot during the hunt and then he eats with us, too.” 

Thomas nods. “I’ll let you know when the boat reaches capacity, and then we can head back to Virgil and Logan. Sound good?” 

Patton nods when Roman looks to him for confirmation. “Fine.” Roman dives below the waves and Patton sinks down with him. Roman is busy attaching the bag around his torso, making sure that it won’t get in the way of his spines when he hunts. 

“Go ahead and catch something to eat, Dad. I’ll fill the bag for Logan and take it up to the boat, okay?”

“Once I eat, I will help you,” Patton protests. Roman smiles. 

“Take your time, Dad. I’m a good hunter - you trained me, remember?”

Patton smiles fondly. He does remember a tiny Roman, no bigger than his palm at his preferred size, valiantly attempting to chase down and kill prey much bigger than he was. It’s a favorite memory. 

Roman swims off, and Patton sends out exploratory clicks. He locates a school of fish and carefully approaches them, drawing in more and more water as he gathers his strength. Patton carefully coils his tail below him and releases a loud, deafening click. It’s like the normal clicks he uses to see things in the water, but magnified. 

The school of fish scatters, but he manages to stun a solid two thirds of them. They begin to sink, and Patton happily zips back and forth through the school, scooping the little bodies up and crunching on them. Despite the sacrifice he made to the Seven Mother Goddesses, Patton is ancient enough that bones don’t bother him when he eats, especially not for fish so small. 

Patton finds and stuns a few more schools, as well as some larger fish which he brings back to the boat. Thomas seems stunned by the sheer volume of fish he and Roman are collecting, and Patton suspects that the human will have questions about their hunting practices when they return to Logan. He should probably prepare Roman for those questions on the way back, he thinks. 

He’s so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice when a fish gets close to him. That puzzles Patton; most fish avoid him, knowing that they are in the presence of an apex predator. Still, he thinks, food is food. He sends out one of his stunners, but the fish is unaffected. 

That makes his scales itch in a strange way. He tries again, a little louder. The force of the sound knocks the strange fish back a little, but it just keeps approaching. Patton quickly dives below it and emits a low, rumbling distress call to Roman. Whatever this thing is, he wants his guppy close before they deal with it. 

Roman speeds to his side, and Patton points up to the strange fish. “It doesn’t look like a real fish,” Roman murmurs. “No fish I’ve ever seen, anyway. I don’t like it, Dad. I’m gonna go stab it.”

“Be careful,” Patton pleads. “I already have one injured guppy.” Roman nuzzles his face into Patton’s neck for a moment before bending his arms so that the spines on his joints sharpen and stand at attention. 

Patton watches with apprehension as Roman swims up and quickly gets in front of the strange fish. He brings his tail up, spines stiffening, and throws it forward. A few spines jettison out and pierce the strange fish. 

The water crackles and fizzes as the strange fish dies, almost like the water around Logan when he attacks. Roman flinches back from the discharge before swimming up to inspect what he’s just killed. 

“Dad, this isn’t a fish,” he says. Patton swims up quickly. “It looks like a fish, but there’s no meat. There’s no bones. It - it feels like the things the humans use.” Patton touches the strange object and recoils from the smooth, warm sensation. 

“We should get this to Thomas immediately. Maybe he knows more about this thing.” 

“Whatever it is, I have a bad feeling,” Roman says. 

Although he doesn’t say anything, not wanting to frighten his guppy, Patton does, too. 

[teacupfulofstarshine]

but i make these high heels work

summary: roman has something new that he wants to try out, but he’s nervous about his family’s reactions. he needn’t be; they’ve always got his back. 

(OR: a birthday fic for roman sanders, set in my moxiety dad au)

a/n: i’m jumping on @notveryglittery‘s “giving the gay everything he wants” agenda. happy birthday roman sanders!!! 

cw: anxiety, mild angst, fear of homophobia

wordcount: ~1.8k

read it on ao3!! 

Roman carefully smooths his hands over the fabric spread out across his bed. He knows that no one else is awake yet. Not even Logan, who routinely wakes up early because apparently he can run on crumbs of sleep and nothing else. Not even Dad, the earliest riser out of all of them, since he doesn’t have any pressing appointments. No one is awake but Roman. 

He’d tossed and turned all night, barely snatching a few hours. He knows he’s going to regret that later, but he also knows that there’s nothing particularly important happening today, so Papa and Dad will be more lenient if he decides to nap. So, rather than waiting until later to roll out of bed, Roman gets up a good hour before anyone else. He makes his bed - properly, this time, pulling off the excess of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals and tucking his thick quilt in. He never has the time or the willpower to make it in the mornings, but today. 

Well.

Today, he has anticipation thrumming in his chest like caught lightning, and he needs something to do with his hands. 

Roman showers, quietly. The bathroom is between his room and Logan’s, and there’s always the off chance that the water running will wake up his lightweight-sleeper brother. He holds his breath, keeping in all the melodies that usually bubble from his mouth in the shower, and is rewarded with no signs of wakefulness from his brother. 

He doesn’t bother to wash his hair, so he doesn’t have to worry about blow-drying his fluffy curls. Instead, he spritzes them with dry shampoo he stole from his Papa and combs through them with his fingers. It takes him about fifteen minutes to get them to just the right state of artfully tousled, but it still doesn’t waste nearly enough time. 

Which brings him to here, sitting cross-legged on his perfectly-made bed, staring at the fabric spread across his quilt. It’s plain, compared to what he usually wears, but he supposes that’s the trouble with borrowed clothing. Adding to all that, it’s not real clothing; it’s an old prop he’d salvaged from a box of costumes destined to be torn apart and repurposed. He kind of wishes he had the courage to ask Dad or Papa to take him to the mall to buy a proper one, but he’s never been that kind of brave. 

Roman fiddles with the hem of the skirt between his fingers. 

It’s red, at the very least, but not the proper shade of red. It’s garish and bright, like a firetruck, like a cartoon bloodstain. It comes down to about Roman’s knees, hanging in loose folds, and it’s not the most comfortable thing he’s ever worn, but he loves it. He loves the way the fabric feels when it swishes around his knees, he loves the way it flares out when he spins in circles, he loves the way it feels to smooth the fabric beneath him in a single fluid motion when he sits down. 

He’s terrified to wear it out of the comfort of his bedroom, but he figures that today, June first, the first day of pride month, is as good a day as any to come out of the closet. Roman sighs, curling his hands into loose fists on his thighs. 

His phone pings with a notification, and Roman almost falls off his bed as he scrambles forward to snatch his cell phone off his desk. He takes a moment to smile at his home screen photo before answering the message: it’s a picture of himself and Janus from last year’s pride festival. They’re wrapped in a rainbow flag like a cape, leaning their heads together and laughing. Janus has a genderqueer flag painted across his cheek, and Roman has rainbow star stickers across his nose and a rainbow bandanna tying back his hair. 

Roman thumbprints his phone open and checks his messages. It’s from Janus himself. 

[7:41 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): you’re going to do wonderfully, dearest. your family loves you, and they’ll support you no matter what. and even if they don’t, i support you no matter what. i love you <3 

Roman wiggles his feet back and forth eagerly in a gleeful stim as he taps out a response. 

[7:43 am] me: thank you, snove (snake love). ily2 <3 

[7:44 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): are you ever going to stop calling me snake-themed nicknames, beloved?

[7:44 am] me: sno (snake no) 

[7:46 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): i hate you <3 

[7:47 am] me: i snove (snake love) you too <3 <3 

*~*~*~*~*

Someone knocks on his door around 8:45. “Ro? Are you coming down to breakfast? I’m making pridecakes!” Dad calls. Roman’s stomach growls at the thought; every year, Dad makes multiple colors of homemade pancake batter and draws pride-flag pancakes on the griddle.

“I’ll be down in a minute!” Roman says. 

“Okay, kiddo!” 

Roman takes a deep breath. He slides off his bed and shimmies out of his pajama pants. Rummaging around in his drawers, he pulls out a white t-shirt with a swooping golden outline of the Disney castle on the front. Carefully, he steps into the puddle of skirt and tugs the red fabric up over his hips. It’s not a perfect fit, but it comes down to his knees. Roman studies himself in the full-length mirror on the inside of his closet. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he sighs, reaching for the rainbow bandana on his desk. He folds it and ties it to form a headband which he uses to push his bangs off his forehead. “It’s going to be okay. Dad and Papa aren’t going to hate you. Thomas and Logan aren’t going to hate you. It’s going to be okay.” 

Roman waits until he hears Logan and Thomas go downstairs before he leaves. He picks up his phone, glances at the photo of himself and Janus one more time, and then steps into the hallway. 

He lurks on the stairs for a moment, glancing into the kitchen. Logan is sleepily gnawing on a bagel slathered with jam. Papa is pouring coffee into a row of mugs while Thomas helps Dad with the pridecakes. Roman grips his skirt tightly in his hands, watching his family, and then he steps into the kitchen. 

“Morning.” 

“Good morn - oh!” Dad whirls around, holding a spatula which he quickly foists off onto Thomas. He hurries forward, taking Roman’s shoulders, eyes scanning up and down his outfit. “That’s new! Where’d you get it?” 

“It’s an old costume skirt,” Roman says. “Is that - am I - do you -”

Dad smiles, eyes crinkling up as he leans in to kiss Roman’s forehead. “I think you look wonderful, Roman. No matter what you choose to wear.” Roman smiles, hugging his dad tightly. He feels Dad reach up and press a hand into the back of his hair, rocking them back and forth a little as they hug. 

When Dad pulls away, Roman’s eyes jump up to Thomas. He grins, flashing a thumbs up, and Roman shakily offers one back. “Nice skirt,” Papa says, wrapping an arm around Roman’s shoulders and pulling him in. Roman feels Papa press a kiss to the top of his head, and he fights to keep himself from crying. 

Roman turns, looking at the only family member who hasn’t said anything yet. Logan is still placidly chewing his bagel, watching Roman with his typical calmness. “Logan?” Roman hates the way his voice shakes a little. “Do you like it?” 

Logan swallows and sets his bagel down. He scans over Roman’s outfit with a strange critical expression and says, “No. It looks completely wrong on you.” 

Roman’s heart sinks to the bottom of his chest. Logan stands up, scanning over Roman repeatedly, frowning as he stares at the skirt. “Logan,” Dad says warningly. 

Logan keeps talking. “That is the wrong color for your skin tone. It does not compliment the tan you always achieve in the summer months. The shape is unflattering on your body type, and the material is -” Logan reaches out and rubs the material between two fingers, shuddering. “- is entirely unpleasant. This skirt is completely wrong for you.” 

Roman recognizes the glint in his brother’s eye as he examines the skirt with a critical eye. It’s the way he looks at pieces of clothing that the theater department asks him to help tailor. “You would look much nicer in a circle or handkerchief style skirt. That red is hideous, you need a darker shade. I think that dark green would also look nice on you.” 

“You . . . aren’t mad about me wearing a skirt?” 

Logan blinks at him. “To quote that Avatar show you like so much, ‘Pants are an illusion and so is death.’ Gender is a social construct and clothing should not be dependent on the genitalia you were born with. I do not care if you wish to wear a skirt or not, Roman. Why would I care?” 

“I was nervous about wearing a skirt because I thought you would judge me.” Logan takes a few steps closer, offering a small smile, and Roman feels his heart start to swell and rise like a balloon.

“I was not judging you for wearing a skirt, Roman. If you would prefer to wear a skirt, I will support you, always. I did not mean to imply otherwise. I merely meant to offer my assistance because that skirt looks uncomfortable.” 

“It really is,” Roman sighs. “I stole it from a box of outgoing props.” 

“Go put comfortable clothes on,” Logan tells him. “I am going to the fabric store with Dad later today. I will take your measurements and you can come with us to find a fabric you like. I will make you a skirt that actually fits you.” 

“You’d do that for me?!” 

“Skirts are relatively simple garments to sew, provided you get the measurements correct. I cannot promise that it will be perfect, but I will work to make sure that it is comfortable and flattering on your form.” Roman bounces eagerly. “Can I hug you?” 

Logan tilts his head, considering. “Ten seconds,” he decides, which is more than enough time. Roman pulls his brother into a hug, feeling Logan’s hand flap back and forth against his bag as he happily stims. 

“I love you, Logan,” Roman says, squeezing him tightly. Logan hums at the pressure, pushing closer to his brother before leaning backwards to signal that he’s done being hugged. Roman lets him go, settling down at the table. He can change after breakfast. 

(Two weeks later, Roman comes downstairs in a dark red circle skirt embroidered with golden stars and detailing. Logan hums, flapping and rocking happily when he sees Roman twirl around and show off the way the skirt flares around his thighs. 

“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, I love it so much!” Roman squeals. “Thank you, Logan!” 

Logan flaps even more in response.) 

[teacupfulofstarshine]

living in the real world (ain’t it fun) CHAPTER 7

cw: detailed panic attack, almost car accident, injury, fighting, unsympathetic behaviors

wordcount: ~3.3k

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // read it on ao3!

Thomas wrenches the steering wheel to the side as hard as he possibly can. He’s personally amazed that it doesn’t break off. Shouts and screams echo from the backseat as the other three jerk awake. “What’s happening?!” Roman shrieks. Thomas feels his hands ache from the strength with which he grips the wheel and the other sides grip the seats and each other.  

“GET OUT OF THE ROAD GET OUT OF THE ROAD GET OUT OF THE FUCKING ROAD!” the voice shrieks, and Thomas’s panic jumps through the roof like a spear through his chest. He turns the wheel so hard that the car slides sideways with a screech of tires and the scent of burning rubber.

“PULL OVER!” 

Thomas manages to guide the car onto the shoulder and narrowly avoids crashing into the guard rail. He’s amazed that his car is still intact. He can hear all three of his sides breathing heavily in the back seat, and he twists around immediately. “Are you guys okay?!” 

Logan is clinging to Roman’s arm, chest heaving, eyes wide. Roman is gripping Thomas’s headrest, and Patton has one hand braced on the ceiling and another braced on the window. “We’re okay,” Patton says shakily. “We’re still alive and kickin’!” 

“What happened?!” Logan demands. 

“THIS IDIOT THOUGHT IT WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA TO DRIVE WHILE SO EXHAUSTED HE CAN BARELY KEEP HIS GOD DAMN EYES OPEN! AND WE ALL ALMOST FUCKING DIED!” 

Thomas slowly swivels to look at his passenger seat, and all three of his sides follow suite. There, curled up on the passenger seat, is a young boy wearing a black hoodie that almost swallows him. His knees are pulled up to his chest, which is heaving up and down in perfect sync with Thomas’s. He makes eye contact with Thomas, and Thomas feels anxiety roar through his body so strongly that his vision nearly blacks out. 

“DO YOU WANT TO FUCKING DIE?!” the boy screeches. His voice is so deep that it sounds bass-boosted, and his hands are shaking where he grips his arms. “WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THAT?! WHY DIDN’T YOU LEAVE EARLIER?! YOU COULD HAVE KILLED YOURSELF, YOU COULD HAVE BEEN IN A COLLISION THAT WOULD HAVE KILLED EVERYONE IF ANOTHER DRIVER HAD BEEN ON THAT ROAD!”

Thomas is panicking, but he manages to keep noticing little things about whoever this is. His hair is dyed purple; Thomas had done that a few years ago, but it’s long since grown out. There are dark circles under his eyes, so thick and black that they look painted on. His hands move up to grip his hair, tugging so tightly that Thomas winces at the pain on his own scalp. His eyes are wide and wild with a purple gleam, and when Thomas glances at Patton his eyes and freckles are shining purple as well. 

“YOU’RE AN IDIOT!” the boy spits. “YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER FUCKING - ”

“Language!” Patton says sternly - well, as sternly as he can when his voice is trembling. “I know you’re a little bit upset, kiddo, but there’s no need to swear!”

“A LITTLE BIT - WE ALMOST DIED!”

“Statistically speaking, you are overreacting,” Logan says, hands raised in a placating gesture. The boy just bristles even more. 

“FUCK YOUR STATISTICS! WE ALMOST BECAME A STATISTIC!”

“What are you doing here, you foul fiend?!” Roman snarls. Thomas hears the shing! of Roman drawing his sword. He watches as the boy’s eyes blow impossibly wider and he chokes back a short, terrified noise. The panic in Thomas’s chest spikes tenfold, and he thinks back to all of the terror that he’s felt every time he’s seen Roman’s sword. 

“SAVING YOUR SORRY ASS, PRINCEY!” the boy snaps. 

“I don’t need your help, you villain!” The boy hisses loudly at him, and Roman recoils in shock. 

“Who - who is this?” Thomas asks. “Wh - have you been here the whole time?” 

“We don’t need him, Thomas!” Roman says, cutting the boy off before he can speak. “He does nothing but bring you down and cause problems!” 

“He did just save our lives,” Logan says, but Roman shakes his head angrily and shoves his sword closer to the boy. Thomas feels the cold metal point press against his throat, and Roman frowns, rubbing his own throat as he pulls the sword back just enough so that it isn’t touching the boy’s skin. 

“This villain is nothing but a scourge and a menace, Thomas! I have been fighting him ever since he first appeared in your mind, and I was so glad that he did not manifest himself to spread his vile lies and negativity. But now I see that there is an opportunity here. We can kill him and rid you of his horrendous presence once and for all!” 

“That seems a little extreme -”

“I would not advise -”

“Roman, I think you’re taking it too -”

“No! I know what I am -” 

Before anyone can react, the door slams open and the boy throws himself out of the car and over the guardrail, disappearing into the forest. Thomas feels a horrible burning tug in his chest as the boy hits the twenty-foot distance limit. It pulses in his chest, like someone is slamming their fists on a wall. 

It’s a truly terrible feeling. 

“We have to go after him!” Roman says. “We can’t let him get away!” 

“He cannot get farther than twenty feet from us, Roman. We will not lose him in the forest.” 

“Kiddo?” A hand touches Thomas’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

Thomas turns around to face the three sides in the backseat. They’re all hyperventilating, just like him. Patton’s face and eyes shine purple, and Roman and Logan are practically at each other’s throats. Thomas feels sick to his stomach. 

“Who is that?” No one answers him; Thomas slams his hand on the headrest to get their attention. “Who is that?” 

“That is Anxiety,” Logan says quietly. “He is your fight-and-flight response, your stress reactions, your - your anxiety, to put it simply. He appeared around high school, which may be why he looks so young.” 

Thomas blinks. “Why did you all yell at him?” 

“He’s a villain! He’s the bad guy, Thomas, and I’m the prince! It’s my job to slay the dragons and defeat the villains and keep you safe!” 

“We can’t just kill him,” Thomas says. “I won’t let you kill him. He’s a kid, Roman! He looked even younger than Logan!” Logan looks oddly pleased at the idea that someone might be younger than him, but Roman quickly derails the conversation. 

“What are we supposed to do with him? Let him run rampant?” 

“I think we have to start by finding him. We can’t figure out what’s happening with him if we don’t talk to him, can we?” Roman pouts, but Thomas is firm in his decision. “Come on, you guys. We gotta go get him.” 

“Why don’t you try summoning him like you did with us?” Patton asks. Thomas tries, jerking his hand up and thinking about Anxiety, but he doesn’t come. 

“It’s not working,” he says. “He - we know you guys can resist the summons . . . he must not want to be found. I guess we’ll have to chase him down on foot.” 

Thomas has to crawl out the passenger side due to the way Anxiety is straining and pushing at the twenty-foot limit. The second Thomas closes the gap, even by a few inches, Anxiety is running forward again, pushing away from them as hard as he can. 

There’s a slim black shadow in the forest, disappearing and weaving between the trees. Thomas pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight, but Anxiety is still too fast to be caught. “He’s your fight or flight reflexes,” Logan pants. “It makes sense that he would be fast.” 

No matter what Thomas does, he can’t seem to catch up with Anxiety. His chest is burning with pain, not only from Anxiety pushing against the barrier but also from the panic attack in his chest and his lungs painfully trying to take in enough oxygen. After about ten minutes, Logan catches Thomas’s sleeve. 

“Thomas, stop!” 

“Wh - what? Why would we do that?” 

“How are we supposed to catch that little rat if we stop running?!” Roman demands. Logan has his hands on his knees, bent over and panting. Patton all but collapses to the ground, wheezing; even Roman has a sheen of sweat on his face. 

“Anxiety is one of Thomas’s sides, just like us. We know that he is bound by the same twenty-foot radius of distance that we are. As long as Thomas keeps moving, Anxiety will be able to keep moving. If we keep Thomas stationary in one place, Anxiety will have a limited range of motion, and we will catch him more easily.” 

Thomas sits down on the ground, breathing heavily and leaning forward with his hands on his knees. “If I don’t have to move, I’m down.” 

“The three of us should fan out,” Logan begins, but Thomas quickly begins shaking his head. 

“No, no - guys, don’t - don’t all of you go, I - the limit is already burning - one of you stay, at least, please.” Patton sits up and opens his mouth, but Thomas touches his shoulder. “No, Pat, you should definitely go, you’re - you’re friend-shaped. You’re the least threatening of all of us. He’ll react best to you.” 

“I will go as well,” Roman says. Someone must be able to vanquish the villain if he springs an attack!” Logan settles down next to Thomas. 

“That is fair. I will sit here and try to talk Thomas through some breathing exercises to reduce anxiety.” Patton and Roman nod, dispersing quickly into the woods, and Logan reaches out to place a hand on Thomas’s chest. “Alright. Breathe in through your nose for four counts, hold your breath for seven seconds, and exhale forcefully through your mouth for eight seconds, like you are blowing out birthday candles.” 

Thomas follows his breathing pattern, in and out and in and out, but his breathing stays quick and shallow and the ball of anxiety in his chest stays tight and knotted and mangled. “I appreciate it, Lo, but I don’t think this is gonna ease up until we find him.” 

“Most likely.”

“What’s it like, when you guys are all . . . in here?” Thomas taps his forehead. Logan sighs. 

“Anxiety has his purpose in your mind, as do Roman and Patton and I. As I’ve said, he handles your fight-or-flight reflexes, and he is responsible for your suspicion of things that are not exactly on the up and up. However, he has a tendency to go . . . overboard. He and Roman butt heads frequently because Roman sees him as an impediment to achieving what you want in life.” 

“Is that why I felt so bad that night at the bar? They were fighting?”

“Yes. They do that frequently.” 

“What do you and Patton think about him?” 

“Patton sees him as a child that needs to be pacified, which may not be inherently false. He does have a tendency to throw . . . tantrums. I attempt to reassure him with facts and explanations, but he has a tendency to respond with less than optimal results. He has hissed many a time.” 

“Have you guys ever just talked to him?” 

“We try. He is not always receptive.” 

Thomas frowns, but before he can speak again, a shrill scream echoes through the woods, and the terror spikes. Logan winces, gripping his chest and breathing heavily. “Oh, ow . . .” 

“Who was that?” 

“It was not Patton or Roman,” Logan says. 

“Why doesn’t that make me feel better?” The trees and branches around them rustle, and Thomas jerks his head up. He struggles to his feet, pressing one hand over his pounding heart as Logan stands beside him. His phone flashlight turns toward the source of the noise, and it illuminates Patton, popping through the underbrush with stray leaves and sticks and debris sticking to his hair and his sweater. still glowing purple. 

“Patton,” Logan sighs, relieved. “You don’t have Anxiety?” 

“Nope, I couldn’t find him. When I heard the scream, I came to check on you guys!”

“We’re alright.” Thomas reaches out to begin pulling leaf litter and detritus off of Patton and out of his hair. All three of them suddenly gasp in unison as searing pain cuts through their shoulders, their wrists, their ankles. 

“If - if you don’t have Anxiety,” Thomas pants, “then - then that means -” 

More rustling from the woods, and Thomas moves through the pain to light up Roman, grunting as he hoists a squirming black bundle up over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. His sword hangs at his side, and he’s not wearing his red sash. 

“Finally caught up with him, the varmint!” Roman throws whatever he’s carrying down onto the ground, and Thomas gasps as the wind is knocked clean out of his lungs. His phone flashlight drops down, revealing the child from earlier - Anxiety. His wrists are tied together behind his back with Roman’s sash, and his legs are bent at the knee to pull his ankles up next to his wrists. The sash loops around his ankles as well; Anxiety is virtually hog-tied. His face is streaked with dirt and mud and tears. 

He struggles against his bonds, cursing loudly at Roman, who scoffs and nudges him with his boot so that he’s laying on his stomach. One foot presses against Anxiety’s upper back, between his shoulder blades, to pin him. Anxiety keeps wriggling, spitting curses at Roman with every breath he can get into his heaving chest. 

“Roman, what the fuck?!” 

“What? I caught him, like I said I would!” 

“Why is he hogtied on the ground?!” 

“To keep him from escaping, of course! He’s a villain!” 

“Roman, untie him right now!” Patton says. Roman scoffs, but Thomas steps forward, feeling the weight of Roman’s foot on his back. He squares his shoulders and lifts his head, frowning, narrowing his eyes. 

“Roman. Untie Anxiety, right now.” 

Roman scoffs, but he drops to one knee next to Anxiety anyway. “Fine, if I must .” He reaches to untie Anxiety. Anxiety narrows his eyes, lunges forward, and sinks his sharp teeth into Roman’s hand. Thomas, Patton, and Logan all wince and clutch their hands to their chest as the pain flares through them; Anxiety flinches from the pain, but he doesn’t let go.

“OW! WHAT THE FUCK?!” Roman screams. “Let me go, immediately!” Anxiety does not, digging his teeth into Roman’s hand even more. “You insolent brat - get off of me - I’m trying to help you!” Anxiety hisses as fiercely as he can with his mouth full of Roman’s hand. 

Part of Thomas thinks that Roman deserves it for what he’s done to Anxiety. A larger part of him thinks that he’s tired, and cold, and his jeans are damp from sitting in the grass. He’s in pain, and he wants to go home. Still pressing his hand against his chest, Thomas carefully kneels next to Anxiety. “Hey, there, buddy.” 

Anxiety’s eyes snap to him immediately, angry and hunted and wounded. There are angry, pained tears running down his face, smearing the dark circles down his face. He’s breathing heavily, Roman’s hand clenched tightly in his jaws. “It’s okay.” Thomas pitches his voice low and soothing, as though he’s talking to a wounded animal. 

“Wh - Thomas, what are you -” 

“I’ve got this, Roman.” Thomas reaches the non-injured hand forward and gently rests his hand on Anxiety’s head. “I know you’re scared, but I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise. I know you’ve been hurt, but I’m not going to hurt you any more. I know why you bit Roman, but it’s hurting all of us - it’s hurting me.” Anxiety looks guilty at that. “If you have the connection that the rest of us do, it’s hurting you, too, isn’t it?” 

Anxiety nods. “If you let Roman go, I’ll untie you and we’ll go home. Okay?” 

Anxiety narrows his eyes suspiciously, with another muffled hiss, before he finally unclenches his jaw and lets Roman’s hand go. Roman scrambles away from him towards Patton and Logan. Patton begins to fuss over Roman’s hand while Thomas reaches towards Anxiety. 

“Can I untie you, bud?” 

“Yeah,” Anxiety rasps. His voice is hoarse and terrified; this close, Thomas can see that there’s no way Anxiety is older than twelve. 

“Logan, can you come and hold the light over us for me?” 

“Certainly, Thomas.” Logan holds Thomas’s phone over Anxiety as Thomas gets to work on the knots. They’re strong, tightly tied, but they aren’t intricate, and Thomas is able to unknot them with ease. 

“I’m Thomas, by the way. This is Logan, and Roman and Patton are over there.” 

“I know who you are,” Anxiety says. “And I know who they are, too. We live in the same head. We have the same goal.”

“And what would that goal be?” Roman calls. 

“Helping you,” Anxiety says, looking at Thomas and no one else. Thomas quickly finishes untying Anxiety and gives the sash to Logan, taking his phone back. Logan takes the sash to Roman as Anxiety sits up, rubbing at his sore wrists and ankles. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. Anxiety flinches away from him, curling in on himself like a wounded wolf. 

“I’m fine. I’m sorry that I hurt you. You guys can go home now. I’ll stay hidden within the twenty-foot radius, and you won’t have to see me again. Sorry for all the trouble, or whatever.” Anxiety looks small and vulnerable, nothing like the dangerous villain Roman’s been painting him as. 

“Great! Well, now that that’s all sorted -”

“Roman, no,” Thomas says. He offers a hand to Anxiety, who hisses loudly at him. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” he snaps. Something in Thomas breaks a little, because for all the show Anxiety is putting on, his fear and heartbreak is singing loud and clear in Thomas’s mind. 

“I knew you were there the whole time. Even if we couldn’t see you, even if I didn’t know who you were exactly, I knew you were there. I felt that you were there. How long have you been here?” 

“Since the beginning,” Anxiety mutters. “I manifested with the rest of them, but I hid the entire time. I know I can be difficult and all that. Wouldn’t wanna spoil your perfect fairy tale.” Roman looks guilty when Anxiety says that. 

“You’ve been hiding alone the whole time? But - but it’s been so long, you - wh - how -”

“It’s fine.” Anxiety shrugs. “I’m used to being ignored and badmouthed. It’s not like it’s any different inside your head, after all.” All three of Thomas’s other sides look guilty when he says that. Anxiety wipes at his messy face with the long sleeves of his hoodie, and Thomas makes a decision. 

He stands up, scooping Anxiety up in his arms. Anxiety writhes and squirms like a startled cat - “Whoa whoa what the fuck?!” - but Thomas holds him close to his chest. 

“Thomas?” Roman asks. 

“We’re going home now,” Thomas says. “We’re going to go home, and we’re all going to sleep. We’ll sort this out in the morning, okay? We all need a good night’s sleep.” Anxiety stops thrashing, holding perfectly still as Thomas readjusts his grip to hold Anxiety securely. 

“You good?” Thomas asks, looking at Anxiety. He nods, quietly, gripping Thomas’s shirt tightly to make sure that he doesn’t fall out of his arms. “Alright. Patton, you know how to drive, right?” 

“I know whatever you know, kiddo,” Patton says. “I can drive, yeah.” 

“It’s late enough at night that no one will notice a ‘driverless car’. Patton, you’re driving. Roman, you’re in the passenger seat. Logan and I will sit in the back seat with Anxiety. We’re going home now, okay?” 

Patton, Roman, and Logan nod. “Are you good with that, Anxiety?” He nods, jerkily, and Thomas nods, turning towards the road. 

“Home we go.” 

[teacupfulofstarshine]

LOVELY, DARK, AND DEEP: CHAPTER 7

cw: cursing, panic attack, anger, nonsexual nudity, extremely dubious/lacking morals, nonspecific mentions of unethical experimentation/vivisection, threats of violence towards loved ones, past child abandonment, nonspecific death threat mention, non-specific mention of human experimentation

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // read it on ao3! 

word count: 7821 

Logan cannot stop staring at his legs. 

They’re so strange. 

He pokes them with his finger, and then he pokes them again. And then he pokes them again, just for good measure, because what the fuck. They’re long and strange and the same color as his arms, which is weird, and instead of fins they end in weird, flat hands with small, flat, useless fingers, which is weirder. He can wiggle them if he really tries, but he doesn’t have anywhere near the same range of motion as he does with his hands. 

He hates it. 

Virgil quickly dumps his brother into the tank and hurries off, presumably to get his father and the other human, and Roman quickly pushes up above the edge of the tank. “Logan?! Are you okay?!” 

Logan is shaking. “Roman, what’s happening to me?! Why am I like this?! I look like a human , I don’t understand - what’s happening?!” 

“Sharkbait, hey, hey, breathe, it’s okay!” Roman reaches out and grips his hands tightly. “Sharkbait, you’re gonna be okay. I’m here, I’m right here and so’s Dad. The humans are bringing Dad right now, he’ll know what’s happening, he’ll sort all this out and you’ll be fine. You’ll be fine , okay?”

“What if this is permanent?! What if I never get my tail back?! What if I have to stay on land forever?!” Roman’s eyes blow wide with horror, and Logan feels his chest begin to tighten and seize up. 

“That - no, that’s not going to happen, Lo,” Roman says. “We’re going to save you. We’re going to bring you back to us. We’re not losing you. We’re not, do you hear me?” 

He sounds completely convinced. Logan isn’t convinced at all, but seeing his brother’s conviction still reassures him. He grabs at his brother’s hands, trying desperately to hold on to this little piece of his family. “I . . . I -!” 

“Hey, shhhhhh, don’t worry. I’m here, I’m here. Dad’s coming, and I’m here. It’s gonna be okay.” Roman leans up to press his soaking forehead against Logan’s newly dry one, and Logan leans into the soft touch. “I’m here. You’re our pod, Sharkbait. Even if the human legs are permanent, we’re not gonna just ditch you. You’re my brother. You and Dad are the only family that I have left anymore.” 

“You and Dad are the only family I have ever had,” Logan says. He can feel a strange type of water on his cheeks, and when he touches his face he realizes that he’s leaking too, just like Virgil had been earlier. 

“We’re not abandoning you.” 

Something clatters in the hallway, and he whirls around. Roman’s spines stiffen and flare out defensively, and Logan tries to prepare himself to flood the room with electricity before realizing with a sudden sinking feeling that he no longer has his electricity. He’s completely defenseless if he gets attacked right now. 

He thanks the Seven Mother Goddesses when he realizes that it’s just Virgil and the other human, coming with his dad in one of those little mobile oceans. They slide the mobile ocean to a halt next to Roman’s tank, and Patton launches himself in with a splash before reaching up to touch Logan’s hand. 

“Dad . . .” Logan says. He hates the way his voice trembles. “Dad, I . . . wh . . . what’s happening to me?” 

Oh, guppy, his dad says. I never wanted you to find out this way.

“Wh - what? What do you mean, find out this way, Dad? What am I supposed to find out?” 

“Um, would someone care to fill us in, please?” Virgil asks. Roman starts to translate for them, but everything that isn’t his dad’s voice fades away to static buzz in Logan’s ears. 

You weren’t born a mer. Not like Roman was, guppy. Haven’t you ever wondered why you only have one set of these? His dad’s gills flare out as he breathes, and Logan’s vision begins to blur. 

“Wh . . . what?” 

You were born as a human. You had a normal human life with normal human parents and a normal human family. But you were killed at sea, and your body was thrown into the ocean. It must have been a full moon, and the Seven Mother Goddesses must have taken pity on you and transformed you into a mer. It is rare, but I have heard of it happening. I had thought that you would spend your whole life in the ocean, and never know of your true origin, but it did not turn out that way. 

“I . . . I used to be . . . a what?” 

Roman’s eyes are wide, jaw slack. “You . . . Sharkbait, Dad says . . . he says . . . you were a . . . a human . . .”

“What?” Virgil whispers, eyes wide. “That . . . what?” 

Logan stares at his father. The water rippling above his face creates a distortion, but Logan swears that his father looks sad. Regretful. 

I am so sorry, guppy. When we found you, you were miserable. I knew that telling you what you had lost would only make you more so. I did not want that for you. I have never wanted that for you. For either of you . 

Logan runs his free hand down his leg again. It’s one of the weirdest physical sensations he’s ever encountered. “I . . . I used to be . . . human?” 

Not for centuries, guppy. You have been mer for far longer than you were ever human.

Roman stares at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes. Logan reaches for his brother, and Roman hesitates for just a moment before reaching back to take his hand. 

That moment is enough to break Logan’s heart. 

“Are - will you kick me out of your pod now?” he says, not even daring to refer to it as his pod. “Since I am not a real -”

A loud, furious screech rises up from the tank where his father is, and Logan gasps when he sees all of the little lights on the edges of his fins begin to flare so brightly he can’t bear to look. Roman shields his eyes, and Logan notices the two humans ducking down. Thomas throws his body over Virgil’s protectively, and the water in the tank begins to churn. 

DO NOT EVER PRESUME TO UTTER SUCH BLASPHEMIES AGAINST ME AGAIN, his father thunders, water surging up around him in a column as he rises up. YOU ARE MY SON, AND ANYONE WHO TELLS YOU OTHERWISE WILL FACE AN UNTIMELY END AT MY HANDS. The captured stars that illuminate the room begin to flicker, and Logan hears the humans whimper. 

“Dad! Dad, you have to calm down!” Logan shouts. “Please!” 

The figure in the column turns its glowing eyes on him, and Logan reaches a hand up. He doesn’t know if he can still speak his native tongue in this fragile human body, but he’s sure as hell going to try. 

“Dad! Please!” His voice is harsh and grating, and when he tries to speak his words all come out mangled and broken. “No fight! Stop! Please!” 

The water hovers in the air for only a moment more before abruptly falling back into the tank. His father coils around the bottom of the tank, regretful. I am sorry, guppy. I did not mean to get so . . . out of sorts.

“It’s alright, Dad,” Logan says. 

You and your brother are my pod. You are my guppies. I have known you since you were no bigger than my fin. I will not allow anything to threaten or harm you. You will always be a part of my pod, no matter what happens.

“Are you alright?” Thomas asks, still crouched protectively over Virgil. “Logan, is your dad okay?” 

“Yes, Thomas, he is.”

Apologize to him for me?

“He apologizes for terrifying you. It was not his intention. He simply gets . . . protective.” 

“Understandable,” Thomas shrugs. “I get the same way around my protege here.” 

“Doc!” Virgil hisses, face rapidly turning that strange red color humans sometimes turn. Logan notices that Virgil refuses to look at him, and he frowns. It feels as though his heart has been replaced with a sea urchin. 

“Are you upset with me, Virgil?” he says. 

Virgil blinks. “What? Why would you think that?” 

“You are not looking at me. You have not looked at me since I gained these human appendages. Have I angered you in some way? I do not understand, but I apologize for whatever I have done to -”

“No!” Virgil yelps. “God - no, Lo, I’m not mad at you,” he says. “I’m not mad, I promise. I’m sorry, I’m not mad, I just - you - you’re not wearing any clothes.” 

“What is ‘clothes’?” Roman asks. Virgil tugs at the coverings he wears. “Logan hasn’t worn those since he’s been here! None of us have!” 

“Yeah, but you guys aren’t - your lower halves - I -”

Logan blinks. “You are referring to my exposed genitalia?” 

Virgil turns even redder and makes a very strange squeaking noise, burying his face in his hands. “Yes! You need to put some clothes on, Jesus Christ, where were you even hiding that?!” 

“We have an area in our -”

“It was a rhetorical question and I very much do not want to know the answer!” Virgil shrieks. 

“I’ll get you some clothes,” Thomas says. “Virgil, can you -”

“I will go get the clothing!” Virgil says immediately, standing up and staring very fixedly at the floor. “I will get the clothing. I will go now.” 

“Get him a pair of my sweatpants and a t-shirt, okay?” Virgil nods, hurrying out of the lab as fast as Logan has ever seen him move. Logan squints after him as he goes. “Are you okay, Logan?” 

“I find that my vision is somewhat impaired,” Logan says. “I do not like this.” Thomas makes one of those strange human thinking noises and peers at Logan closely. Logan does his best not to flinch away from Thomas, peering back at him. Roman growls at Thomas’s proximity to Logan, but Logan doesn’t protest. 

“You had electroreception to help you see, right?” 

“That is correct.” 

“You don’t have it anymore, do you?” 

“I do not currently have access to my electricity.” Thomas makes another thinking noise and pulls a small white object from his pocket. It looks like the thing that Virgil makes his draws on, but when Thomas produces his stick he doesn’t make draws. He makes interesting-looking squiggles on the white thing. 

“I wonder if glasses would help you,” Thomas says. “We’ll have to explore that later, depending on how long you’re human like this.” Logan looks at his dad as a sudden burst of terror spikes through his chest. He hadn’t considered that this might last. 

“How - how long will I be like this, Dad?” he asks. Roman is staring at their father with a terrified anger painted openly across his face. “Will this be permanent? Will I have to stay here without you?” 

“Never,” Roman snarls, spines ruffling and standing on end. “I don’t care if you have legs forever, there’s no way I’m leaving you here with these humans! You’re not a human, you’re my brother!” Logan looks at his Dad, refusing to look anywhere else. He wants to hear the answer more than anything. He never wants to hear the answer. 

It has been a long time since I encountered a human-mer that changed frequently, his father says wearily. My memory of those times is fading now. Logan forgets, sometimes, how old their father is. But if my memories are correct, you will retain this form irreversibly for a full day and night. After that, you will regrow your tail and gills when you touch the water of the sea. Once you fully dry, your legs will return.

“What did he say?” Thomas asks gently. Logan feels something wet on his face, and lifts his hand up to feel it. “Are you okay? You’re crying.” 

“Is that what this is?” Logan asks. His voice sounds thick and far away, distant to his own ears. “I . . . I am leaking?” 

“You’re crying,” Thomas says. “It’s what humans do when we have so much emotion we don’t know how to express it properly. You’ll be alright.” He gently touches Logan’s shoulder, and such a simple gesture should send sparks shooting through Logan as though he’s accidentally shocked himself, but it does. “What did your dad say?”

“I - I will have these legs for a full day and night. After that, touching seawater will allow me to regrow my tail, and drying completely will allow me to grow legs again.” Thomas smiles, broad and happy, flashing his teeth as he squeezes his shoulder. 

“That’s amazing! So you’ll be able to rejoin your family and go home once your injuries heal, that’s good!” 

“What’s good?” Virgil calls, hurrying down the stairs with a bundle of strange objects in his arms. Thomas takes them from him, shaking them out and laying them over one of the nearby tables. 

“Logan’s gonna have his legs for a day, and then he’ll get his tail when he touches salt water. Once he completely dries off, he’ll get his legs back.” Virgil smiles at that, cheeks still pink, and Logan has to stop himself from reaching out to touch him. 

“That’s good. I’m glad he’ll get his tail back. But for now, we should get him into some clothes.” 

“Agreed. Logan, can you stand up?” Logan blinks at Thomas. 

“Can I . . . what?” 

Thomas gestures to the way he and Virgil are currently positioned. “Stand up, like this. Can you do that?” Logan tilts his head, frowning at the humans. They both move so easily through the air, the way that he and Roman and their dad move through the water. Logan’s never tried to do anything like that before - he’s never had legs before, no reason to think he would ever have them. But now that he has them, now that he’s stuck with them for at least the foreseeable future, doesn’t he owe it to himself to at least try? 

Something presses close in the back of his mind, sliding into the front and winding its way around his train of thought like an eel, like a tangled piece of seaweed, like the tentacles of an enormous squid: if he grows legs again and learns to use them properly, there is potential to come and visit these humans again, to visit Virgil again, and he cannot shake the way his entire body lights up with electric fire at the thought of regular visits and Virgil teaching him to make more draws and Virgil’s smile and Virgil’s quiet, stifled laughter and Virgil’s everything -

Logan’s not used to having two appendages below the waist. He’s used to just his tail, which moves all at once in a smooth, fluid motion. When he tries to turn, he’s shocked to see that the leg on the right moves, but the one on the left does not. There’s a painful tugging sensation between them when he spreads them too far apart, so he carefully moves his other leg. They swing over the edge of the table, dangling the way his tail sometimes does, and experimentally leans forward. 

The weird hands at the end of his legs touch the ground, and Logan frowns at the sensation. It’s cold, smooth stone - no, not stone, something else, something hard and smooth but decidedly not stone, something human-made - and he shivers a little. He’s unsure how to proceed until Thomas sits down next to him. 

“You’ve never stood up before, have you?” 

“I have never had legs before, to my knowledge. I mean . . . I must have had them when I was a human, but . . . but I do not remember that time.” 

“Not at all?” Virgil asks. He’s looking in Logan’s direction now, although his eyes appear to be fixated somewhere above Logan’s head. “Nothing of your human life?” 

“No,” Logan says softly. “I have no memories of my human life. I did not even know I had a human life, before recently.” Virgil makes a noise that might be sad, might be angry, might be confused, might be a million different things. Before Logan can even blink, Virgil is standing in front of him, holding his hands out, eyes staring straight into Logan’s. 

“Here,” he says softly. 

“Here what?” 

“Here, take my hands. I’ll help you.” 

Logan hesitates for only a moment before reaching up and placing his hands into Virgil’s. His hands are broad and warm, and there are rough patches around his fingers and the parts of his hand where they connect, but they’re also soft and comforting. He squeezes Logan’s hands and smiles gently at him. “You’re gonna be alright,” he says softly. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall and get hurt. Well, more than you already are, anyway.” Virgil huffs out a soft laugh and takes a step backward, pulling Logan along. 

Logan manages to stand for a few precious, wobbly seconds, holding Virgil’s hands tightly all the while, before wobbling and pitching forward. Virgil surges toward him, and Logan closes his eyes to brace himself for an imminent collision with the floor. 

Instead, his face presses into something soft and warm and still strong, and arms wrap around him, and he hears Virgil make a soft, almost wounded noise. “Gotcha!” Logan opens his eyes to find himself slumped against Virgil, having all but collapsed into him, and Virgil’s arms are wound around him tightly. Logan looks up, and Virgil’s face is close, closer than it’s ever been. His eyes are bright and wide, and his little brown face scales (what had Virgil called them? Freckles?) are prominent against the pink of his cheeks, and his mouth is open in a soft little pink round shape that Logan wants more than anything to touch. 

They stare at each other for a time that could be forever or fantastically short. Suddenly, Virgil’s face jumps from pretty pink to burning red, and he begins to sputter. Logan blinks at him, and then he realizes what Virgil has noticed. Virgil’s position is changed now that he’s caught Logan, now that he’s holding Logan, and his hands are dangerously close to Logan’s exposed genitalia.

Virgil pushes forward, shifting Logan’s body along with his own, and Logan lets him without resistance. He lets himself be maneuvered into a standing position, and even though Virgil has returned to not looking at him, he keeps Logan’s hands tightly in his own. “Let’s get some clothes on you before we try walking, okay?” 

Logan nods, letting Virgil change and adjust his positioning to keep him steady. Thomas hands something to Virgil, who reaches out and carefully pushes it over Logan’s head. “Here we go . . . let me help you, let me move your arms. This way, through this hole . . . careful, I don’t wanna get your head stuck . . .”

Before Logan knows what’s happening, the clothes has been securely pulled around the upper half of his body. Thomas holds the other clothes, crumpling them up strangely and wrapping a hand around Logan’s leg. “Lift . . . here, through here . . . good, now put that one down, you’re gonna lift the other one . . . whoa, don’t lose your balance now, Virgil, catch him -! There we go, you’re all suited up! Just gotta pull these up, aaaaaand . . . done!” 

Logan pulls at the clothes around him. The one over his chest is loose and baggy, and the ones around his new legs pool around the strange flat hands. “What are these?” Logan asks. Virgil touches the clothes over his chest. 

“This is a shirt.” His hand travels down to point to the one around his legs. “These are called pants.” 

“Oh - thank you, but I - I meant, what are these?” Logan lifts his leg and carefully wiggles the flat hand on the end of it. Virgil tilts his head, leaning down to poke it. 

“Your feet?” 

“A feet?” 

Virgil laughs, and Logan wants to hear that sound forever. “Feet is plural. You have two feet, one foot on each leg.”

“They look like flat hands,” Logan says honestly. “And the fingers are more terrible than my other ones.” Virgil laughs more, one hand coming up to cover his eyes. 

“Those are called toes, Logan, they don’t have the dexterity of your fingers. They’re mostly there to help you balance while you walk.” 

“I do not know how to do that.” 

“What, balance?”

“No. Walk.” Virgil smiles at him, soft as sunshine filtering through the warm spring water. 

“I can teach you, if you’re interested. I know you won’t have legs for very long, but -”

“I am,” Logan blurts out. “Interested. Very much so. I dislike being immobile in any context. Would you be so kind as to teach me?”

Virgil smiles, and Logan wants to see that sight forever. “Of course, Logan.” 

*~*~*~*~*

“You can see here, ma’am, that our section D nets have been overwhelmingly productive this month. We have acquired many fine specimens and -”

“What of your progress in locating net 17-C?” 

“We . . . have not yet located it, ma’am.” 

“And are you still trying to locate net 17-C?” 

“I . . .”

The scientist quails under the icy weight of her stare. “You do understand that when I specifically request something done, it is because I consider it to be of the highest priority, do you not?” 

“I do, ma’am.” 

“And you do understand that I am in control, not only of your gainful employment, your livelihood, but also your very life at this present moment.” 

“I - I do, ma’am.”

“You have a husband and a young daughter at home, do you not?” She stares at him, and he does his very best not to flinch. He swallows, hard. 

“That - that I do.” 

“Such a shame, wouldn’t it be, if they were to receive a call that you were never again to come home?” 

“It - it certainly would, m - ma’am.” 

“Then I suggest you divert all available resources to locating net 17-C. I will not let whatever it captured escape me a second time. I want that net found and I want whatever it captured in my labs as soon as possible, or I will have to make a very unpleasant phone call - well, unpleasant for you, at the very least.” 

The scientist nods, swallowing, and watches her walk away, shoes clicking against the floor. He downs what’s left of his morning coffee and pulls up his screen again, combing through drone footage by hand. 

She makes her way back to her office, where her secretary waits with a tablet in her hand. “I tire of constantly reminding them their priorities,” she sighs, slumping onto the couch. The secretary smiles sympathetically, pulling up a screen with a string of ominous red text. 

“Would you like me to terminate him, ma’am?” 

“No, not yet. For all his incompetence, he is a decent scientist, and I do not feel like searching for a replacement. Besides, now that he has been reminded of his proper task, I have hopes that he will perform as expected.” 

“Would you like me to update you on the progress of our experiments in the labs, or would you prefer that I continue to monitor the search for net 17-C?” 

“There will likely not be news of net 17-C for a while, since I had to kickstart the research myself. Inform me of the progress on my experiments.” 

“Of course, ma’am. Let me pull up the data. Which experiment would you prefer to receive an update for first?” 

“Oh . . . how is the toxicity of that jelly-pufferfish hybrid coming along? Any promising results?” 

“Efficacy appears to have increased by twenty percent since implementing the use of CRISPR technology you recommended, ma’am. You were correct, as always. The final round of animal testing is scheduled for later this week. Is this acceptable, or should we push it forward?” 

“Hmmm . . . that timeline is acceptable, for now. Am I correct in assuming that plans are already underway for human trials?” 

“I have reached out to the usual suppliers with our demands, ma’am. Still waiting for response.” 

“How long?” 

“Approximately twelve hours. I anticipate a response before twenty-four.” 

“Satisfactory. If you do not receive one within that time frame, you may begin to initiate appropriate measures. On to the next.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” The secretary dutifully runs through four or five more experiments in progress, most of which are still in the midst of animal testing, and a few experiments revolving around live specimens in captivity. “That just brings us to the results of the weather analysis you requested.” 

“Ah, yes.” She sits up, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “The weather patterns from the night that net 17-C was disrupted. Have you tracked the tidal movement?” 

“I have, ma’am.”

“Accounting for wind and wave conditions?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“What have you found?” Her eyes burn with the intensity of a supernova, and it is only through experience and practice that the secretary does not flinch under such a sight. She only swipes across the tablet to pull up a map of the shoreline and turns it around.

“With the greatest possible degree of scientific certainty, we believe that this area is the most likely place for net 17-C to have washed up.” Red slashes denote a stretch of beach around three miles long. She hums, poking at the tablet in the secretary’s hand. 

“I trust you have done the cursory research? Who owns the property?”

“I encountered a brief legal snafu, but it was nothing I could not overcome. If I am not mistaken, the results should be coming in riiiiiiiight . . . now.” The tablet dings, and the secretary turns it around to inspect the property report she has received. She is unable to control her disgusted expression. 

“What? You seem distressed.” 

“It appears, ma’am, that the property in question, as well as all surrounding areas, is under the direct ownership of one Doctor Thomas Sanders.” She scowls, reaching to the bun in her hair and pulling out a hairpin. With precision efficiency, she whirls around and throws it towards the far wall. It impales itself neatly in the center of a cluster of small holes. 

“That man has been a thorn in my side for far too long,” she snarls. “What with his insistence on preservation and rehabilitation and other such nonsense. The earth is at our disposal! Do we not have the right - nay, the responsibility - as scientists to advance human progress? If other creatures must suffer, they lack the cognizance to understand that they are sacrificed for the greater good. Humanity above all must progress.” 

“Do you think he found net 17-C?” the secretary asks carefully. 

And whatever it caught, she doesn’t say. 

“It is possible. I know that he beachcombs with that brainwashed doctoral student he keeps on a leash after storms. It’s pathetic. The larger your heart, the smaller your brain. How that man acquired a doctorate will forever remain a mystery to me.” 

“Would you like me to increase drone patrols near that section of ocean?” 

“It can’t hurt. He doesn’t do enough deep-water research to notice them, as long as we are clever about it. Increase the frequency, and set up remote surveillance on his property. It’s fairly secluded, but we should be able to glean enough data if we’re careful.”

“And what sort of data are we looking for, ma’am?” 

“I want the schedule of comings and goings from his house. If we can isolate times when the house is empty, it will allow us access to his laboratory. I am certain that if net 17-C truly did wash ashore on his property, Sanders will be attempting to rehabilitate whatever specimen we acquired. He is too soft for science.” 

“Very good, ma’am.” 

“I want you to set up the lab to receive new specimens.”

“Which lab, ma’am?”

“My personal lab. Whatever net 17-C managed to catch, it is clearly troublesome. It will require a firm hand to manage.”

The secretary is stunned, but doesn’t show it. “As you wish, ma’am. What type of specimen shall I prepare your lab for?” 

“Anything in the sunfish to great white range. And prepare it for human containment as well.”

“Moving straight to human testing, ma’am?” 

She grins, teeth flashing in the harsh afternoon sunlight. “Sanders stole something precious from me when he took net 17-C and whatever it contains. Let us see how well his soft heart reacts when he loses something precious to him, hmm?” 

The secretary makes a note. “Shall I prepare the room for vivisection, ma’am?” 

“Hmm . . . not yet. We shall hold off until we discover what exactly net 17-C caught. You are dismissed.” 

“As you wish, ma’am.” 

*~*~*~*~*

Virgil definitely feels much more comfortable now that Logan has clothing on. He also feels much more uncomfortable, because Logan and Roman are now fighting loudly. Patton is swimming around in his tank, fins swishing irritably, and the occasional grating melody floats up from the water, but neither merman seems to be listening. 

“You seem to be doing just fine!” Roman snarls. All of his spines are standing straight up on end, and he looks like a sea urchin or a particularly enraged porcupine. Virgil would be laughing if he wasn’t completely terrified. “Not a care in the world about your precious fucking legs, is there?” 

“I am just as upset over this as you are!” Logan snaps. He’s returned to sitting on the lab table, legs neatly folded underneath him (not without a significant amount of effort), and his hands are shaking as he balls them into fists. He’s staring in Roman’s direction, but his eyes are unfocused, probably due to his poor eyesight. 

“Really? Because you certainly seem to be perfectly fine with the situation! You like the humans well enough to abandon your own pod for them?! Were you ever even part of this pod to begin with?!” 

Logan’s spine stiffens, ramrod straight. Patton stops moving in his little tank. Virgil holds his breath and stands silent, making eye contact with an equally silent Thomas. “What?” Logan’s voice is so quiet that they can barely hear it, barely more than an exhale, but it echoes like a gunshot in the silence. 

“You heard me,” Roman bites out viciously. “What would you know about pod? What do you know about family? Dad gave you everything and you’re willing to throw it away for - for these humans?! I guess it takes a human to know one, doesn’t it? You have a pod already, one that loves you more than anything , one that would have given up their own lives to get you back and then you abandon us for strangers?! How dare you?! How dare you give up on a pod that actually fucking wanted you?!” 

There are tears streaming down Roman’s face; he grips the edge of the tank so hard that Virgil is legitimately concerned he’ll crack the glass. Water roars up from Patton’s tank in a coiled stream and smacks Roman’s head. The music picks up in tempo and volume, almost drowned by the harsh rasping undertones, and Virgil fights not to cover his ears. 

Roman whirls around to stare at his father. “Dad, what the hell, what are you -”

A tail appears from Patton’s tank, light blue that shimmers rainbow beneath the fluorescent lights, and it slaps down against Roman. Virgil can’t stop himself from whimpering nervously when Roman’s agitated spines prick Patton. One spine even remains stuck in Patton’s tail when he pulls back, but he doesn’t seem bothered. 

“How,” Logan says, “could you possibly interpret my curiosity and gratitude towards the humans who saved my life and my interest in a culture I know nothing about as abandonment? You have no idea how distraught I was when I realized where I had woken up! Just because these humans turned out to be relatively harmless does not mean that I do not still need my pod!” His voice is getting louder and higher and angrier, and he swallows hard before speaking again with a distinct tremor. 

“I still need my big brother and my father, Roman. I was so happy when you and Dad came for me, I was so happy to know that my pod was going to protect me and bring me home. Are - are you telling me that . . . that I will not be able to return home with you after all? Are you kicking me out of -”

“NO!” The noise tears its way out of Roman’s throat, strangled and unnatural, and he grips his own hair so tightly he’s practically tearing it out. Logan reaches down hesitantly, gently touching Roman’s hands, and when his brother doesn’t react negatively he carefully disentangles Roman’s fingers from his hair. 

“Roman,” Logan says softly. “I am right here. I will not leave you, Roman. I promise. I am sorry I scared you, but I will not abandon you. Not like they did.”

“Who?” Virgil asks softly. Roman’s spines ruffle again, but they soften enough for Logan to lean in and hug his brother. Roman pushes his face into the curve of Logan’s neck and shoulder, and a keening wail escapes the tight embrace. “Is he alright?” 

“He will be,” Logan says softly, stroking his hand through Roman’s soaking wet hair. “And to answer your question, Roman has a . . . somewhat complicated past.” 

“You don’t have to tell us anything that you don’t want to,” Thomas says. “You know that, right?” Logan nods, gently touching Roman’s shoulder. 

“Roman? Thomas and Virgil are asking questions about the manner in which you found Patton when you were young. May I disclose this information?” Roman makes another sad noise, but he nods into Logan’s shoulder. 

“Roman was born to a pod of mer with similar physiology to his own as far as coloring, build, size, detachable spines, and the like. Unlike them, however, Roman’s spines are poisonous. This is a rare trait, thought by his birth pod to be a curse from the Seven Mother Goddesses for some failing on the part of the guppy or the parents. Roman managed to successfully conceal his toxins for a while, but . . .”

“But not forever,” Virgil says softly. He rubs his left wrist, where a small rainbow-patterned bracelet is tightly tied. “Eventually, they found out. They always find out.” Thomas shoots him a concerned look out of the corner of his eye; Virgil steadfastly ignores it.

Logan nods quietly. “When Roman’s so-called ‘curse’ was discovered, his pod cast him out. They believed that getting rid of him would lift the curse the Seven Mother Goddesses had placed on them. All things considered, he was relatively lucky that his mother was the daughter of their pod leader.” 

“She was? Does that make him some kind of prince or something?” 

“No, but it did accord him a status and prestige that most mer do not have. The standard penalty for poisonous spines on a mer is death in Roman’s part of the ocean.” 

“Death?” 

“Indeed. Roman’s mother pleaded for leniency for her son, and Roman’s lucky to have received it. They abandoned him to fend for himself as a guppy. He was barely old enough to fend for himself, barely old enough to hunt and catch his own food, he - he was a guppy. He was just a guppy.” Logan’s voice shakes with anger as he speaks. 

“How did he find Patton?” 

“Dad was injured,” Roman rasps, face still hidden in Logan’s neck. “Humans on a boat. They - they fired a harpoon at him. It went through his chest, he - he couldn’t move to hunt. He was injured, he was dying, he . . .” 

Patton rears up out of his tank, water surrounding his head and neck, and reaches out to touch Roman’s shoulder. Virgil can’t tear his eyes away from the pale starburst scar covering Patton’s chest. He’s littered with scars, some bigger than others, but the starburst on his chest is the most prominent, raised and ropey. 

“I helped him,” Roman says. “I brought him food, I bandaged him up, I scared away as many predators as I could . . .” 

Patton responds, squeezing his shoulder, before he sinks back into the tank. “When Dad recovered, he . . . he told me that he wanted me. I told him I was cursed, and he told me that . . . that I was special. That he wanted me. And he . . .”

Roman touches the band of light blue scales on his left bicep, the band that matches Logan’s arm and Patton’s tail. “He told me I belonged to him. That I was part of his pod now. Dad and Lo, they’re the only family I’ve known for centuries now. I love them. I . . . I can’t lose them. I can’t.” 

“You will not lose me,” Logan says firmly. “I swear that I will not abandon you or Dad. I have never had a family before the two of you, and I never will again. You are so indescribably important to me that I cannot possibly begin to put into words how devastated I would be if I were to wake up and find out that you had abandoned me. I love you, Roman, and Dad.” 

“I know that,” Roman rasps quietly. “I’m sorry I implied that you didn’t. I - I just - I was so -”

“I know,” Logan says. “I am not mad, Roman. Not anymore.” 

“That’s why this whole thing happened,” Roman says. Virgil watches his hand curl into a fist on Logan’s back. “We were fighting, and I . . . made you mad at me, and that’s why you swam off. I . . . I can’t . . . I can’t wrap my head around losing you again, and having it be all my fault, again .”

“It was not your fault the first time,” Logan admonishes. “We were fighting because we can both be stubborn and hard-headed and unable to recognize the truth in the words of another. We are both to blame for the argument, but neither of us is to blame for what the humans did to me.” 

Virgil’s gaze lingers on the freshly re-wrapped bandages covering what’s visible of Logan’s arms and legs and torso. When he’d grown legs, the wounds on his tail had transferred, and some of them had been reopened. Virgil had very deliberately not looked at Logan’s face when he cleaned the wounds. 

“This is not your fault,” Logan says firmly, holding Roman tightly. “You are not to blame for what happened to me. I did not die, and I was not captured by humans who seek to exploit me. Thomas and Virgil rescued me.” 

Roman turns his head from where it’s hidden in Logan’s shoulder to look at Virgil. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “For saving my brother’s life. For bringing him off the beach and wrapping his wounds and cleaning the poison from his body. He would have died if you hadn’t saved him. I - I know that I’ve been . . . less than happy to see you, to be in your little fake oceans. I’ve had . . . bad experiences with humans in the past, so many, with so many different humans. But I . . . you . . . thank you. You and Thomas both, but . . . but I understand that you were the one who found him first. That you’ve been talking him through all of this. Thank you.” 

Virgil reaches a hand forward. Roman flinches a little, but he slowly takes Virgil’s hand. His hand is wet and scaled, but when Virgil squeezes he squeezes back. 

“You’re welcome,” Virgil says. 

“You’re welcome,” Thomas says. “And all three of you are more than welcome to stay here in our lab until we catch whoever it is that set the net. You’re welcome to go and hunt in the waters off our property, and you can bring it back here for Logan to eat or we can bring in fish to feed him.” 

Patton’s voice floats through the air again. “We . . . we think we would like that,” Roman says softly. “Very much.” 

“Roman,” Logan says. Roman turns to look up at his younger brother, and Logan quietly says, “I intend to return here, once I am fully healed.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Virgil is different to any other human I’ve ever encountered. Thomas as well. They are . . . strange. Tolerable. I would like to learn more about human customs, and I think that they can teach me. I would like to practice using my legs, so that I can interact more efficiently with humans. They can teach me to blend in more efficiently.” 

“You would willingly come back here?” Roman says. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Sharkbait, what if something happens to you?” 

“I would never let that happen,” Virgil says. Thomas raises an eyebrow, and Virgil quickly amends his statement. “ We would never let that happen. Doc and I, we won’t let anything happen to your brother.” 

Roman frowns. “I still don’t like this. I don’t like the idea of you coming back to the human world, especially after what happened to you. Dad, what do you think?” Patton is quiet for a moment, swishing around in his tank, but when his voice is audible again it sounds firm, determined. 

“What?!” 

“What?” Virgil asks. “What did he say?” 

“He . . . agrees with me,” Logan says, eyes wide and stunned. “He thinks it is a good idea that I learn to stay here and blend in with the humans. It would be a good idea in case we need to know what is happening in the human world. And he . . . he thinks I am capable of making my own decisions.” Roman looks extremely upset, but Patton is still speaking. He sounds a little softer now. 

“Dad says that if you are agreeable with it, he and Roman might also return to visit,” Logan says. “He wants to know more about humans as well, and he trusts the two of you since you took care of me and helped him find me again.” 

“I’m not opposed to it,” Thomas says. “We can learn from each other - we teach you about humans, you teach us about mer. Roman, we could start with you.” Roman tenses up immediately. 

“Me? What do you mean, me?” 

“The poison in your spines,” Thomas says, He turns to Virgil, a familiar didactic twinkle in his eye. “Any speculations, Virgil?” 

Virgil hums, stepping over to the whiteboard and pulling a marker from his pocket. “It could be Mendelian inheritance. Poison could be a recessive gene, something that only occurs under a very specific set of genetic circumstances.” 

“What does that mean?” Roman says, sounding a little less suspicious than before. 

“There’s something inside you called DNA,” Virgil says, drawing a very basic helix on the whiteboard. “It makes up your blood and your cells and stuff, and it’s basically the pattern that your body uses to make itself. Your parents had the potential for poisonous spines, and the majority of your birth pod probably had it, too.”

“But only I have poison,” Roman says. “Why is that?” 

“Look at it this way,” Virgil says. “You need at least two copies of a certain sequence or pattern in order to have poison in your spines. Your parents each had one copy, and most of the other mer in your pod either had one copy or no copies. You were born with two copies, so you have poison.” 

“So . . . I’m not cursed?” Roman sounds like a small child, painfully hopeful, eyes wide and flickering between doubt and happiness. 

“No, you are not,” Virgil says firmly. “You are not cursed in the slightest.” 

“I never believed that you were cursed,” Logan says firmly. “Your poison is a gift, just like my electricity. It makes you a more efficient predator and offers you more protection.” Roman rolls his eyes and scoffs, but he still hugs Logan more tightly.

“Would you permit us to study your spines?” Thomas asks Roman. “I want to analyze your poison.” 

“Will it hurt?” Roman asks. 

“No. Your spines are detachable, right? You can fire them at will?” 

“I can.”

“All you would have to do is fire a spine or two, and we could analyze it. It doesn’t have to be right now, you can think about it, but I promise you that it wouldn’t hurt you anymore than firing your spines normally would.” Roman nods at him, and Patton speaks again. 

“Dad says you are more than welcome to study him, if you wish, so long as you tell him what you are doing beforehand and ask his permission.” 

“Same goes for me,” Roman says quickly.

“Of course,” Thomas says. “We would never perform any sort of science without your explicit consent. That’s not how we operate. We’re ethical scientists. I’d have you sign consent forms if, y’know, you knew how to write.” 

Virgil laughs a little, but Roman and Logan seem genuinely reassures. Roman presses close to Logan with a soft noise before slithering back into the water and submerging both of his sets of gills again. 

Logan shifts his attention to Virgil. “I have a question.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I would like to see what my face looks like. Is there a way in which that could be made possible? I have seen my face when I still had my tail, in reflections on the surface of the water, but I can no longer feel the scales on my face. I suspect that my appearance has changed in more ways than just my legs.” 

“I can get a mirror,” Virgil says. “Wait here, okay?” He hurries to his bedroom and grabs the small mirror he uses to put on his eyeshadow before running back down to the laboratory. “This should work.” 

Logan takes the mirror and holds it close to his face, squinting. “He’s definitely nearsighted,” Thomas mutters, poking at his phone screen. “I wonder if there’s anything we can do about that . . .” 

Virgil is distracted by the soft happy noise that Logan makes, nose pressed so close to the mirror it’s almost touching. “Virgil! Look at my face! We match now!” 

“What?” Logan looks up, eyes gleaming, and touches his cheek and nose. Where he’d previously had a mask-like band of dark blue scales (which Virgil suspects might double as electroreceptors), there is now a band of dense freckles. They thin on his forehead, clustering thickest under his eyes and splashed across the bridge of his nose. 

“I have brown face scales just like you!” Logan’s joy is almost palpable, and his eyes are wide and sparkling. He is full of a pure, childlike wonder, and Virgil can’t stop the laughter bubbling up in his chest from flying through his throat and spilling into the air. 

“They’re called freckles,” Virgil says happily, “and you’re right. We do match.” 

“I am very happy that I match the first nice human I have ever met,” Logan says, grinning widely. Virgil can’t stop himself from smiling back, even with Thomas’s mocking facial expressions in the corner of his eye.

Yeah, he’s pretty damn happy about it, too.

[teacupfulofstarshine]

living in the real world (ain’t it fun) CHAPTER 8

cw: swearing, tension, angst, antagonistic behaviors, anxiety attack

wordcount: ~3.6k

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // read it on ao3!! 

“Do you want to be carried inside, or can you walk?” 

Anxiety, who’s spent the entire car ride curled into a tight ball between Logan and Thomas and very distinctly not touching either of them, startles like he’s been electrocuted. “What?!” Thomas raises his hands in careful surrender, watching Anxiety, doing his best to keep a handle on the panic attack that’s been building in his chest for the past few hours. It’s hard to parse his own fear from Anxiety’s fear. 

Then again, Anxiety himself is a manifestation of Thomas’s fear, so it probably doesn’t matter as much if he separates the two. 

“We’re home.” Thomas keeps his voice low and soft, like he’s talking to a child who’s just scraped their knee or a feral cat. “Do you want me to carry you inside, or can you walk?” 

“Why the fuck would you carry me?!” Patton opens his mouth in the driver’s seat, like he’s going to call out Anxiety’s language, but Thomas shakes his head and Patton shuts his mouth. Roman hunches in on himself in the passenger seat, glaring out the windshield. 

“You got hurt when Roman -”

“Tackled and hog-tied me like a lamb for the fucking slaughter?” 

“Something like that, yes.” 

“Well, I”m fine. I can walk by myself.” Logan opens the door, and Anxiety scrambles over him and slithers out into the garage. Logan blinks at his lap, startled, and Anxiety hunches in on himself next to the door into the house. 

“That was . . . unprecedented.” 

“You’re not wrong.” 

“Are we seriously just going to allow him to live with us?” Roman hisses. “He’s a villain , Thomas, did you forget? All he does is hurt you, and now we’re supposed to welcome him into our home and just accept him?!” 

“It’s important to be nice to everyone!” Patton says. “Anxiety may be a little gloomy, but he’s still part of Thomas! I think we should try to -”

“How do you know that he won’t turn on us -”

“If you just give him a chance -”

“I must admit that it does not seem advantageous to willingly accept an antagonist into our midst -”

“He’s only an antagonist because we constantly fight with him -” 

“Enough!” Thomas snaps, throwing his hands up in exasperation. All three sides in the car fall silent. “It’s late. We’re exhausted, we’re over-emotional, and none of us are thinking clearly enough to deal with this situation. We should all go inside and go to bed. We’ll work on this more in the morning, okay?” 

He looks to where Anxiety bristles next to the door. He’s clearly heard everything, and he’s biting his lower lip like he has a personal vendetta against it. “Does that work for you, Anxiety?” 

“Why does it matter what he thinks?” Roman mutters. Anxiety flips him off. 

“You didn’t answer me, Anxiety. Can we address this in the morning?” Anxiety flips his hood up to hide his face, but he flashes a thumbs-up at Thomas before shoving his hands back into his hoodie pockets. “Cool. Inside the house, all of you.” 

Thomas saw a picture on the internet, once, an intricately painted crow with the text slogan “Dealing with you is like herding cats.” He thinks that trying to corral all his sides is a little bit like that.

*~*~*~*~*

It takes Roman approximately fifteen minutes of jumping up and down on the manual pump of Thomas’s air mattress before Logan can dredge up the memory of how to work the automatic pump. Patton makes a huge pot of tea, while Anxiety huddles in a ball on the chair. 

“Do any of you need pajamas? You’ve all been sleeping in these clothes this past little while, but I don’t know how comfortable that is . . .” 

“We do not require a change of clothes,” Logan says. “However, I will be the first to confess that these pants are not the most conducive to sleeping.” 

Thomas rifles through his drawers and pulls out some older, oversized t-shirts and comfortable sleep pants and sweatpants. Roman and Patton fit easily into his clothes, but Logan has to pull the drawstring almost comically tight to get the pajamas to stay up around his slender teenager-sized hips. “Anxiety? Do you wanna take off your -”

“I’m not taking off my jacket.” Anxiety jerks backwards so sharply that he collides with the headboard of the bed. Thomas tenses in preparation for stinging pain when he hears Anxiety’s head crack against the wood, but he doesn’t feel anything at all. Anxiety hisses out pain through his teeth, rubbing his head, but judging from their confusion the other sides don’t feel anything either. Thomas considers questioning Anxiety, but decides it’s a problem for another day. 

“Okay. I don’t know if I have any sweatpants small enough to fit you . . ."

“It’s fine. I’ll just sleep in my jeans.” Anxiety toes off his sneakers and kicks them to the corner of the room. His socks are purple with black toe and heel patches. 

“That’s gotta be uncomfortable, though,” Patton says. “Do you want shorts instead?” Thomas rummages around more and finds an old pair of exercise shorts that have been hiding crammed in the back of his drawer. He hasn’t worn them in years; they’re the only thing here that has a chance of fitting Anxiety. 

Anxiety snatches the shorts from Thomas’s hands and inspects them suspiciously before disappearing into the bathroom. He shuffles back out holding his torn jeans. The shorts are old, with frayed hems, and they come down past Anxiety’s knees. Patton lets out a soft squealing noise, covering his mouth, eyes lighting up, and Thomas feels a well of cutecutecuteOHMYGOODNESSIT’SSOFUCKINGCUTE surge up inside him. 

“What?” Anxiety snaps defensively. 

“Do you think those will work, kiddo?” Patton asks. Anxiety’s pale face colors slightly pink and he shrinks back into his hoodie. 

“They’re fine.” His voice is quiet, but it’s the least hostile it’s ever been. “It’s fine. Who’s sleeping where.” 

“You’re sleeping on the bed.” All four sides whip their heads around to stare at Thomas in shock. “He just got dragged through the forest and tied up. He’s not sleeping on the air mattress.” 

“Fine by me,” Roman shrugs. “I’ll sleep on the air mattress with Patton and Logan if you wanna stay in your bed, Thomas, but I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to spend time in the same bed as that foul rapscallion.” 

“And I wouldn’t blame him for not wanting to sleep next to you, Princey, you reek of overpriced hair gel and failed ambition.” Roman’s entire body bristles, but Thomas cuts in before they can hurl anymore insults. 

“I’ll sleep on the bed with Anxiety. You three take the air mattress. We’ll sort out our shit in the morning, okay?” They all nod at him, and Thomas heads into the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he comes out again, Anxiety is curled at the foot of the bed like a cat, a decorative pillow tucked under his head. “Anxiety, what are you doing?” 

“Sleeping on the bed. Isn’t that what you told me to do?”

“I didn’t mean for you to sleep on the edge of the bed like a dog.” Thomas pulls the covers back and ushers Anxiety into the bed. “Get under the covers, you’ll freeze out here. The air conditioner is cranked all the way up.” 

Anxiety eyes him warily. “I’m not fucking snuggling with you or anything.” Roman mutters something from the air mattress; Anxiety immediately hisses at him and flips him off. 

“I’m not asking you to, Anxiety. I just want you to be comfortable.” 

“Right,” Anxiety drawls, “because I’ll be comfortable all night surrounded by people who hate me. I’m sure whether or not I sleep under the covers is the most important thing here.” 

“If you’re not comfortable here, why don’t you just leave?” Anxiety stiffens, and Roman looks smug until Thomas steps in. 

“No, we’re not doing that.” He looks at Anxiety. “If you don’t want to get under the covers, that’s fine, but at least let me give you a blanket?” Anxiety fidgets with his hands, but nods, and Thomas digs out a soft blanket from the tub underneath his bed and passes it over. Anxiety accepts it, curling up on the foot of the bed. He puts his back to Thomas and stares at the other three sides on the air mattress. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Roman asks. 

“Making sure you can’t attack me in my sleep.” 

“And you trust Thomas?” 

“Thomas didn’t hold a sword to my throat.” 

Thomas feels another tension headache growing and slides into bed, praying that sleep comes easily. 

*~*~*~*~*

Despite the turmoil in his head and his heart, Thomas manages to fall asleep. He wakes up in the morning to hear the soft, even breathing of his sides from the floor. Thomas stretches out carefully, trying not to kick Anxiety, but his feet hit open air. 

He sits bolt upright. The pillow and blanket are mussed on the foot of his bed, but Anxiety isn’t there. Thomas knows that Anxiety is still in the room, and when he crawls to the end of the bed, he sees the other sides asleep on the air mattress. Patton is on his stomach, gently snoring; Roman has one arm and one leg splayed out off the side as he lays on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, mouth hanging open; Logan is sandwiched between them on his back, arms folded over his stomach. 

Thomas pokes around the room. He knows that Anxiety is in here somewhere, because he can’t feel the painful pull of the distance limit in his chest, but he can’t seem to find him. Eventually, he settles back into his bed for another few hours of uneasy sleep. 

When he wakes up again, it’s to Roman and Patton awake and pulling on their clothes. Logan sits up, sleepily rubbing his eyes as he fumbles for his glasses. “Where’s doom and gloom?” Roman asks, uneasily eying the bed. Thomas feels a burst of indignationangerresentmentsadness in his chest. 

“I don’t know where he is, but it’s somewhere in this room. Can you three go wait in the hallway?” 

“What? Why?” 

“You three make Anxiety nervous.”

“He’s Anxiety,” Roman says. “He’s nothing but nervous!” Thomas exhales in irritation and crosses his arms. 

“I don’t know anything about him except what you guys tell me.” 

“You don’t trust us?” Roman presses a hand over his heart, wounded. 

“I do trust you. But I also know that all of you have your biases. I wanna get to know Anxiety on his own before I let your ideas of him cloud my judgement.” Patton smiles encouragingly at him, and Logan gives him a calm, reassuring nod. Roman huffs, but he unfolds his arms. 

“I suppose that makes sense. However, I must warn you to be careful, Thomas. If he attacks you -” Thomas burns with negativity at the insinuation. “- you need only summon us!” He, Patton, and Logan shuffle out into the hallway, and Logan pulls the door closed behind him. 

Thomas gives himself a minute, taking slow, measured breaths to try and quell the panic and anxiety and sadness and anger roiling inside him like a pot boiling over, and then he exhales. “Okay. I know you’re still in here, Anxiety. Can you please come out now?” 

There’s no verbal response, but he can hear Anxiety shuffling around and he can feel his nerves spiking. Thomas sighs, reaching out to make a summoning gesture. “Anxiety, come here. Now.” 

More shuffling noises, and then a head of brown-and-purple hair pokes out from beneath the bed. Anxiety crawls out and scrambles up onto the bed, looking anywhere but at Thomas. “Were - did you sleep under there?” 

Anxiety winces. “It’s safe under there. Princey can’t find me.” 

“Is - is that where you’ve been the whole time?” 

“Not the whole time, but when you were in this room, yes. When we first manifested, I woke up before everyone else did, and I panicked, so I hid under the bed before anyone who see me and attack me.” Anxiety rubs his right fist into his left palm. 

“Why haven’t I seen you before?” 

“No one wanted me to be here, so I did my best to camouflage myself. It’s not hard to hide from people who aren’t looking for you.” Anxiety’s voice is relatively quiet, but it feels like he’s screaming. “I’m sorry, Thomas.” 

Thomas is very confused by this complete one-eighty. He’d been gearing up to apologize to Anxiety himself, and now he gets an apology? “For what?” 

“I hid from you instead of letting you know I was here, I was stupid enough to let you see me when I had already decided I wasn’t gonna let you see me, I was trying to stop you from crashing the car but you almost crashed it because you saw me, which I understand but it fucking hurts me that you see me as a monster -”

Thomas opens his mouth to interrupt, but Anxiety is clearly just getting started. His shoulders hitch as he curls in on himself, beginning to rock back and forth just slightly in panic. Thomas’s chest burns with his pain. 

“ - and I bit Princey, which I’m not sorry for because yeah, he fucking deserved that, asshole, but it hurt you and that’s the antithesis of my entire purpose in your mind, you didn’t deserve that, and I hissed at you -”

“Hey, hey hey hey,” Thomas says. He reaches out and grabs Anxiety’s hands, pulling them away from where they’re clenched white-knuckled in the hem of his hoodie. He grips Anxiety’s hands between his own, and Anxiety jerks his head up. His eyes are full of anxious tears, and his eyeshadow is rapidly streaking down his face. “I’m not mad at you, Anxiety.” 

“You’re lying -”

“I’m not. You did what you thought was right, didn’t you? You did what you thought would keep me safe?” 

“I tried,” Anxiety rasps, “but -”

“You tried,” Thomas says firmly, squeezing Anxiety’s hands. “It’s okay. I know you were trying. I know you were. It’s all over now, and it’s just us. The others are outside. Why don’t you tell me who you are?” 

Anxiety gives him an “are-you-shitting-me” look. “Are you seriously asking me that?” 

“Yeah. Roman told me who you are - well, who he thinks you are - but everyone else got to introduce themselves. I want you to tell me who you are.” 

Anxiety rolls his eyes. “I’m your anxiety,” he says bitterly. “And your fear, and your worry, and your doubt and your self-loathing and your paranoia and - and all the nasty stuff that makes you feel sick to your stomach and keeps you wide awake at night. I’m Anxiety.” 

Thomas hums. “That’s what you are. It’s what you do, although I don’t think it’s all you do. But it’s not who you are. Everyone else has a name. Do you have one?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“What is it? I don’t want to call you Anxiety forever?” 

Anxiety’s eyes soften, and he opens his mouth, but then there’s a thump from outside and Roman swears as he trips over something. Immediately, Anxiety’s gaze hardens again. “Fat chance. You don’t know anything about me. How do I know you and His Royal Idiocy out there won’t use it against me? You can just call me Anxiety.” 

“If that’s what you want -”

“It’s not what I want! None of this -” Anxiety yanks his hands away from Thomas’s and gestures to his twelve-year-old body. “ - is what I want! But for all the shit that gets thrown at me, I’m keeping you safe. If that means hiding my name, so fucking be it.” 

Thomas exhales, opening his arms. “Do you want a hug?” 

Anxiety jerks backwards, confused. “What the fuck?” 

“You just got hunted down and attacked in the woods, and apparently it’s not the first time you’ve suffered this kind of abuse. The least you deserve is a god damn hug.” 

Anxiety eyes him nervously, like a feral cat, but he slowly creeps forward, edging into Thomas’s arms. Thomas lets his arms fold carefully around his Anxiety, noting how skinny and small he is compared to the other sides. Anxiety carefully tucks his face into Thomas’s shoulder, and Thomas gently rubs his back. “It’s okay,” Thomas says. 

“Nothing is okay,” Anxiety mutters. 

Thomas tries to think back to what people have said to him when he felt like this. “I know it feels like nothing is okay,” he says. Anxiety stiffens, but doesn’t pull away. “That’s okay. You’re allowed to feel that way. You’re allowed to feel like - like everything is spinning out of control. But I’m here, okay? I’m here, and I’m . . . I’m not going to let them treat you like that anymore.” 

“They treat me like that because of the way you think about me, you know. The way you think about your anxiety.” 

“I can work on that with them. I want to work on that, with them, with you. If you’ll let me, I mean . . .” 

“It sounds nice,” Anxiety says. “But - but how can I trust that?” 

“Do you want someone else to verify that what I’m saying is true? I can call one of them in -”

“No!” Anxiety’s voice immediately snaps into a distorted, terrified shriek. It sounds like tires screeching on rubber, like a fork dragged down a grater, like the horrific crunch of metal of a car crash. 

“Not Roman,” Thomas says immediately, feeling his hands start to shake. “How about Patton? Is Patton okay?” 

“He’s . . . nice . . . when he sees me, which isn’t often . . .” 

Thomas lifts his hand in a summoning gesture, and Patton pops up into view. “Oh! Hello there, Thomas! Hey kiddo!” He comes over to sit on the bed, and Anxiety hisses when he gets too close. “Me-ouch, Anxiety, don’t be like cat!” Thomas snorts, and he sees Anxiety turn his head to hide a smile in his shoulder. 

“Will you be okay to sit here with Patton while I go into the hallway to talk to Roman and Logan?” Patton smiles at Anxiety and reaches for him; Anxiety flinches away from the sudden movement, baring his teeth. Thomas looks up and makes eye contact with Patton, mouthing Slowly over Anxiety’s head. 

“I don’t want to be left alone with anyone if you’re not here,” Anxiety says. “What if he ties me up again? What if he tries to kill me?” 

“I would never do that to you, kiddo!” 

“Really? Cause you said Princey would never hurt me, either, but here we fuckin’ are, I guess.” Patton opens his mouth, like he wants to reprimand Anxiety’s language, but thinks better of it and closes his mouth again. 

“I love Roman,” Patton says, “but what he did to you was wrong.” Anxiety turns to face Patton fully, looking completely baffled. 

“It - wh - but you don’t think I deserve it?” 

“Why would you deserve that?” Thomas demands. Patton lets out a horrified gasp, pressing his hands over his mouth. 

“Oh, kiddo. Kiddo, no.” 

“Did you think we were chasing you because we wanted to punish you?” Anxiety looks at him like he’s just asked if the sky is blue. 

“Uh, duh. You guys don’t exactly have a great track record with being very nice to me, do you?” 

“That might be true,” Thomas says, before Patton can protest the way he so clearly wants to, “but you seem to be assuming that we’re angry at you all the time. Roman, I could see, but why the rest of us?” 

Anxiety blows his bangs out of his face, shifting out of Thomas’s lap. “I’m anxiety. I’m the bad guy. I have to be the villain in order to keep you safe, and I can’t even do that right. You almost crashed your fucking car. Then I ran away, which hurt you more, and then I bit Roman and that really hurt you, and I - I just - I’m the bad guy.” He sighs in exasperation, and his puffed-up angry persona deflates a little. He doesn’t even sound angry, anymore, just guilty and resigned to his fate, staring at the blanket instead of either of them and fidgeting with his fingers. 

“Anxiety,” Thomas says, “who told you that you have to be the bad guy all the time?” 

Anxiety laughs, but there’s no joy behind it. It’s bitter and hollow. “I’m your newest side, Thomas. Even here, I look like a fucking child. Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me that you would listen to a scared little kid trying to tell you what to do?” Thomas can’t, and Anxiety nods. 

“Exactly. So I do whatever I have to in order to keep you on edge and on guard. If I terrify you, at least I know you’re safe. I try to protect you, I try the best I can to do my job and keep you away from things that would hurt you, but - but I overdo it, and nothing productive gets done. I’m just a scared little kid, what do I know?” The bitterness drips from every syllable of the last sentence. 

Patton looks at Thomas, shrugging helplessly, and Thomas looks at Anxiety, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before he speaks. “Thank you for telling me all that,” Thomas says slowly. “I know this must have been building for a long time, and I appreciate you getting it all off your chest. But you didn’t answer my question.” Anxiety lifts his head, and Thomas meets his eyes, exhaling slowly. 

“Who told you that you always have to be the bad guy?” 

Anxiety scoffs. “Who do you fucking think?” 

[teacupfulofstarshine]

living in the real world (ain’t it fun) CHAPTER 6

cw: anxiety attack, driving while tired (DO NOT DO THAT), brief panic, swearing

word count: 2619

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // read it on ao3!! 

“The first experiment we are running today is to determine exactly how far away from Thomas we can get before hitting an invisible wall or suffering adverse effects,” Logan says. Thomas, Roman, and Patton nod at him. Logan pulls up one of his blue mental screens and pokes at it. “Thomas, if you look in my backpack, you should find a tape measure which I brought from your home.” 

“I didn’t even know I owned a tape measure.”

“You own three,” Logan recites. “Two of them are sewing tape measures and the third, which I have brought for our purposes today, is a conventional construction tape measure.” Thomas pulls the clunky black base from the backpack at his feet and hums. 

“How did you know I owned this if I didn’t know I owned this?” 

“Just because you are not consciously aware of something does not mean that it is not known to you,” Logan says. “I am home to a great repository of information that has fallen below your conscious level of awareness. Name three differences between an animal cell and a plant cell.”

Thomas stares at him. “Uh . . .”

Logan sighs. “Plant cells are surrounded by both a cell membrane and cell wall, whereas animal cells only possess a cell membrane. Animal cells are generally round, irregular shapes, whereas plant cells are rigid and rectangular. Plant cells, in addition to mitochondria -”

“The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell,” Thomas and Roman recite, in perfect unison. Logan sighs, again, and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Plant cells also possess chloroplasts, which animal cells do not.” 

“Whoa,” Thomas says. “I really know all that?” 

“Falsehood. You knew it once and then forgot it. As the keeper of your memory archives, I retain this information and can call upon it at will, although I confess that I am . . . better in some situations than others.”

“Is that why I can never remember the answer in time for trivia games?” 

Logan blushes, and the screen in front of him glitches out with some sort of indecipherable error code. “I - well - that is to say - um -”

He adjusts his glasses. “ANYWAY! The experiment?” 

Thomas stifles his laughter. “Right, right, of course. My apologies, Logan. What do you want us to do?” 

Logan adjusts his tie, looking thoroughly disgruntled. “You are going to stand in one place and hold the base of the tape measure. The rest of us will take turns holding the end of the tape measure and walking as far as we can until we hit whatever invisible force is binding us to you. I will record the data, and then we will experiment.” 

Thomas nods. “Sounds reasonable.”

“I am your logic. Everything I say sounds reasonable.”

“Who goes first?” 

“Me!” Patton says, freckles beginning to shine yellow. “I wanna go first!” 

“The order does not matter in this experiment, so I will permit it if Roman is not opposed.”

“Go for it, Padre.” 

Patton eagerly grabs the end of the tape measure and bounces in place while Logan readies his screen. “Wouldn’t a pencil and paper work just as well?” Thomas asks. 

“For the purposes of recording data, yes. However, information that I enter into my screens is then encoded into your brain as short-term memories. When you sleep at night - which reminds me that we need to have a discussion about your frankly abysmal sleeping habits - I can enter the pertinent short-term memories and information from the day into your long-term memory.” 

“Oh.” 

“Patton, you may begin.” 

Patton gives a cheery wave and turns around, beginning to walk. Logan stops him at five feet. “Any changes?” 

“Nope! All good in the neighborhood!” 

Patton walks another five feet, and Logan stops him. “Anything?” 

“Nope!” Logan looks at Thomas. 

“What about you?” 

Thomas rubs his sternum. “There’s something . . . weird, in here. It’s kinda painful, but more so just . . . tight, you know?”

“Are you okay to keep going?” 

“I should be.” 

Logan calls to Patton, who walks another five feet. The tugging in Thomas’s chest is beginning to get more intense, burning slightly, and he can feel anxiety beginning to mount in the back of his mind. “Are you okay to keep going?” Logan asks again, voice gentler. “It is okay if you want to stop, Thomas.” 

“I think I’m okay.” Thomas smiles, but it feels thin and strained. Judging by Logan’s expression, it looks that way, too. Still, he signals Patton to keep going. 

Once he hits twenty feet, Thomas drops to one knee, clutching his chest. The tightburningtightburning tightburningwrongwrongWRONG feeling in his chest is starting to escalate. “Uh, Lo? I hit the weird invisible wall again,” Patton calls. 

“I feel not great,” Thomas says. He drops the tape measure and jerks a hand up in a strange, twisting gripping motion. Patton yelps as he suddenly sinks down, dropping through the earth. Panic spikes through Thomas so intensely that his vision almost whites out, but Patton quickly pops up in front of him. 

“Kiddo?” 

Patton drops to his knees and pulls Thomas into a tight hug. The feeling in his chest evaporates all at once, and Thomas inhales deeply as he shoves his face into Patton’s shoulder. “Hey, hey, breathe, okay?” The purple light of Patton’s freckles bleeds through Thomas’s eyelids as Patton rubs firm, soothing circles into his chest. “I’m here, Thomas. I’m right here. I didn’t go anywhere.” 

“What - what was that?” Thomas gasps. His voice sounds strangled and strange, even to him. 

Logan frowns, kneeling next to Thomas and Patton. “It . . . seems to have been a panic response. Patton is an integral part of who you are. The three of us are literally fragments of your soul. When you realized that Patton was distancing himself from you, you panicked. You needed him beside you right at that moment, and you were able to call him to you.” 

“Do you think I could do that with any of you? At any range?” 

Logan hums, looking at Patton. “I do not know. We could test it, if you are up to that, but I will not force you. Your health and safety is most important here.” He gently puts a hand on Thomas’s shoulder and squeezes it. Carefully, Thomas leans back from where he’s clinging to Patton. 

“Can . . . can you give me a minute?” 

Logan nods. “Of course. Do you want Roman or I to test the distance limits while Patton is with you to keep you grounded?” Thomas looks at Roman, who’s been setting up the picnic blanket a few feet away. 

“Roman, do you wanna go and test it now?” Thomas asks. Roman nods, drawing his sword. Panic spikes through Thomas’s chest, but Patton hugs him a little closer, and it ebbs away. 

“Fear not, Thomas! I will return unharmed!” 

“Just take the tape measure, Roman,” Logan sighs. 

*~*~*~*~*

Roman and Logan both make it twenty feet away before they hit the same invisible wall as Patton. Thomas doesn’t feel the sick, twisting, cramping, heart-rending fear that he had when Patton walked away from him, perhaps because Patton is right next to him. Thomas is no longer curled in his lap like a child, but he does hold Patton’s hand. 

“Twenty feet for both of us, as well,” Logan says, swiping across one of his schema. “It seems that is the hard limit for our distance from you.” 

“What’s next?” Thomas asks. 

“That gesture you did to . . . summon Patton to your side. Do you think you could replicate it?” 

Thomas lifts his hand in the same gesture, but nothing happens. “Huh.” 

“What were you thinking when you summoned Patton?” 

“I was . . . anxious. I was thinking about how much I needed him at my side immediately, about how much I needed him with me before something really, really bad happened. I wanted him next to me.” 

Logan hums. “I am going to walk approximately ten feet away from you. Once I am in position, I want you to make that summoning gesture and think about me appearing by your side. Do you think that you can handle that?” Thomas nods “Okay. I am going to walk away.” 

Thomas keeps his eyes locked on Logan’s form as he walks, turning and nodding at Thomas once he’s in position. Thomas inhales, jerking his hand up, thinking about how he wants Logan next to him. Logan drops through the ground like a ghost and pops up next to Thomas, looking slightly ruffled. “That was . . . an experience.” 

“Did it hurt you?” Patton fusses, reaching over to pat at Logan’s torso and arms. Logan shakes his head. 

“The sensation of sinking and rising was . . . strange, but I am uninjured.” Thomas smiles at him. 

“That’s good.” 

“Yes, well. Alright, Roman? It is your turn.” 

*~*~*~*~*

They perform a wide variety of tests before breaking for lunch. Thomas eagerly digs into one of Patton’s sandwiches. “This is perfect!” 

Patton grins, face shining yellow with joy. “I’m so glad, kiddo! And I made cookies for dessert!” 

“No processed sugars until after you’ve eaten a healthy lunch,” Logan says disapprovingly. Patton grins at him and wiggles a sandwich at him. “Wh - is that -”

“A jam sandwich!” Patton says. “With that Crofter’s stuff that you love so much. I know you can’t resist this, Lo!” 

“I have a name,” Logan says testily. He still takes the sandwich, tearing into it and making a soft, pleased humming noise and smiling broadly as he settles cross-legged on the picnic blanket. Patton hands Roman another jam sandwich, and he makes a joyful noise. 

Patton tries to eat a cookie, but Logan glares at him until he smiles guiltily and picks up a sandwich instead. “Can’t slip anything past you, can I?” 

“No, you cannot,” Logan says. His chest puffs up a little in pride as he takes another bite of his sandwich. Thomas smiles, softly, and takes another bite of his own sandwich. 

*~*~*~*~*

They learn many things during the course of the day and its experiments. Logan dutifully distills them into a numbered list.

1: Twenty feet is the maximum distance any of them can get from Thomas before hitting an invisible wall. They cannot go any farther than that. 

2: If a side is twenty feet away from Thomas and they both walk at the same time, they can move as long as both of them move in unison in the same direction. 

3: Thomas can summon any of his sides with a hand gesture as long as he is thinking about calling that side to him. If he isn’t thinking about calling them to him, the gesture is ineffective. 

4: The sides can refuse a summons if they try hard enough, but they all admit to feeling a painful tugging burn in their chest that gets stronger and more painful the longer they resist. 

5: Because Thomas is the source of Logan, Roman, and Patton (Logan names him “the Host”), he can directly control their actions if he gives them a direct command. 

(“Is that why you and Roman stopped talking when I yelled at you to shut up when you were fighting?” 

“Yes, I believe so.” 

“I’m so sorry, Logan, Roman. I - I didn’t mean to control you like that -”

“It’s alright, Thomathy! We know you didn’t mean to!” 

“It is not your fault, Thomas. You did not know. But now we do know, and we can work on this together.”) 

6: The sides do not know anything that Thomas doesn’t. They are, however, repositories of any knowledge he has accrued over the course of his life. Specifically: 

Logan can access knowledge and facts 

Roman can access ideas and daydreams 

Patton can access memories and emotional catalysts 

“That’s a lot,” Thomas says. Logan flips the schema around to show Thomas, but it just appears to be random shapes and squiggles. “I . . . can’t read that.”

“Of course you can’t,” Logan says. “This is a representation of your subconscious thought processes. You cannot comprehend it with your conscious mind.” 

“But you can understand it?” 

“I cannot ‘read’ it in the traditional sense that you would read a book, but I can understand it. I can connect it to the information that you have learned. Would you like me to send it to you for processing?” 

“Processing?"

“Patton and I are in charge of recalling your memories and knowledge, but your subconscious processes it. That is not us. I will give you this schema, and then it will integrate into your subconscious to be processed at a later date.” 

Thomas nods. “Okay, Logan. Do what you need to do.” 

Logan places a hand on either side of his schema and compresses it, inhaling slowly as he does so. The schema condenses and collapses into a little ball of dark blue light in Logan’s hands. Thomas doesn’t know when Logan closed his eyes, but when he opens them again they are solid blue and glowing. He steps forward, holding the schema tightly, and presses it against Thomas’s forehead. 

Thomas expects it to hurt, but in truth it doesn’t feel like anything at all. The schema dissolves into his forehead, and Logan shudders as it phases out of his hands. “Transfer initiated,” he says, voice flat and monotone. 

“Uh . . . Logan?” 

“He gets like this sometimes,” Patton says. “Give him a couple minutes. He doesn’t directly control the processing of information and memories, but he has to wait for the schema to phase out of his grip and into the subconscious. He’ll be alright.” 

Almost five minutes later, Logan stirs for the first time. “Transfer complete.” He blinks, and his eyes become normal again. He drops to his knees in the grass, and Thomas surges forward to catch him. 

“Whoa, Logan. You okay?” 

“Yes,” Logan murmurs, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I . . . have never done that in this manner before. It was draining, but . . . I will be alright.” 

Thomas carefully lays Logan down on his back on the picnic blanket. “Take a breather, Logan. Just rest here, okay?” 

Logan looks up at the darkening sky and laughs. “Look, everyone. Look.” 

Thomas looks up, into the warm late-spring-early-summer night, and watches as the stars begin to appear. “They’re beautiful.” He blinks, rubs his eyes, and frowns. “This . . . those aren’t stars, are they?” 

“Fireflies,” Logan says, sitting up slowly. One of them flutters down and lands on his nose, and Logan blinks, going cross-eyed to look at it. “Oh!” 

Patton laughs, face shining yellow, and the fireflies flock to him. “They must think I’m one of them! They’re really lightning bug-ging out, aren’t they?” Roman sprints around the field, catching fireflies in his hands and bringing them back to Thomas. 

It’s a pretty wonderful time. For the first time since the sides manifested, Thomas doesn’t feel the persistent anxiety digging its claws into his chest. 

*~*~*~*~*

Thomas knows he shouldn’t be driving. 

Patton, Roman, and Logan are slumped together in the back of the car. Patton is fighting to stay awake, but he’s not really succeeding; Roman is snoring against the window, and Logan is leaning into Patton’s shoulder, breathing evenly. Thomas is barely awake himself, but he wants to go home. 

The road is dark and winding, and all of the trees blur together as Thomas drives. He blinks once, twice, three times, lifts a hand off the wheel to rub his eyes. He hears Patton mumbling to himself as he starts to drift off, and Thomas grips the wheel tightly. 

“Stay awake,” he yawns. His head starts to lean forward, hands sliding off the wheel. His chin hits his chest, but before he can fall asleep properly, someone shrieks in his ear. 

“THOMAS SANDERS, WAKE THE FUCK UP AND GET YOUR EYES BACK ON THE FUCKING ROAD!” 

[teacupfulofstarshine]

pattonella part 12: in which the author hijacks her conveniently comatose character for magical shenanigans

cw: comatose character, minor angst, mention of sleep deprivation

the song referenced in virgil’s visions (linked in the first one) is "soldier, poet, king" by the oh hellos because ya girl is a predictable bitch 

wordcount: ~3.8k

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9 // part 10 // part 11 // read it on ao3!!

“you should rest, prince logan.” 

“i will not leave,” logan says. his back and neck hurt like hell from sitting in the same place for hours on end, and his voice rasps from the near-constant litany of song he’s been providing to virgil, but he makes no move to leave his chair. virgil’s hand is pressed between his, cool and limp. 

“virgil will be alright,” remy says. “the magical exhaustion coma sucks, yeah, but it’s not going to kill him. we’ve pumped him full of as much healing magic and medicine as he can stomach, and he’s going to be okay. he’s going to wake up, and you’ll want to be awake and coherent enough to see it.”

“i will persevere.” 

“you will collapse from sleep deprivation, is what will happen. you don’t have to leave the infirmary, but you’re going to be in the infirmary if you don’t eat something and sleep.” 

logan opens his mouth to protest, but remy draws himself up to his full height (which is not much) and says, “you may be the prince of this kingdom, but i am your doctor, and so help me gods you are going to eat a damn meal and you are going to take a damn nap before i force-feed you a sleeping potion.” 

logan blinks, startled, and remy holds firm, crossing his arms. “did i fucking stutter?” 

“no,” logan says, voice quiet. remy sighs, reaching out to mess up logan’s hair. logan sputters indignantly, but remy has always been a parental figure to him, so he doesn’t protest. 

“your worry is admirable, prince logan, but virgil would not want you to run yourself ragged like this. remember his concern when you had a concussion?” 

“of course i do. he doted on me every hour of the day, remy. how can i say that i did not do the same for him? virgil is - he - i -” logan’s jaw works open, closed, open closed as he tries to form a coherent thought from the tangled mess of virgilworryconcerncarelove? buzzing around in his head. 

“you don’t have to say it,” remy says. “i’m married, remember? i’m familiar with what it means to love someone.” logan startles, practically jumping out of his chair. remy laughs, shifting his hand to gently squeeze logan’s shoulder. “no need to sound so offended.” 

“it’s not offense,” logan says. “it - it’s just -”

he trails off as his gaze slides back to virgil’s peaceful face and the even movement of his chest. “virgil has not had many positive things in his life. he had to deal with a suboptimal family life, constantly sacrificing himself to protect patton, and i - i just want him to see - to know that he does not have to constantly sacrifice himself for people to earn their love. i need him to know that he does not have to throw himself into the line of fire to protect his loved ones. and - and i do not want him to feel rushed into admitting that he cares for me. i do not want to presume that i know he loves me, because i do not!” 

“trust me, prince logan, that man is head over his god damn heels for you.” remy smirks, confident, and logan exhales shakily. 

“but i do not wish to rush it. i know that we are supposed to be marrying so that thomas can officially become the crown prince, but - but i cannot force him to marry me. i hope that he wants to marry me, i - i want to marry him, eventually. i do.” it’s the first time logan has ever admitted it out loud; remy’s eyes widen and his face softens. “but i cannot force him to marry me if he does not love me. i will not trap him in a loveless marriage.” 

“please,” remy scoffs. “you cannot look at this man, laying in a hospital bed because he drove himself to magical fucking exhaustion to keep you safe, and tell me that he does not love you.” 

logan squeezes virgil’s hand tightly, exhaling. his eyes feel like lead. 

“you need to sleep,” remy repeats. “the bed next to virgil’s is open. get in and lay down and go to sleep, okay? i promise i’ll wake you at the first sign of trouble.” logan looks at virgil again and sighs, closing his eyes. 

“very well, remy.” he leans over and kisses virgil’s forehead, carefully sweeping his bangs off his face. “you wake me at the very first sign of trouble, you understand me?” 

“of course, prince logan.” remy bows, deep and sarcastic, and logan suppresses a smile. 

*~*~*~*~*

virgil frowns, looking around. he’s in the middle of a blank black void; it looks like the place where he sees his visions, but no visions appear to him. “hello?” he calls. something floats towards him - a girl’s voice, high and ethereal, singing softly. 

there will come a soldier who carries a mighty sword . . .

suddenly, a vision slams into him: roman, clearly no older than two years old, wearing a red baby onesie and holding a little wooden sword. he toddles toward virgil without seeing him, waving his little sword around and giggling. a pair of hands reaches down and gently stabilizes roman when he nearly trips over an unseen obstacle. 

past, his brain whispers. 

he will tear your city down, oh lei oh lai oh lord . . .  

another vision: roman, sitting cross-legged on a bed with patton settled into his lap. he’s rubbing patton’s back and murmuring softly into his ear, probably reassuring him. virgil can’t hear anything they’re saying, but he catches the shape of patton’s mouth as he very clearly says “virgil.” roman smiles, kissing his forehead, and virgil smiles. he’s glad someone is taking care of patton while he’s unconscious.

present. 

oh lei, oh lai, oh lei oh lord; he will tear your city down, oh lei oh lai oh lord . . .

a third vision: roman, much older, probably fifty or so. his hair is streaked with gray, and he’s managed to grow a full beard. it’s neatly trimmed and also greying. roman wears formal attire, a suit with a breastplate and a cape. he has various badges and medals attached to his chest and a sword that virgil recognizes as ceremonial hanging from his waist. roman looks to the side and smiles, offering his arm. patton steps forward, taking his arm, and virgil gasps as he sees the way his brother has aged. 

somehow, patton still looks similar, even though he’s clearly aged. his hair is long, less gray than roman’s and more silver and braided off his neck with flowers. there are crinkles of laughter around his eyes. he’s wearing a sparkly blue-and-gold dress with red flowers embroidered on it, and he has a small golden circlet matching roman’s more ornate one. patton is still wearing roman’s pendant around his neck, and when roman places his hand over patton’s on his upper arm virgil spies a matching gleam of wedding bands on their fingers. 

future. 

the visions fizzle away, and virgil sinks back down into sleep, still clinging to the image of his brother and his husband in the future. 

*~*~*~*~*

patton wakes up slowly. he’s still getting used to the idea that he doesn’t have to sleep on the floor, that he doesn’t have to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn and drag himself into bed at midnight. he wakes up warm and comfortable, sinking into a downy mattress, vision hazy from sleep and lack of glasses. 

he yawns, blinking to try and clear his eyes as best he can, and freezes when he hears someone else breathing beside him. he feels a weight on his waist over the duvet, and someone stirs next to him, the arm on his waist starting to pull him closer, and then patton remembers. 

roman is home. roman is home and he’s here with patton, in patton’s bed, snuggling him and keeping him warm. patton flips over onto his other side, and comes face-to-face with roman. the youngest prince is still asleep, his hair flopped into his eyes, mouth open. a small puddle of drool is growing slowly on the pillow, and he’s not wearing a shirt, revealing his smooth, tanned collarbones. 

patton kind of wants to bite them. 

he snuggles closer to roman instead, blushing bright red, pushing his face into roman’s hair. roman snorts in a breath and presses himself closer to patton. his nose is chilly when it brushes against the warm skin of patton’s neck, and patton shivers a little. 

he dozes in the comfortable warmth of the bed (his bed, roman’s bed, their bed) until roman wakes up with an undignified snort, narrowly avoiding cracking his head against patton’s chin. “mm-mngh-wh-pat?”

“morning,” patton says. he’s practically giddy with joy, and he can’t stop the laughter from spilling out of him, high-pitched and embarrassing. roman smiles at him, sleepy and lazy and so, so besotted, and patton’s pretty besotted himself. 

“oh, vision of loveliness, star that outshines the rising sun,” roman begins, carefully propping himself up on one hand while keeping the other draped around patton’s waist. “loveliest of flowers, shining with the morning dew, face covered with a galaxy of freckles, visage that could launch a thousand ships and set a city ablaze with the light of your smile -”

“stop, stop!” patton laughs, burying his face in his hands. 

“pull your hands from your face like a flower unfurling to the sun, how will i kiss your pretty face if you hide it from me?” 

“but i’m embarrassed!” 

patton feels roman gently wrap his fingers around patton’s hands, carefully peeling them away. “there’s my lovely patton, there’s your pretty face,” roman croons, leaning in to brush their noses together. “may i kiss you, my dearest?” 

patton giggles again. “you may.” roman takes his time, carefully pressing a kiss to the center of patton’s forehead, then the left side, then the right; he kisses patton’s eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, his chin, and almost every freckle he can find. finally, he leans in and presses his mouth against patton’s. both of them still taste like sleep and morning breath, and it’s not the best tasting kiss patton’s ever had but he still treasures it. 

“i’ve missed waking up to that,” roman says. “you are much better to wake up to than a field tent.” 

“was this a one-time thing?” patton asks. 

“kissing? i certainly hope not.” 

“no, no i mean - this.” patton gestures to the bed. “you sleeping in here, with me. is this a one-time thing? do we have to sleep apart?” 

“not if you don’t want to.” roman looks bashful, eyes skittering away from patton’s to look at his chin. “do - do you want to?” 

“absolutely i do,” patton says, words spilling out in a rush of breath. “i hate waking up alone, i - even though i didn’t really have a bed or a bedroom before i was always with virgil, and i - please, ro, please -”

“oh, darling, of course.” roman reaches up to touch patton’s face. “i wanted to make sure you knew that you had your own space as necessary, because you didn’t have any of that before. but if you don’t want to be alone, you never have to be alone again. i promise, patton, i promise, i promise i promise. i swear it to you on my birthright as the third prince of this kingdom.” 

patton feels tears running down his face, and roman carefully wipes them away. “no tears, my darling. i am here now.” 

by the time nate comes in with breakfast, they’ve fallen asleep again, tucked into each other. 

*~*~*~*~*

virgil rises back to awareness slowly, opening his eyes to the same black void he’d seen earlier. he frowns; another vision? they usually don’t come so close together. before he can ponder it any longer, the same haunting female voice from before comes echoing around him. 

there will come a poet whose weapon is his word . . .

a vision, suddenly: logan, barely a year old if that, laying on his back. he’s wearing a dark blue footed onesie patterned with stars, reaching up towards a mobile dangling above him. he’s giggling, opening and closing his little fists repeatedly as he tries to grab the little wooden moons and stars and swirling carvings. he kicks his little feet, and virgil feels his heart swell with joy. 

past. 

he will slay you with his tongue, oh lei oh lai oh lord . . .  

another vision: logan, looking the way he did when virgil last saw him. he’s sitting at virgil’s bedside, holding virgil’s hand. he’s pale, with circles beneath his eyes, and he’s murmuring something to virgil’s comatose body. virgil reaches toward the vision, but it evaporates before he can touch logan. 

present.

oh lei, oh lai, oh lei oh lord; he will slay you with his tongue, oh lei oh lai oh lord . . .

a third vision: logan is sitting at a desk, surrounded by stacks of books and papers. he pushes a hand through his bangs, sighing; his hair is longer now, gathered into a ponytail at the base of his neck and shot through with silver. he looks tired, reaching for his quill to sign whatever’s in front of him. he turns his head to the right, as though someone has called for him. 

virgil can barely believe his eyes as he steps into view. he’s wearing a dark blue shirt with a purple vest, both embroidered with silver. his hair is longer and starting to grey, but he leans in to kiss logan’s head and logan reaches up to touch his face with love in his eyes. virgil gasps as he recognizes that just like his vision of patton and roman from earlier, future-him and future-logan have matching wedding bands. 

future. 

*~*~*~*~*

logan wakes up blearily, rubbing his eyes. he jolts awake the second he regains control of his faculties, throwing off the thin hospital blankets and jerking around to look for virgil. he sighs in relief when he sees that virgil is in the bed next to him, still slowly breathing, still sound asleep. “how long was i out?” he rasps. 

“like, four hours,” remy says, carefully placing a fresh washcloth over virgil’s forehead. “not nearly long enough, but i’ll take it.” emile comes in from the garden, carrying a steaming teacup in his hands. 

“is that for me?” logan asks. emile nods, handing him the cup. he sips it slowly, letting the honey-sweet taste slide over his tongue. “thank you, emile.” 

“you’re welcome. it’s no replacement for sleep, but hopefully it’ll help you a little bit.” 

before logan can respond, there’s a noise from virgil’s bed. logan nearly spills his tea as he twists around to try and see what’s happening. virgil’s face scrunches up, nose wrinkling, and his mouth moves slightly. 

“wh - virgil -”

“. . . soldier . . . mighty sword . . . tear . . . city down . . .” virgil mumbles. his fingers curl in the blankets as his face smooths out again, sinking back into sleep. 

“what was that?” 

“it is possible that he’s having some sort of vision,” remy says. logan frowns, reaching over to gently touch virgil’s shoulder. 

“i’m not sure that i enjoy the sound of that vision . . .” virgil turns his head just slightly, catching logan’s hand between his shoulder and his chin. logan’s heart melts into a puddle of emotion-goo as he leans over to kiss virgil’s forehead. 

“oh, my dearest one.” virgil makes a soft, incomprehensible noise and his face smooths into calm sleep again. logan reaches his other hand up to carefully stroke virgil’s cheek. “rest well, my darling, and heal. i long for the day i can see your eyes again.” 

“sap,” remy teases. 

*~*~*~*~*

virgil isn’t sure why he’s surprised that a third set of visions comes. his normal visions come in threes - past, present, and future - and it makes sense that he would have a trio of visions. a trio of trio, a group of three threes; three is one of the most potent magical numbers, and the kingdom has three princes for a reason. 

there will come a ruler whose brow is laid in thorn . . .

the first vision strikes: thomas, no more than four years old, playing with a cluster of roses. carefully, with his pudgy little child-fingers, he weaves them into a crown and plops it onto his head. it sags askew, flopping into his face, but he just laughs and pushes it back up onto his head. 

past. 

smeared with oil like david’s boy, oh lei oh lai oh lord . . .

the second vision: thomas, flopping onto his bed in exhaustion. someone comes up and sits on the bed next to him, an advisor that virgil vaguely remembers from earlier, when he’d stormed in on the court with a vision of roman’s death burning in his eyes. he thinks their name is joan? they place a hand on thomas’s back, and thomas sighs, sitting up and smiling at them. his mouth forms the shape of the words thank you , and joan offers the crown prince a hug which he eagerly accepts. 

present. 

oh lei, oh lai, oh lei oh lord; smeared with oil like david’s boy, oh lei oh lai oh lord . . . 

the third vision: thomas, sitting on the throne. he’s older, wearing the king’s crown in place of his crown prince circlet. it fits perfectly. he wears a shirt woven from rainbow threads that shimmers in the light, and he has a golden scepter twined with flowers in his hand. someone comes up and kneels before him, and thomas inclines his head. he looks like a true king - wise, just, strong. a good ruler. 

future.

virgil lets himself fall unconscious again. 

*~*~*~*~*

“how long has he been here?” 

“three days,” logan says. “to be more precise, it has been seventy-three hours, eighteen minutes, and twenty seconds. he has been unconscious for one-hundred twenty-one hours, eighteen minutes, and twenty-four seconds.” 

“that’s not good, is it?” patton says. he holds one of virgil’s hands and logan holds the other. roman stands behind patton. one hand resting on his shoulder. patton tips his head and sighs when he feels the warmth of roman’s hand press against his cheek, a comforting, grounding weight. “that he’s been unconscious for so long.” 

“not particularly. statistics show that the longer patients are comatose, the . . .” logan swallows, hard, but patton leans forward and he continues. “the longer the patients are comatose, the less likely it is that they will recover.” 

patton feels his heart sink down to the deepest pits of his stomach. nate, standing at the foot of the bed, makes a soft upset noise. “would you like some tea, lord san - um, uh, i - i mean - patton, sir?” 

despite how shitty he feels, patton lifts his head and smiles at his servant. “tea would be wonderful, nate.” he looks up at roman. “do you want anything, dear?” roman’s eyes widen in shock, and patton gasps when he realizes what he’s done. “i - i mean, um -”

roman’s entire face softens like a newborn lamb, and he leans in to kiss patton gently. “tea sounds lovely, my darling.” patton blushes a bright, burning red, turning to look at logan to try and quell his blush. 

“i would not say no to some tea,” logan says. “could you, perhaps, see if the cook has any sweet buns prepared fresh as well? with some of her fresh jam?” 

nate bows. “of course, your royal highness.” 

“there is no need for such formalities. you may simply call me logan.” nate jerks upright, stammering. 

“wh - n - i - i couldn’t possibly! i - i mean - uh - that - that is to say - i - um - wh -”

“it is alright,” logan says. he smiles kindly at nate, which puts patton at ease. “i understand that it may be a bit of a shock to switch from formal titles to none at all. however, i must insist that at the very least, you call me prince logan.”

“prince roman works just fine for me as well.” 

nate looks overwhelmed with all this new information, but he manages to stammer out an “o - o - of course!” before turning around and all but sprinting to the kitchens. 

“you make him nervous!” patton laughs. 

“i find that is a common theme.” logan seems disgruntled. 

“i’m not scared of you!” that brings a smile to logan’s face, and patton considers his job done for the moment. 

nate returns quickly with a tray containing a steaming teapot, teacups, sugar, cream, and honey. another serving girl follows him with a basket of steaming buns covered by a cloth. there’s a jar of jam and a butterknife tucked into the basket as well. 

“thank you,” logan says, taking a roll and tearing into it with vigor. 

“of course, your royal highness.” the serving girl curtsies and sets the basket down at logan’s feet. “will you be needing anything else, your royal highness?” logan shakes his head, mouth full of bun, and the serving girl ducks out of the infirmary. 

nate carefully pours tea for patton, adding the cream and honey that he’s learned patton loves, and then offers a cup to roman. “how do you take your tea, your - prince roman?” roman smiles. 

“two sugars, a splash of cream, please, nate.” 

they sit and sip their tea quietly for a while. logan on his own eats about five or six sweet buns before he takes a break for air or tea. in all the excitement of the tea and snacks, patton almost misses virgil’s eyes squeezing shut. 

almost. 

“virgil?” 

logan sets his teacup down so quickly it sloshes out onto the floor, leaning forward. virgil groans softly and turns his head back and forth. “virgil, dearest, beloved, it is alright. take your time, i’m here.” patton watches the way logan tenderly brushes hair off virgil’s face, hears the soft way in which the prince speaks to his brother, and leans a little further into roman, smiling; he’s glad that virgil has found someone so lovely to love. 

after a few more minutes of fussing, virgil slowly opens his eyes halfway. “mmmngh . . .” 

“hello, beloved,” logan whispers, tearing up. patton notices that he’s tapping his feet against the floor, rocking back and forth just slightly in his seat, and he hears roman make a soft, approving noise at his brother’s happy-stims. 

“lo?” 

“yes, beloved. it is me. patton is here too, and roman. we’re all here for you.” 

virgil’s head turns toward patton, and he can’t stop himself from crying either. “virge,” he chokes, all but throwing himself forward to hug virgil. he feels virgil press his face into his hair, and patton hugs him as best as he can. 

it feels like he’s just been cut loose from a massive anchor bound around his ankles.