#since they're specifically for a follower milestone and also im still nervous about posting them at all

[do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them]

self indulgent writing the first

yoof okay. let’s get this terrible party started. this is the first thing i ever finished in this fandom and immediately went “no, no this is staying confined to my google drive where it belongs” And Yet Here We Are

it’s going under a readmore for reasons of there’s a lot of talk about blood right at the beginning and also through the whole thing and- look most if not all of these things are gonna be some degree of whump okay they live in folder jail for a reason and it’s because i did hurting the sanders sides crimes

anyway this time i hurt roman and also, there’s prinxiety kinda

@altruistic-skittles

Roman was going to die.

He couldn’t remember exactly who the other man was, or why they were fighting- though he was fairly certain the answers to both were along the lines of “he’s evil,” as that was how these things usually went. He did know it had been a long and intense battle.  They were both tired, and they were both bloody.  Unfortunately, Roman was the only one on his knees in the dirt, trying to find the strength to lift his sword another time.

He wasn’t- he wasn’t supposed to lose, that was not how these things went, he had to keep trying.  The other man swung at him, and he blocked the blow with a grunt of effort, then went for a stab that surely had to finish him off- it had to, because he couldn’t do this anymore, and he wasn’t supposed to lose.

The man knocked his sword away like it was nothing.  It spun out of his hands and landed a few feet away on the ground.  Roman was going to die.  For possibly the first time in his life and almost certainly the last, he was truly afraid, and it paralyzed him.  Even if he could move, he was too exhausted- not fast enough to do anything but prolong his death.  He was already swaying, struggling to stay even as upright as he was, probably down a concerning amount of blood.  Not that it mattered, he was going to die either way.

Why did he have so much time to think about this?  He looked up- god, even that was harder than it should have been- and saw the man pointing his sword at him, smiling.  He was enjoying this.  Roman glared at him.  “You haven’t won yet,” he reminded him.  “I wouldn’t be so--”

“Why not?”  The man took a step forward and laid the edge of his sword against the side of Roman’s face. Roman jerked away and almost fell over, knowing full well he’d just cut himself.  “I could have killed you at any point in the last, oh, five minutes.  You were no challenge, Prince Roman, but it was fun to watch you think you had a chance, and now I’m almost done playing with you.”

He turned suddenly and swung, and could have taken Roman’s head off if he hadn’t moved quickly.  As it was, he got a new gash in his right shoulder, not to mention a few existing cuts that were bleeding again from the movement, and the blinding pain of hitting the ground hard when he already hurt all over.  It took him a few seconds to realize that, yes, he was on the ground now, the other man standing over him and laughing.  He tried to push himself up and only made it a few inches before he fell again, shaking with the effort.  He was too hurt and exhausted to even move.  He was going to die.  A tear slid down his face and fell to the ground, and then a few more, and he couldn’t find the energy to care that he was crying in front of his enemy.

“Any last words, Prince?”

He had them, he knew he had them.  He’d written it down somewhere.  An entire monologue for exactly this occasion.  It was beautiful and heartbreaking and thoughtful.  He couldn’t remember a single damn line of it.

The sword went up, and there was no avoiding it this time. He turned his face away, eyes screwed shut, and his voice broke as he whispered a single word into the dirt, knowing no one could hear him.  “Help.”

The sword came down.  Roman did not die.  There was a dark blur above him, a clang of metal hitting metal, a distorted “Get away from him!”  The man he’d been fighting dissolved into nothing.  The blur knelt next to him, tossing a shield to the side, and he blinked hard to bring it into focus.

“...Virge?”

“Roman,” Virgil breathed, his voice still a bit rough at the edges.  “Oh god, Roman, what happened?”  His hands fluttered uselessly, searching for a bit of Roman that wouldn’t hurt him more to touch, and finally settled on brushing fingers through his hair.

“You’re real,” Roman said, still trying to catch up with recent events.  “I didn’t make you.”

“I- yeah, Ro.”  Even more worried now than he’d started out, Virgil picked Roman’s hand up and squeezed it gently.  “Why would- how- you’ve been in here too long, I should have known something was wrong sooner, I’m so sorry…”

Roman didn’t know what to say.  He was crying again.  “I thought, I, I thought I was going to die, how- how did you-?”

Virgil pulled Roman into his lap and wrapped his arms around him.  It hurt, but Roman wasn’t going to complain about being held right now.  “I felt- you thought you were going to die, and that- it’s sort of my department.  I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”  His voice got choked, and his grip on Roman tightened.  “I… was almost too late.”

Roman tucked his head into the space between Virgil’s neck and shoulder and wished he could stop shaking.  “I don’t know what would happen if I died here,” he whispered.

“How do I get us out?” Virgil asked sharply.  There could be more danger around for all he knew, and anything could finish Roman off in his current state.

“Tell yourself it’s not real,” Roman mumbled into his shirt. With the adrenaline fading, he was just tired.  “It’s just… a story I made up.”

Right.  Okay. None of this was real.  The swordsman certainly hadn’t been real; he’d turned to dust as soon as Virgil showed up.  It was all one of Roman’s stories.  A stupid reckless story he almost got himself killed in like an idiot, but nonetheless, they really were just in Roman’s room.  And so, a second later, they were.

Virgil was sitting on Roman’s bedroom floor with an unconscious, gravely injured Prince in his arms.  The full weight of the situation hit him at once, and his breath caught. Roman could still die, probably. “LOGAN!  PATTON!”

That was the most echo his voice had ever held, and they both heard it.  They dropped what they were doing and sank into Roman’s room, not even taking the time to walk ten feet to the door.  It was uncharacteristically dark, the fancy curtains torn in places, and Virgil was in the middle of the floor.  He was holding Roman to his chest, unconscious, and looked up when they came in with panic in his eyes.  He didn’t seem to notice the tears streaming down his face.

Logan was first by a split second, and quickly pulled Patton away from the upsetting scene.  “Go find my first-aid kit,” he said firmly.  Patton nodded shakily and disappeared into Logan’s room. Meanwhile, Logan went to the other two and sat on the floor beside them.

“Virgil, what-”  Virgil turned towards his voice, but looked right through him.  He couldn’t explain anything in that state. “Okay, Virgil, I can’t help you unless you calm down.  Can you breathe with me?”  Logan walked him through his grounding techniques until he was, if not calm, at least coherent.  “Good. Now, what happened?”

“I- he--”  Virgil haltingly explained how he’d felt Roman’s fear and then found him half-dead on the ground.  Patton returned at some point, steadier and with the box of medical supplies, and joined Logan at his side.  Virgil shut down as soon as he finished talking, his whole body shaking, and Patton pulled him into a somewhat awkward side-hug and made comforting noises at him.

Logan coughed.  He really did not know how to deal with someone so distraught.  “Um… Virgil, I can see you’re still upset, but I need to take Roman now.  Could you, uh, let go?”  Virgil was still clinging to him, and shook his head vehemently.  “Virgil, please, I’m trying to help.”

“N-no, I can’t, I, I have to protect him, I can’t--”

Patton shushed him, stroking his hair.  “I know.  I know, and you did, kiddo, you did so good. We’re all proud of you, Virge, but you have to let us help now, okay?  You’ll still be right here, everything will be fine.”

Virgil nodded slowly, reluctantly, and relaxed his grip, allowing Logan to scoop Roman up and set him on the bed.  Logan had to wince once he could see the extent of Roman’s injuries.  It may have been good that he was out cold and couldn’t feel anything.  He bit his lip and started patching him up, thankful he at least had a concrete way to help.

Meanwhile, Patton helped Virgil up and started to lead him to a couch where they could wait more comfortably, but stopped when the light filtering in through the curtains fell on him.  Change of plans.  “Virgil, would you mind leaving with me for a bit?” he asked lightly.  “I think you’ll feel better after you clean up.”  Virgil didn’t really seem to hear that second part, his eyes darting nervously to the bed at the mention of leaving.  “It will be okay,” Patton assured him.  “Logan will call us if he needs us, right, Logan?”

Logan hummed something that might have been agreement, too focused on what he was doing to listen to the question.

“There, see?  Getting out of this room would make us both feel a lot better, Virge, please?”

“...Okay,” Virgil muttered.  It was the first thing he’d said since returning that wasn’t panicked rambling.  He let Patton take his hand and lead him out into the hallway.  When he saw himself in the bathroom mirror, though, what semblance of calm he’d gained went out the window.  There was blood on his clothes, on his hands, his vision narrowed to exclude all else, his breath came fast and shallow.  Patton was murmuring something vague and soothing into his ear, supporting most of his weight and lowering him to sit on the floor.  The tiles were cold beneath him, and he tried to focus on that, the wall behind him, the warm washcloth Patton was wrapping around one of his hands after having somehow coaxed it out of a fist.

By the time he could move again, his hands were clean. Patton brought fresh clothes from his room and hovered just outside while he changed.  He had to admit, he did feel a little better now.  He dragged them both back into Roman’s room as soon as possible, though Patton insisted on bringing a pile of blankets from his own room with them.

When Roman woke up, it was dark, he was in his own bed, and everything hurt slightly less.  He tried to sit up, but gave up halfway and flopped back onto the pillow.  “Ow…” he whined.

There was a rustling sound to his right.  He turned his head and saw Virgil in a big armchair he must have dragged across the room, still half-asleep and struggling to escape the blanket cocoon Patton had inflicted on him while he was out. Patton himself was sleeping on the couch, tangled with Logan under another pile of blankets.

Virgil finally ended up on the floor, then popped back up, propping his elbows on the edge of the bed.  He had the comforter from his own bed wrapped around himself in lieu of his hoodie.  “You’re awake,” he whispered.  “And not… dead.”

“Yes, thanks to you…”  Roman sighed.  “I really don’t know how to thank you properly.  You saved my life, Virgil.”

Virgil shifted uncomfortably.  “Yeah, well,  ‘s my job, protecting you guys, so.  No need to thank me.  Just don’t ever fucking do that again.”

Roman laughed, then winced.  “Will do.”  His eyes started to drift shut.  Virgil was still on the floor, looking like he planned to stay there all night. Roman had a thought and shook himself awake.  “Virge.”

“Hm?”

“Come up here.”  Roman scooted closer to the wall and patted the space next to him.  “It can’t be comfortable on the floor.”

This was true.  The floor in Roman’s room was hardwood, and did not make a good mattress. “You don’t have to, I’ll just… the chair…” Virgil tried, standing up, but Roman wasn’t having it.

“No, I’ve slept in that chair before, you’re gonna be so stiff in the morning.  And I already moved and everything.”  Virgil hesitated, still not sure if he was actually wanted or if Roman just felt guilty about him being uncomfortable. “And… I’ll sleep better knowing you’re there.”

That settled it, and honestly, Virgil felt the same way. He climbed into the bed, dragging his blanket with him and throwing it over the both of them.  He kept to his side- he was a little too emotionally fragile right now to throw his personal space to the wind- but reached out so his hand brushed Roman’s, making sure they could both feel each other’s presence.

“Thank you,” Roman whispered again, not sure himself what exactly he meant it about.  Everything, he supposed.  On impulse, he laced their fingers together.  It could have been a trick of the light, but he thought he saw Virgil smile as he fell asleep.