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edupunkn00b · 5 months

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Mise Out of Place

Edited photo. Original by Icons8 Team via Unsplash.

mise en place (ˌmē-ˌzäⁿ-ˈpläs) noun Borrowed from French. A culinary process in which ingredients are prepared and organized (as in a restaurant kitchen) before cooking Also : the set of ingredients prepared using this process

Written for @starlocked01 for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange. I hope you enjoy this mix of crack and fluff with some elements unexpectedly made canon by last week's video.

Many thanks to the developmental beta reader, "Some Guy," who provided invaluable assistance and cheerleading with this story. Fluff is hard, y'all.

WC: 2k (okay, almost 2K) - Rated: T for a bit of swearing - CW: fluff, crack, and a hint of Remus-y imagery - [ AO3 ] -

“And… we’re live!”

“Thanks, Freddie,” Roman muttered, just out of earshot of the lavaliere mics pinned to Patton's and Remus' aprons.

“Maybe after his glow up,” Janus murmured, equally quietly.

Patton grinned at the camera, the edge of Janus’ hat fuzzy and barely visible past the glare of the ring light. “Hey there, Kiddos—”

“I’m Remus!” Said Side jumped into the frame, one long arm draped over Patton’s shoulders. Instead of looking at the camera, he stared expectantly at Patton, his grin far, far too wide.

Patton nodded, his own smile still plastered on. “And I’m your Happy Pappy Patton!”

Remus leaned closer and they said in unison, “And welcome to Messers en Place!”

Janus’ hat bobbed on the other side of the camera and Patton’s smile brightened. They’d practiced and practiced—and practiced—their video intro, each time failing to be in sync. Even Patton had begun to fear they’d have to rewrite it. But this time, when it mattered, really mattered, they did it!

“And what are we making today, Pattycake?” Remus prompted him when he failed to say his next line.

“Oh, right! To-daay…” He drew out his words as he looked around the ingredients oh-so-carefully spread out over the countertop. Mise en place, Roman had called it. Logan had tried to hide his surprise behind a little fumble with his glasses, but Patton hadn’t missed the way Logan’s eyes had widened.

“Ahem, well, yes, Roman is correct,” he'd finally managed. Remus bounced on his toes next to Patton, picking up each tiny bowl and sniffing at its contents.

“Careful there, Ro Bro,” he'd cackled. “Nerdy Wolverine’s gonna bust a nut with you knowing things.”

“I am not—”

“Hey, Pattycake, what’s this one?” Winking, Remus pulled him back into the present moment and shoved a bowl of brown spices into his hands.

“Oh, um…” Patton sniffed carefully. “It’s cumin, Remus.”

“Well, if you insist…” he began, reaching for his belt.

“Remus!” Roman cried, bonking his brother's head with the boom mic.

“Muse, not now, boy,” Janus murmured from the other side of the room.

Virgil groaned from his perch at the top of the refrigerator, silently tapping the sides of the fire extinguisher in his lap. “Are we sure having these two do a cooking show was a good idea for the stream?”

“Of course it is!” Remus and Roman said together.

And it really was a good idea. The twins had blurted out the concept together during a brainstorming session and even Logan had agreed this would be first in their livestream series. He'd even suggested the name.

So here they were, the two of them, about to cook. Together.

They could do this. Patton could do this.

Remus’ smile had grown too wide again, eyebrows arched high.

Right, the cumin.

“We’re making spaghetti and meatballs,” Patton remembered his line and smiled at the camera.

“Balls,” Remus muttered under his breath, shoulders dancing.

Patton gasped and sneezed into the little bowl, spraying cumin up into the air and all over his face.

“Oh, I gotcha, Daddy—”

“Remus!” Roman lowered the boom mic with an offended huff only he could manage to sound princely.

“Aw, Kiddo!” His catigan sleeves were safely tucked beneath his apron, but he brushed them clean anyway. Remus whipped out a concerningly clean handkerchief from under his sash and dabbed at Patton’s face.

“It’s sweet,” Patton smiled at Roman just off camera.

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” Roman muttered.

“You don’t get paid at all, Princey!”

“Need I remind you all we’re still live?” Logan hissed from the hallway.

“It’s fine, Logan, dear,” Janus murmured, tapping the laptop just out of frame. Comments scrolled up the screen faster than they'd ever been. “The viewers are eating it up.”

Logan frowned at the screen for a long moment before shrugging. “He’s right. Okay, carry on."

Face now clean, Patton nodded and carried a big stock pot to the sink. “Right, first step is to start the water. Remus, will you—”

“One step ahead of you, Daddy!” Patton barely made out his words over the rush of the faucet.

And the crash just behind him.

Patton swung around, water sloshing out of the pot and onto the floor. “Remus!”

Remus had shoved all the measured ingredients to the far edge of the counter. Spices and oil spilled over the plate of ground meat and the long loaf of italian bread was broken in half. A wedge of parmesan had impaled the softening butter and the head of garlic had rolled onto the floor. At the center of the counter was a giant neon green air fryer into which Remus had jammed the entire—sealed—box of linguini and a jar of sauce. "Oh, and Merry Christmas, by the way. Thought you could use one of these babies!" he said, slapping the top of the device. "Hm… I wonder if I could fit one of those in here, too…"

“Wait, Remus, no—” Patton dropped the stock pot and reached out as Remus cranked the air fryer up to 500°F and slammed the start button.

“Well, it was nice having a kitchen,” Virgil muttered and pulled the pin from the extinguisher, nozzle aimed directly at the air fryer.

“No, it’s fine,” Patton said, voice cracking even as he grinned up at Virgil. “Don’t worry, Kiddo, everything will be—”

The air fryer beeped and the scent of burning paper filled his nose. He rushed toward the counter, hands outstretched to unplug the fryer, but his heel skidded on the wet floor and he slammed into Remus’ back instead.

“Hey, if you wanted to dance, Pattycake…” Remus spun around, catching him before he fell. “You could’ve just said so!”

“Remus!” Patton cried, clinging to his tunic as thick black smoke and the flicker of orange flames erupted out of the appliance. “Fire!”

With the grace of a cat and accompanied by a woosh of extinguisher foam, Virgil jumped down and doused the air fryer, the counter and most of Patton and Remus with the fire retardant.

A spark caught on the edge of Virgil’s hoodie sleeve and the mic squealed as Roman dropped the boom and rushed over to smother it.

“Princey, I’m fine! Let’s get the rest of this—”

“Shit!” Roman swore as he slipped on the spreading puddle of water and extinguisher foam in the center of the room. Virgil grabbed him by his sash, pulling him to his feet.

“Gotcha, your Highnessness.”

Off camera, Logan slid closer to Janus. “Are we still filming?”

“Mm-hm. Wine?” he asked, offering a large goblet he’d procured from… somewhere.

Eyebrow raised, Logan accepted the glass and took a slow sip. “Out of everything in the kitchen, this is what you chose to save?”

“Why, yes, of course," he murmured before finishing his own glass and refilling it.

“Acceptable.”

Long after the livestream ended and the kitchen was—mostly—put back into order, the Sides called it a night and, one-by-one sauntered off to bed.

All the Sides but Remus, at least. Well, and Patton.

Remus had waited until everyone else's room had grown quiet and the lights spilling out from under each Side’s door had clicked off. A flickery bluish glow remained under Virgil’s door, but he typically wouldn’t actually fall asleep for another few hours anyway.

Patton’s door, though… Patton’s door had remained closed tight, without even the usual fairy lights brightening the edges of the door frame. And without the happy little sounds of his bedtime playlist.

Patton hadn’t gone to bed.

Taking more care than usual, Remus slipped off his boots and crept downstairs, skipping the creaky third and fifth steps. The living room, kitchen, and hall were dark, the patio door closed and locked with the blinds drawn tight. The clock on the microwave cast long, faint shadows over the kitchen floor and Remus spotted a bit of movement followed by a tiny sound.

He held his breath and waited. There it was again, a soft sniffle.

Dropping to the floor, Remus peered under the kitchen table. Patton sat hunched in the far corner, sweater-clad arms hugging his knees to his chest.

“Oh, hi, Kiddo,” he mumbled, wiping his cheeks against his forearms. “Can’t sleep?” he asked as though Remus was the one hiding alone in the dark.

“Was gonna ask you the same thing, Pattycake.”

“Oh…” Patton didn’t explain what the fuck he was doing down there, cardigan pulled over his potassium bicarbonate and cumin—ha!—stained apron. He just sort of looked down at his hands and pulled his legs up closer to him. Almost like he was making room.

Remus clambered under the table next to him, not quite touching but close enough to smell the smoke in Patton’s hair and clothes. Remus' own clothes smelled like his experiment upstairs and he inhaled the plasticy, acrid scent of burnt dyes and the forever chemicals from the extinguisher. It was even better than the fires for making s’mores at Thomas’ summer camp as a kid.

Remus wiggled his toes, watching Patton from the corner of his eye. He’d tucked his face close to his knees but his cheeks glimmered with new, silent tears. Remus breathed in again. The kitchen would reek of smoke for a long time after this.

“C-A-M—”

“Maybe later?” Patton sniffled. “I’m just not in the mood to sing right now, Kiddo.”

“You sure about that?” Remus scooted a little closer and bumped their shoulders together. “It’ll help if you just sing along…” He waited, watching Patton tap his foot, toes squelching in his still-sopping shoes.

“C-A-M-P…” he began again, slower this time.

“F-I-R-E-S-O-N-G song,” Patton sang softly.

“C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E-S-O-N-G song…” Remus repeated.

A little smile cracked across the other Side’s face, softer and more real than it had been all day. “The C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E-S-O-N-G song.” Patton took a breath like he was about to jump into the next verse but he frowned, nose scrunched. “It still smells like burnt air fryer in here, huh?”

“Yeah,” Remus agreed, nodding his head with a grin. “We made our mark.”

“Yeah,” Patton said, curling over his knees again.

“Aw, Daddy-o,” Remus bumped his shoulder. “Is that why you’re hiding under here? ‘Cause of the fire?”

“Well, yeah,” Patton frowned, staring back at him. “I really wanted to make a great video. I wanted to… you know… make Thomas proud.”

“Fuck, Pattycake, we did! Have you seen the comments?”

Patton just shook his head so Remus sank them both down into his room where he’d left his laptop open to the video page. Views and comments continued to pour in, hours after the stream had ended. “Look!” he demanded, pushing Patton down into a mostly clean chair.

The Moral Side read quietly, eyes growing wider with each scroll. “They… they liked us?”

“Yeah they did!” Remus slapped his back. “So, whaddya say we make Elf Spaghetti next time? We can even add some Crofters to please the nerd.” Patton’s stomach grumbled and Remus’ grin grew. “You know… we never did eat dinner, Pattycake. How about we give it a trial run tonight?”

“Race you to the kitchen!” Patton laughed and sank down through the floor.

“Hey, that’s cheating!”

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