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rosepetalgold · 3 years ago

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all the silver stolen (will one day turn to gold) 1

Summary: Janus is an exceptionally good thief, if he does say so himself. Sure, his life of petty crime alongside Virgil and Remus isn’t ideal, exactly, but it’s good enough—until he tries to pickpocket the wrong person and learns three life-changing things: One, mages are terrifyingly real, go by the name of Logan, and do not appreciate being stolen from. Two, Remus has a twin brother. And three, Remus is actually the crown prince of the neighboring country, forced to start a new life after being framed for treason and left for dead in a brutal coup.

Whisked off to a new nation with Remus and Virgil, Janus struggles to adjust to high society and a life of court politics and intrigue, his inherent distrust of magic and his rocky—to put it lightly—relationship with Logan only complicating matters further. Trouble soon begins brewing in the kingdom as well, bringing with it whispers of old threats to the newly reunited princes, and when things go horribly wrong, Janus is forced to confront two questions with extraordinary consequences: How selfish is he, exactly? And just what is he prepared to sacrifice for those he loves?

Relationships: Romantic Loceit, background romantic Prinxiety, found family all around

Warnings for this chapter: Injury to a main character (for a full list of major warnings, check the tags on Ao3)

Word Count: 7316

Notes: My fic for the Thomas Sanders Big Bang 2022 (@sandersidesbigbang)! This is by far the longest fic I've ever written, and although it is responsible for me spending countless hours staring blankly at a google doc, it has definitely been a labor of love. I'm so excited to share it, and I hope you enjoy! Updates weekly!

A huge thank you to my wonderful beta readers Peregrin (@iclaimedtobethebetterbard) and Saphira (@dragonsaphirareads) for all their help wrangling the plot into something coherent and for all their feedback, as well as for not once complaining despite this beast of a fic more than doubling in length from its original estimated word count. They are truly amazing, and this story wouldn't be the same without them!

Also be sure to check out the absolutely stunning art from the two incredible artists I got to work with, Crow (@thecrowslullaby) and Hedgey (@hedgeyart)! I will link to Crow's work in the respective chapters, but in the meantime you can both dazzle your eyes and get a spoiler-free teaser of the later part of the fic by heading over to Hedgey's piece right here.

Read on Ao3 Masterpost

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Janus is an exceptionally good thief, if he does say so himself. Such a claim isn’t even bragging, not when he has the proof to back it up; he knows how to slip unnoticed through empty and crowded marketplaces alike, knows how to steal coin purses and jewelry and watches right off of any unsuspecting person and leave them none the wiser of his actions, knows how to sell what he’s acquired for a fair price on the black market. He’s had to learn such things just to survive, especially given how he’d first found himself on the streets, young and frightened and overwhelmed, a life of crime the only thing standing between himself and a long, slow death of starvation.

But more than being a talented thief, Janus is a smart thief. He knows how to select the best mark while avoiding the plainclothes guards just waiting to catch an unwary pickpocket, knows how to take advantage of a distraction or create one himself, knows how to judge which risks are worth taking and which are better left unchanced. His quick fingers may be what has granted him enough food and money to keep himself alive, but it’s his even quicker mind that has allowed him to evade the common thief’s fate of a short drop and a sudden stop for so many years.

Unfortunately, Janus is also currently a desperate thief, and desperate thieves are apt to do extraordinarily dangerous things, which is how he finds himself fumbling his lockpicks into his freezing hands as he crouches outside a fancy stone building in the middle of the night, no backup in sight and only the barest bones of a plan rattling around inside his skull. Breaking into any building, let alone an apothecary, is high-risk enough that he would normally never even consider such a thing, loath to put himself in such a perilous situation when he’s perfectly content weaving through crowds as his fingers dance in and out of pockets. But Virgil had taken a nasty fall by the run-down blacksmith’s forge a few days prior, gashing his leg open on a jagged piece of metal sticking out of a scrap pile, and the wound was now clearly infected, angrily inflamed and leaking foul-smelling pus as Virgil grew clammy and delirious.

If it were anyone else, Janus would have simply told them to hope for the best but make peace with whatever gods they believed in in the likely event of the worst, but Virgil is nothing if not an exception to all of Janus’ rules. Janus had practically raised the other man despite being only a handful of years older than him, had taken him in and tried his best to keep him clothed and fed while he’d taught him how to steal, nevermind that he’d barely been able to support himself, let alone anyone else. It had taken a lot from both of them to build trust, and even more for their wary alliance to slowly bloom into genuine friendship, but somehow, impossibly, it had, the venom in their sarcastic comments and snarky remarks mellowed save for the occasional argument.

Remus had come along a few years later and fallen in easily to make their duo a trio, more because of his uncanny ability to always be around and his refusal to leave rather than because of any official invitation to join. There had been something odd about him from the very beginning, something in the hint of an accent that sometimes slipped out and the foreign cut of his clothes and the shimmering gold necklace that he always wore against his chest and refused to take off, the sum of it all enough to give Janus pause, but he’d proven himself early by getting Janus out of a bind with some guards and his eyes had lit up with unrestrained glee when Janus had begun to plot crimes with him, so into the group he’d come. Given his own undisclosed past, Janus has never pressed Remus to lay bare his secrets, content just to take any observations he makes and tuck them away to mull over when he has a spare moment, trying to tease Remus’ life story from the scraps of details he’s collected and never getting too far because really, he has better things to worry about, like where he’ll get food for the day or how to get Virgil new boots in the middle of winter.

It’s comfortingly familiar by now, the way they work together, two of them operating in tandem to distract and pickpocket their mark while the third keeps a lookout, years of practice making the three of them a formidable team. Occasionally they’ll split up to cover more ground or one of them will find an odd job and jump at the opportunity for a few guaranteed coins, but for the most part they stick together, finding safety in numbers and taking comfort in knowing that someone they trust is watching their backs.

Tonight, though, with Virgil down for the count and Remus watching over him, it’s just Janus. The pressure of potentially having Virgil’s life in his hands is doing wonders for his nerves, truly. That churning sensation in his stomach is adding a delightful bit of excitement to what would otherwise clearly be a dreadfully boring situation.

Despite the severity of Virgil’s injury, taking him to a healer had been soundly out of the question; physicians’ rates were much too high for the three of them to afford even if they cashed out their meager savings, and even if they could have somehow found the money, they couldn’t risk a doctor getting suspicious about how a trio of obvious street urchins had managed to afford his services.

So breaking into the apothecary it is.

Virgil had always been the best lockpick out of the three of them, but Janus manages to wiggle the tiny tools into the lock, biting back a string of curses that would make even Remus blush as he struggles to to maneuver the instruments properly.

Rude of people to actually lock their doors and protect their valuables. Completely uncalled for.

Finally, after entirely too many minutes of fiddling with the picks with bated breath, there’s the tiniest of clicks and the knob turns easily under his hand when he tests it. Success, and it had only taken him three times as long as it would have Virgil. Surely stealing a bit of medicine will be child’s play in comparison.

He eases the door open, wary of any squealing hinges and ready to flee at the first sign of movement, but everything is silent and still as he slips inside. There’s enough moonlight filtering in through the windows to illuminate the space in a silvery glow, and he pauses for a moment, taking stock. Off to his right, in the back of a shop, stands a tall cabinet with a multitude of small drawers, doubtless housing fresh and dried ingredients of all sorts, but although Janus is tempted, he edges past it. He knows enough basic first aid to be able to make common ointments for minor injuries and ailments, but the drawers look like they’re liable to squeak if he so much as looks at them wrong, and he doesn’t want to risk mixing up ingredients in the dark and killing Virgil with some kind of poison on accident. The other man might be just a tad upset with him if he did that.

What he’s really after are the medicines that have already been prepared, which he assumes are significantly less likely to make him an accidental murderer, and as he creeps further into the shop on silent feet he discovers there’s a whole display of them near the front windows, colorful glass jars a washed-out rainbow in the moonbeams.

Perfect. One little snatch and he’ll be gone before anyone even knew he was here, in and out in less time than it takes to brew a proper cup of tea, his extraordinary talents once again having saved the day, except—

Except the jars are labeled with small slips of paper adorned with writing instead of pictures like the cheap medicines he’s used to, and Janus—

Janus can’t read.

Shit. Of all the times for his lack of a formal education to come back and bite him, of course it would be when Virgil’s life hung in the balance. What a lovely sense of humor the universe had.

He resists the urge to swear aloud and glares at the jars instead on the off chance doing so will magically solve his problem. The jars themselves should offer some clues, but he’s not familiar with this particular apothecary, doesn’t know how their medicines are color-coded. Is the little crimson container for burns, since red was associated with fire? Or is it to stop bleeding? Or is it neither of those, representing something else entirely? Janus doesn’t know.

Time to improvise, then. He hasn’t gotten this far only to be foiled by some inky squiggles.

Casting another wary glance around the quiet shop, he shifts closer to the display and the row of jars lined up neatly atop the shelves. Samples of some kind, perhaps, but their purpose is less important than the fact that they look infinitely easier to handle without clinking together than the jars clustered together on the shelves. He goes down the line one by one, carefully unscrewing each little container’s lid and sniffing the contents, trying to recognize the scent of any ingredients that might treat infected wounds.

Not the red, definitely not the orange, maybe the yellow?

He’s getting antsy, nerves crawling along his skin and skittering down his spine, his instincts screaming at him that he needs to get out, this is taking too long, he’s already been here for more time than he’d planned. But unless he’s suddenly been granted the ability to produce medicine out of thin air, he doesn’t have any other option than to go through the jars as quickly as possible. Taking a pot of each color and figuring out their uses later is a last resort, not only because he doesn’t have anything to wrap them in so they don’t clink together in his bag but also because he doesn’t want this to be a high-profile theft. Taking copious amounts of medicine is bound to put the guards on high alert, which is the last thing he needs when their trio is already running perilously low on food and supplies and will need to be out and about stealing to replenish them.

No, if he can only find the damn jar he wants, he’ll just take that and be gone and with any luck the apothecary owner will think they’ve simply misplaced it somewhere and not even realize they’ve been robbed.

Not the light or dark green jars, but the blue smells familiar—

A shriek splits the air, so shrill and unexpected that Janus’ whole body goes white with razor-sharp panic in an instant, his knife in his grip before he can even parse where the sound has come from or what’s happening, the purple jar he’d been holding slipping out of his hand and shattering into an incriminating pile of shards at his feet, the heady scent of lavender filling the air. No. No no no, there hadn’t been anyone else here, he was sure of it, how—who—

There’s a figure on the other side of the shop, standing in the doorway of what Janus had assumed to be nothing more than a storage closet and which he now realizes, entirely too late, is in fact a stairway to the second floor, which must serve as the healer’s residence and not an extension of the shop as he’d thought.

Apparently he needed to add ‘making correct assumptions’ to his list of innumerable talents.

He’s moving on instinct before he can even take a breath, lunging to grab the little blue jar—stars, he doesn’t even know for sure if it’s the right medicine—before he’s bolting for the exit, fear snapping in his veins, the only thought in his head run run RUN.

“No, wait! Stop!”

Right, of course he’s going to pause for the person who has just caught him stealing red-handed, just wait around to be hauled off to jail for his crimes. Why doesn’t he strike up some small talk while he’s at it?

He’s across the shop and out the back door in a heartbeat, pure adrenaline propelling him forwards as he tucks the precious jar into the safety of his bag, his footsteps echoing dully against the hard-packed dirt in the still night air as he attempts to wrangle rational thought back into his head. Getting caught by the shopkeeper was hardly ideal, but a glance over his shoulder proves they’re not coming after him, and as long as no one else has heard their shriek he should be able to make a clean getaway—

“Hey!”

His heart is pounding so hard in his own ears that he hardly hears the gruff shout, barely sees a form suddenly loom in his peripheral vision, but he certainly feels the hand that snags his cloak for a moment before he manages to wrench free. The healer, trying to cut him off? How the fuck had he managed to outpace Janus?

But when he glances backward he’s met not with the sight of pastel pajamas and blonde curls but of a dark uniform and a sword flashing as it’s drawn from its sheath.

One of the Guard. Stars, couldn’t a man just steal some medicine in peace anymore?

He forces himself to go faster, hurtling headlong down the empty street as he tries to think. He isn’t familiar with this area, doesn’t know its ins and outs like he does his own neighborhood, but if he can just find a side street he should be able to lose the guard in the labyrinth of alleys lacing the city. He veers down the first promising opening he sees, the deeper shadows welcoming him in—

—and promptly finds himself met with a dead end.

Fuck.

He whirls, his only option to backtrack to the main road before he’s cornered, only to find a broad figure already blocking his only way out, sword in hand. Janus is trapped.

Fuck.

“Come on, don’t make this hard on yourself, boy,” the guard growls, advancing forward a step, and Janus can’t help but skitter back in turn, eyes fixed on the glinting blade in the other man’s hand. He can’t get caught now, not when he still has the medicine in his bag, not when Virgil is doubtless still caught in the deadly grip of fever and infection. Janus getting thrown in jail would be nothing less than a death sentence for both of them.

And yet here he finds himself, nothing but high stone walls around him and a larger, stronger opponent he surely can’t best in a fight in front of him.

Not a physical fight, at least, but a mind game or two, a few dirty tricks thrown in to round things off? That Janus is willing to gamble on.

“Okay,” he concedes, letting his voice tremble slightly as the guard takes another stride into the alley. “Okay, just please don’t hurt me, sir.”

The man visibly preens at the honorific, sword tip lowering slightly, and Janus resists the urge to roll his eyes even as his pulse still hammers entirely too quickly in his ears. Honestly. These brutes made playing their ego entirely too easy.

“Put the knife down,” the man orders, and Janus obligingly crouches, the ground freezing even on his half-numb hands as he lays his palms flat on the dirt.

“I’m sorry, sir, please don’t hurt me,” he whimpers as he curls in on himself, the very picture of contrition.

“That’s right, you just cooperate and no one’s going to get hurt here.”

“Of course, sir,” Janus snivels as a pair of black boots come into view of his downcast gaze, followed a moment later by a sword tip. “Anything you say—”

He surges upwards, knife sweeping in front of him as he lunges past the guard, and for the barest fraction of a moment he thinks he’s made it, that his plan has actually worked, that brains have triumphed over brawn—

Pain explodes in his side, a white-hot line of fire that makes black stars burst across his vision and wrenches a strangled cry from his lips, but he has to keep moving, has to go, has to get away while he still has even a sliver of a chance, and he can’t stop, he can’t stop, he can’t stop even if it feels like he’s just been torn right in half.

He doesn’t even know how he manages to make it to the end of the alley and back onto the main road, given how blank his mind has gone with panic and adrenaline; he’s just there, in between one wave of black stars and the next, lurching for the first side street he sees and praying to all the gods he doesn’t even believe in that it’s not another dead end. If he can just make it into the twisting maze of alleyways, he should be able to lose the guard, provided he doesn’t bleed out in the process.

“Get back here, you little shit!”

The furious voice and its accompanying footfalls are far closer than Janus would like, but he doesn’t dare look behind him. If he’s going to get a sword through the spine, the last thing he wants is to see it coming.

“Guard!” Another voice splitting the air behind him. The healer? “Hey, guard!”

The guard’s steps falter, the other man clearly debating whether it’s worth it to continue pursuing a petty thief at the risk of failing to help a wealthy noble in need, and his hesitation is all the opportunity Janus needs to fling himself around a corner into another alley.

Stars above, please don’t be another dead end, please please please—

There must be some higher power after all, some deity who finally takes pity on him, or perhaps fate has simply decided to give him a fighting chance, because the narrow street tees into two at the end. He picks a direction at random, hope leaping treacherously in his chest that he’s at last found a way out of this mess, only to be dashed at the sound of footfalls picking up again behind him, the guard apparently having decided Janus is somehow more important than the healer.

Janus would be flattered if it didn’t mean he was about to either be sliced into ribbons or thrown into jail and sentenced to hang. As it is, he’s less than enthused.

Fear is biting at his heels, urging him faster, but he’s already lagging, lungs burning as he gasps for air, black and red spots encroaching on any spare sliver of vision, searing pain ripping through his body with every step as he jostles his new injury. He can’t keep going like this, not without collapsing within the next minute, and even though the guard behind him may be all brute force and no brain, Janus is pretty sure even he would notice Janus’ body sprawled in the middle of the street.

He scans around him as he flees further up the alley, searching for any place to take cover, but there’s nothing but unscalable walls around him. Nothing, nothing, nothing, until suddenly—there. A tiny gap between two buildings, cloaked in impenetrable shadows. He stumbles to a halt, blowing out whatever tiny bit of air he has left in his lungs in order to make himself as small as possible as he desperately wedges himself into the space. Even then, and despite Janus’ slim stature from years of malnutrition, it’s a tight fit, and he’s barely managed to squeeze himself all the way in before there’s heavy footsteps drawing closer, slowing to a jog and then a walk as the guard clearly tries to deduce where his victim has disappeared to.

Too late does Janus realize that if the other man had any intelligence at all, he would just go find a torch or lantern and track Janus using the bloodtrail he’s undoubtedly left in his wake, but there’s precisely nothing he can do about that now. He crams a handful of cloak into his mouth, both to muffle his pants of pain and to hide the cloud of his breath in the frigid air, turning his head away from the alleyway lest the glint of light off of his eyes give him away.

Given how his wonderful luck is going, he can only brace himself for a blade to come spearing into his ribs, easy as stabbing fish in a barrel, but the footsteps move right past him without a hitch, continuing down the street until they escape Janus’ earshot altogether. But Janus doesn’t move a muscle, despite the fact that his right foot is sinking into something squishy he does not ever want to identify and the smell of rotting food and dead animal is so heavy and cloying in his nose that he has to fight down bile.

Patience. If he can survive a sword almost making his insides be on the outside, he can survive sharing a claustrophobically small space with a few dead rats.

Sure enough, the footfalls return a few minutes later, slower this time as the guard backtracks his steps. Janus hardly dares breathe, sure his luck won’t hold a second time, but once again the other man continues past his hiding place without pause, apparently none the wiser to his quarry literally being within arm’s reach.

A flawless escape if Janus does say so himself, nevermind the fact that he’s taken a sword blade to the ribs in the process. That little detail was wholly inconsequential.

Still, it’s a long while that he bides his time, waiting until he’s satisfied the guard isn’t going to come back a third time, and even then he forces himself to wait some more, just in case. By the time he finally edges out of his little nook and back into the alley proper, his feet and hands have long since gone numb and the black spots in his vision have returned in full force, any movement that pulls at his side even the slightest bit sending ripples of agony through his ribs now that the numbing effects of his adrenaline rush have worn off.

A shame he’s neither brave enough nor stupid enough to try retuning to the apothecary, considering he could really use some painkillers right now.

He keeps his arm firmly pressed against the wound, desperate to keep as much pressure as he can stand on the injury even as a fresh line of warmth trickling down his waist informs him he hasn’t managed to stop the bleeding. He should probably check on it, he knows, try to fashion some kind of bandage from his shirt, but his stomach is already queasy enough that he doesn’t trust he’d be able to witness whatever damage has been wrought upon him without passing out, so his arm will have to suffice.

Out of sight, out of mind, he tells himself. It was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine. If he just repeats it enough times, maybe he’ll begin to believe it, despite the fact that the world tilts alarmingly when he dares a tiny step forward. He hasn’t keeled over and died yet, so the injury can’t be that bad, can it?

It doesn’t matter. Janus just needs to suck it up and get home to deliver the medicine to Virgil before the other man kicks the bucket and all of this has been in vain.

It’s a risk to return to their hideout when there’s a chance the guard chasing him might lie in wait for him to reappear and follow him back home, but it seems an equal risk to spend too much time on the streets when the other man, if not the whole of the night guard by now, is looking for him. He compromises by opting to take the long way back to the impoverished underbelly of the city, secreting himself away in the shadows of back alleys as he muffles his pants of pain into his cloak, biting down so hard on the fabric shoved into his mouth that he’s surprised he doesn’t put holes in it.

It takes him several times longer than it should to return to familiar surroundings, given that he has to pause every few steps either to listen for any guards or to wait for the world to stop spinning around him, but he never dares stop for too long, not as it grows increasingly unlikely that he’ll be able to haul himself back up if he collapses on the ground like his body is begging him to.

It’s nearly dawn by the time he finally deems he isn’t being followed and crosses the final few streets to their little hovel, and he allows himself a single moment to grimace against the pain biting into every single inch of his body, gritting his teeth against the overwhelming sensation. And then he’s pulling himself upright, schooling his features into an expressionless mask as he raps their familiar passcode rhythm on the door and pushes inside.

Virgil is just where he’d left him, still unconscious on the mattress pulled up close to the fireplace, shifting restlessly in his sleep and babbling something nonsensical under his breath, and Janus can’t help a silent sigh of relief that the other man hasn’t expired in his absence.

“Did you get it?” Remus asks immediately from where he’s trying to coax some water down Virgil’s throat, and Janus digs in his bag to hold up the little jar of medicine, careful to keep his other arm pressed securely to his side to hide his injury. He knew having a cloak dark enough to hide bloodstains would come in handy one day. “Good, cause this wound is getting nastier by the second and as fun as it would be to try out a bone saw, I don’t think little Virgie would appreciate only having one leg.”

Janus wrinkles his nose at the mental image of Remus and the havoc he could wreak with such an instrument, just the thought of such carnage turning his stomach. He’s already lost enough blood tonight for the three of them. He doesn’t even want to contemplate one of them losing any more via amputation.

“Good thing he’s unconscious; he would tear you to pieces for calling him Virgie.”

“I’d like to see him try,” Remus retorts, but his face is lined with worry as he brushes a stray lock of hair off Virgil’s forehead. Shit. Things must be going from bad to worse if even Remus is this concerned.

Janus hurries to rinse his hands off in the bowl of water on the table, making a mental note to discard the now crimson liquid before Remus can see it, unceremoniously drying his hands on his pants as he crouches next to the other man. The movement pulls sharply at his wound, sending yet another wave of black spots dancing across his vision, and he has to bite back a hiss of pain as he wavers slightly. Don’t pass out now, not now, not before helping Virgil—

Remus casts him a sidelong glance, seeming to notice something is wrong.

“You okay, Janny?”

No, Janus is about to say, not unless you want to go find a guard with a sword so we can all have matching wounds.

But then he unscrews the lid off the little jar of salve and dips a finger in to find—

Nothing.

Cold panic snaps up his spine, shot nerves surging protestingly back to life. No, there’s no way he could have stolen an empty jar. He was a thoroughly accomplished thief, and thoroughly accomplished thieves simply did not make mistakes like accidentally grabbing the wrong pot of medicine.

Unless, perhaps, they were the tiniest bit distracted by the dark and the healer screaming at the sight of them and the fear turning their mind blank.

He braces himself for the worst, to have to return to the apothecary and try to steal something else, but when he tilts the jar to peer in he’s met with the sight of a cream ointment, albeit barely enough to coat the bottom of the glass. He swears viciously as he tips the container towards Remus for him to see, and the other man wrinkles his face up in annoyance at the lack of medicine.

“That sucks,” he pronounces. “Would have been nice to have had some extra in case someone gets a hand bitten off by a pack of stray dogs or something.”

“Fuck. Fuck.” Tears of frustration are suddenly pricking at the back of Janus’ eyes and he forces them back through sheer willpower, absolutely refusing to cry in front of Remus. Just because he’s exhausted and injured and absolutely nothing has gone right tonight doesn’t mean he’s going to make it anyone else’s problem. Virgil is the one who needs attention. Janus needs to pull himself together and start being useful.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Remus says, peering into the jar again. “There’s enough here for Virgil.”

But not for me, Janus thinks, but he can’t say it, can’t reveal his own injury, not when the jar is so tiny and there’s so little ointment left and all he can remember is Virgil looking up at him that morning, dark gaze so pained and vulnerable even as he’d tried to hide it as Janus had promised that he’d find him some medicine.

No. Janus is selfish about many things, has had to be just in order to survive, but he’s never been able to be selfish when it comes to Virgil and Remus. He can’t be selfish about this.

Besides, there’s a chance he won’t even need the medicine; he’s suffered plenty of injuries before that have healed on their own, nevermind that little voice in the back of his head whispering that none of those wounds had been nearly as bad as this one.

So he dips his fingers back into the jar and carefully spreads the salve on Virgil’s wound, not stopping until the container is empty of even a speck of ointment and the medicine has been rubbed gently into every inch of angry red skin. Remus fusses over rebandaging the injury and tucking Virgil back in while Janus slips the empty jar into a basket of various other small, stolen items. They won’t be able to sell it, not right away, not with the Guard looking for anything connected to the apothecary break-in, but they might be able to trade it for something down the line.

“Did you run into any trouble while you were out?” Remus asks as he slumps back onto the floor by the fireplace, fiddling with the edge of the blankets.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Janus replies smoothly, and it’s not even a lie—he had handled it, had managed to evade being caught and had made it home all (or mostly, he supposes) in one piece. What did it matter that he’d met with the business end of a sword while he was out? Give it a few months and the injury would be just another scar on Janus’ skin, one more unspoken story of a bind he’d gotten himself out of with his superior wit and talent.

Either that or he would be dead of blood loss or infection and it wouldn’t be his problem anymore. One or the other.

Remus gives him a sidelong look like he doesn’t quite believe Janus’ lie, eyes narrowing and mouth opening to no doubt ask more prying questions, and Janus hurriedly cuts in before he can get the chance.

“Will you go see what you can find for breakfast? I know Ms. Fordham at the bakery has a soft spot for Virgil, but she might give you some day-old bread for a good price if you’re there early and offer to haul in the flour deliveries.”

Remus still has that look in his eye like he’s going to push the issue, a heavy silence falling between the two of them as he locks Janus into a staring contest, an unspoken battle of wills that Janus doubts he’s going to win in his current state. The only people more stubborn than him were his own gods-damned family.

Time to play dirty, then.

“I wouldn’t want Virgil to wake up hungry with nothing to eat,” he presses.

Remus stares at him for another long moment, those clever eyes searching Janus’ for any hint of something amiss, and Janus forces himself to hold his gaze with an impassive expression. Nothing’s wrong, he tries to communicate telepathically. Nothing’s wrong, just go get breakfast and everything will be okay. I absolutely am not about to pass out from blood loss and join Virgil on the floor.

He doubts he’s giving a convincing performance of being fine, but it must be just enough, because Remus finally huffs and gives in, heaving himself up off the ground and muttering something Janus sincerely doubts is flattering as he swipes his cloak off the hook by the door.

“Don’t use the bone saw without me,” he orders, which Janus interprets as make sure Virgil doesn’t take a turn for the worse.

“Pinky promise,” Janus swears, holding out his hand, and Remus takes a moment to latch his finger around Janus’ before disappearing out the door into the dull, pre-dawn light.

Janus counts to ten, then fifty, a hundred, making sure Remus is well and truly gone, before he allows himself to double over with a strangled groan, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his nails into his thigh as the full extent of his injury finally hits him.

Fuck, this hurt. If he wanted to know what it felt like to have tongues of fire licking at his ribs, he would have just asked Remus if he wanted to practice his arson skills.

He draws in a deep breath on instinct, trying to breathe through the pain if nothing else, and the agony surges, spearing through his chest into his muscles and tendons and veins and coiling around his heart until he can barely breathe, wrenching a sound suspiciously close to a whimper from his throat, and it’s all he can do to just exist in the pain for a moment.

Okay. No deep breaths, then.

Exhaustion is dragging at him even through the pain, weighing down his eyelids and leadening his bones now that the adrenaline of being chased and tending to Virgil is wearing off, and he wants nothing more than to collapse right here on the ground next to Virgil and just sleep, slipping into sweet unconsciousness where he doesn’t have to worry about whether Virgil will get better or whether his own injury will become infected or whether the Guard will come crashing through the door at any moment to arrest all three of them.

But if he doesn’t tend to his wound before he falls into bed, he’s just going to end up in Virgil’s position in a few days when it gets infected, not to mention he’ll have to explain the bloodstains he’s leaving on the floor to Remus.

Actually, knowing Remus, he would be beyond delighted at the latter and eagerly demand to know where the blood was from, but Janus doesn’t trust his mental capacities at the moment to come up with any halfway believable lie.

“Lucky bastard,” he hisses at Virgil, who is still slumbering away pain-free and blissfully unaware of Janus’ predicament. He begins to inch himself across the floor to the table, taking tiny sips of air to try to calm the fire still battering his ribs. The world spins alarmingly around him as he uses the piece of furniture to claw himself upright, and he sways unsteadily on his feet once he gets there.

“Come on,” he mutters, some distant part of his mind whispering that he should really be alarmed that he’s devolved into talking to himself. “It’s just a little blood loss. How bad can it be?”

He keeps one hand on the wall for support as he makes his way past the curtain dividing the main living space from what serves as their bedroom. The main mattress has been moved into the other room next to the fireplace so they don’t freeze in their sleep in the colder months, but there’s a smaller bed here, salvaged off the street and put back together by Remus, and Janus eases himself onto it.

It’s a slow, agonizing process to get his shirt off, any movement or stretch pulling at his injury, and he has to stop more than once for the stars that dance in his vision, but he finally works his way free of the garment. A sharp breath hisses between his teeth as he cranes his neck down to examine the injury, nausea turning his stomach. It’s not a pretty sight, the dried blood flaking down his side disturbed by trails of fresh crimson still leaking from the wound, and Janus spits out a swear, then another, and another. If he’d known this was how things were going to go, he would have stolen everything he could carry from the apothecary instead of trying to keep a low profile by only taking one paltry jar of salve.

Next time—if he lives to see a next time—he’s taking the whole damn shelf of medicine, clinking jars be damned.

There’s a pitcher of water on the nightstand and he uses it and a rag to clean the injury as best he can, agony sparking up his spine whenever a drop of freezing water or the edge of the fabric gets too close to the jagged gash, but he forces himself to hurry, knowing Remus won’t be gone long. The bed is an absolute mess by the time he’s done, scarlet water settling into stains on the sheets, but that’s a problem for future Janus. He has bigger worries at the moment than laundry.

Between the ice-cold water and the chill in the air he’s shivering now, and he’s quick to dry off as best he can before moving on to bandaging. Their stockpile of nice bandages is almost depleted and Janus isn’t willing to take the few remaining in case Virgil needs them, so he opts for their homemade bandages instead, which is a generous term for it, considering that they’re fashioned from scraps of fabric too worn out to function as clothes anymore, but Janus isn’t in any position to be picky. As long as it stops the bleeding, it’ll do.

The pain is at least becoming familiar, if not exactly pleasant, as he winds the long, spiraling strips tightly around his ribs, even as his stomach churns at the thought that so much blood that is supposed to be inside his body is very much not. Just beet juice, he tells himself, not above lying to himself if it means not passing out on the bedroom floor. Just beet juice on your hands and the bandages and the bed, nothing more.

Almost done. He shoves his torn and bloodstained shirt under the mattress out of sight of curious eyes and forces himself up to grab another one from the pile in the corner, very nearly finding himself on the ground from the way the world tilts violently around him as he staggers upright. He’s panting with pain and exertion by the time he finally manages to get the blasted thing on, but the sense of relief that washes over him once he does is immediate. His secret is safe for now, at least. No one else needed to worry about him.

The bed is almost irresistibly tempting, but he stumbles his way back into the main room, collapsing heavily on the floor next to Virgil to sit as a guard until Remus gets back.

“You heard nothing,” he tells the other man as he scuffs at the half-dried bloodstains on the floorboards with his boot, smearing them into less incriminating streaks. “Everything is fine.”

Virgil doesn’t deign to respond beyond drooling onto his own arm, and Janus groans, tipping his head back against the wall as his eyelids drag closed of their own volition. He can’t sleep, not yet, not until Remus returns, but maybe he’ll just rest his eyes for a moment, just a few seconds…

He wakes with a heavy groan in his chest, the pain in his ribs fiercely unrelenting, and he curls in on himself instinctively, the phantom feel of a sword biting into his ribs entirely too real. Fuck, he’d really been hoping that whole apothecary debacle had been nothing more than a strikingly vivid nightmare. Apparently not.

“Nice guard job you’re doing there, Jan.”

He squints one eye open, glaring at Remus where he’s sprawled on the floor on the other side of Virgil.

“Good thing I wasn’t planning on doing anything nefarious. I could have killed both of you and you were so out of it you would’ve just floated right into the light.”

Janus scowls at him, nowhere near the mood to joke about anyone dying. The possibility hit just a little too close to home for comfort at the moment.

“Here,” Remus says, entirely unaffected by Janus’ look, offering him a slice of bread. “You were right about Ms. Fordham.”

Of course he was. Janus is always right.

He nibbles through the bread while Remus rambles on about a mishap with one of the flour bags, his stomach still roiling even though he’s ravenous. He realizes halfway through that Virgil is frighteningly still, but when he scrambles to check he realizes it’s because the other man is sleeping peacefully for the first time in days.

Last night had been worth it, then, no matter that Janus can’t breathe too deeply or move too suddenly without feeling like a knife is being twisted into his side. Janus was more than willing to be collateral damage if it meant Virgil healing.

Remus leaves before long, off in search of any other odd jobs he can do for a few coins to keep them fed, and Janus spends the afternoon on the floor, dozing on and off and trying to coax some broth down Virgil’s throat. The other wakes that evening, in pain but coherent, and Janus helps him slowly eat a real meal while Remus carefully washes and rebandages his leg.

“How kind of you to finally rejoin the waking world,” Janus tells the younger man as he checks Remus’ progress for the third time in as many minutes, making sure he’s not winding the bandages too tightly. “I’ve so enjoyed pulling your weight around here while you indulged in a little nap, you know.”

“You could use a nap,” Virgil mutters snippily. “Although I doubt any amount of beauty sleep could fix your face.”

It’s hardly a devastating response, especially given that Janus’ face is undeniably flawless if he does say so himself, but a coil of tension unwinds in his gut at the retort. If Virgil can roll his eyes and keep up a bit of banter, he must be on the mend.

That’s the important thing, nevermind that Janus’ own injury is only getting more painful, the untreated wound a recipe for disaster. Virgil is okay, and that’s all that matters. As for himself, all he can do is wait and hope things get better.

---

Fancy starting the taglist for this fic? Let me know!

#thomas sanders sides big bang 2022 #tssbb 2022 #sanders sides #ts janus #janus sanders #ts virgil #virgil sanders #ts remus #remus sanders #loceit #ts fanfic #all the silver stolen (will one day turn to gold)#my fic #rosepetal writes

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im-an-anxious-wreck · 3 years ago

Text

My Name Is Logan Sanders-Miller

AO3 link

Summary: Pictures and the occasional story from his mother. That's all Logan had ever had of his father. Just one little photo album, and painful memories confessed to him in the dark, it wasn't much, but it meant everything to him.

His father hadn't wanted Logan. His mother had said that he took one look at Logan and left. Had there really been something so off putting about him that one glance was all it took to drive his father away?

Logan hadn't even done anything. All it took to make his father leave was just him existing apparently.

So, why the hell was he standing outside Sanders' house? Was he seriously going to ask his father why he didn't want Logan? Was he trying to prove himself to Patton, that he really was good enough and that Patton had missed out? Or maybe prove to himself that his father was shitty and that's why he didn't want Logan…

In any matter, Logan wasn't going to turn back now. This was it.

Knock knock

Warnings: cursing, past alcoholism, like five f-words (probably a new record for the minimum in my fics /j)

Universe: a human au

Perspective/main character: Logan

Side/secondary characters: Patton, Janus

Appear: Remus, Roman, Virgil, female oc (Logan's mother), Thomas

Mentioned: Emile Picani

Romantic relationship: established Moceit

Platonic relationships: Logan & everyone

Word Count: 9,277

Link to my collection of TSS fanworks

This is for the @sandersidesbigbang's event

Find the adorable artwork by @badkatart here and the really cute art by @thecrowslullaby here!

Thanks @aplacesofaraway for beta reading!

Logan knew he didn't want him, he'd known since he was a little child when he'd asked his mother why he didn't have a father like most of the other children. Logan had been devastated to find out that his father hadn't wanted him, but the question of why… that had haunted him.

Why didn't he want Logan? His mother had said that he took one look at Logan and left. Had there really been something so off putting about him that one glance was all it took to drive his father away?

Had it been Logan's blue eyes? Doubtful since he'd gotten those from his father. Was it his dark hair? It's true that neither of his parents had hair as dark as his, instead, he got his dark locks from his maternal grandmother, but surely it couldn't have been because of such a superficial reason as that.

Logan hadn't even done anything. All it took to make his father leave was just him existing, apparently.

But why? What were his exact thoughts when he left?

There was only one way Logan would be able to know, and that was to ask his father himself.

Logan sighed, mentally shaking himself as he looked up to the house he was now standing in front of.

It was a rather nice house, Logan couldn't help but think, with its blue panel siding and white trim. It was on the large side, had two stories, and yellow shutters. The multicoloured flowers were well tended to and the spacious yard was surrounded by a white picket fence. It looked like the perfect family home.

Logan took a deep breath and opened the wide gate. Closing it behind himself, he walked up the path to the white door.

He clutched the small photo album closer to his chest with his left hand and, curling his right, he raised his fist to knock. It just floated above the wood. He took another deep breath but still hesitated.

Was this it?

Logan quickly knocked twice before he could figuratively get cold feet.

Was he actually about to meet his—

The door swung open before Logan could finish the thought. A man dressed in mostly black, and a bit overdressed for a gentle spring day such as this one with his bowler hat, yellow gloves, and caplet, answered the door.

"Yes?"

Logan opened his mouth to answer but shut it again when no sound came out.

The tall man stared at Logan expectedly, dark brown and light brown —almost yellow— eyes seeming to look into Logan's very core. Which was ridiculous, that wasn't even scientifically possible.

The man looked at Logan for another moment before raising an eyebrow.

"Well? You've been staring at my house for a few minutes now. Can I help you with something, child?"

Logan blinked a few times before his brain finally caught up. "Ah, yes, actually, I believe you can." He pushed his glasses farther up his nose. "I'm looking for… Patton Sanders?"

The man's eyebrow only raised farther at that. "And may I ask why you are looking for him?"

Logan was now hugging the album with both arms. "Ah, so you do know him, which means I have the correct address. Excellent. And yes, you may ask that."

The man continued to stare at Logan —was this going to be a recurring thing?— before sighing softly. "Why are you looking for Patton?"

"Well… I have some… information I would like to—"

Another man, whose face Logan had all but memorized from the album, appeared behind the first man's shoulder.

"Who's at the door, honey?" Patton asked the first man.

"I don't know, the kid's looking for you though."

Patton turned to Logan. "Oh, hello! Can I help you with something, kiddo?"

"Um…" Logan cleared his throat. "I hope so. I have some informa—"

"Papa!" A boy about seven ran up to Patton before announcing, "Remus bit me!"

The first man sighed. "I'll take care of it," He said to Patton before calling into the house, "Remus? Why'd you bite your brother?" He led the boy back into the house where Logan could hear Remus arguing farther into the house.

"Sorry about that. Now, what were you saying, kiddo?"

"Well, my mother is Cindy M—"

A teenager came up behind Patton, his purple hair almost completely covering his eyes. "Yo, Pat, why's the Wi-fi not working?" He tapped something on his phone and frowned.

Patton sent an apologetic look to Logan as he told the teen, "I don't know. Ask your dad, sweetie."

"Okay." He looked up from his phone. "Oh, shit, did I interrupt? Sorry."

"Virgil, lang—"

The teen, Virgil, raised an eyebrow and Logan could really see the resemblance between him and the first man who'd answered the door.

Patton sighed. "I know, I know. I— you're alright, maybe see if your dad needs help with the twins though?"

Virgil glanced at Logan again before nodding. "Yeah, alright. I can ask him about the Wi-fi after we get the twins to stop fighting then." He gave a two-fingered salute before disappearing back into the house.

"I'm so sorry about that, but that's everyone so hopefully we won't get interrupted again. What was that about your mom?"

He didn't belong here. There was no way Logan belonged here with this warm, emotional family. They were obviously tight-knit and it's not like Logan was particularly special or useful. And what did he even expect to find? For this man, his… his… for Patton to welcome Logan with open arms?

If he didn't want Logan as a baby, then why would he ever want him now? Especially after seeing how boring, awkward, and socially inept he was.

What a fool Logan had been.

"Uh… kiddo? Are you selling something? ...You don't have to be nervous. Just tell me your spiel… Do kids these days even know what a spiel is?"

Logan went to take a breath but realised he couldn't, which only made it harder to breathe as he panicked.

"Woah, it's alright! Just take a deep breath. You're okay, just take your time."

Logan did his best to do what Patton instructed, even if only to not waste any more of his time.

"Apologies for the inconvenience, I shall be on my— um, my way now."

"You don't have to leave! You haven't even told me your name or why you were looking for me."

"Er, well… my name is Logan."

"Aww, Logan, what a nice name. That's what I would've named a kid if I'd have gotten to name one."

"I— wait, really?"

"Yes, really!" Patton smiled softly. "So, what was that about your mom… I think you said her name was Cin…dy. Um, s— Cindy who?"

"Cindy Ann Miller."

"Oh… and your name is…"

"Logan Sanders-Miller."

"Oh. Oh, geez."

Logan took a few steps back as Patton stepped out onto the porch. Patton shut the door behind himself and sat down on a white bench.

"So you're… Cindy's your mom?"

"She is my biological mother, yes."

"Wow, I— I almost can't believe she even remembered what my favourite baby name was. It's been… wait, how old are you?"

"Twelve, sir."

"You don't need to call me sir. I mean, you're my… my…” He paused. "Why now though? Why didn't she just— why now?"

Logan blinked in surprise. "Did she not tell you of my existence?"

"No, she didn't. I— I would've been in your life if she had. I promise, Logan."

"Oh, I didn't know that she never… she'd said that you… that you didn't want me."

Tears welled up in Patton's eyes, making guilt stab at Logan's chest.

"That couldn't be further from the truth, Logan. It's true that I most likely wasn't ready for parenthood at that time, but I would've learned. I would've learned from, but also for you. I would've been there for you."

"I… I see. That's…"

Patton wiped his eyes and Logan was once again reminded of how out-of-place he was.

"Should I go?"

Patton looked up in surprise. "What? I— no! I mean, if you have anywhere you need to be, then of course. But…" Patton let out a weird laugh. "Sorry, I'm sure I look a mess right now. It's just… a lot to process. Um… oh, does Cindy know you're here?"

"Yes, she found and gave me your address."

"Okay… yeah, okay. That's good." Patton wiped away the last few tears. "Well, that wasn't a very polite welcome on my part!" Patton attempted to joke. He didn't succeed.

"It was adequate in my opinion. You have been far kinder than necessary and asked why I —seemingly randomly— showed up on your doorstep. You could have told me to leave at any point but you didn't, instead, you listened to everything I had to say."

"Aw, thanks, Logan, but that's really the least I could do. I've… geez, I've missed so much. I really do want to be there for you though, I want to get to know you. As long as that's alright with you and your mom of course."

"I… I believe so. She did give me your address and said I could visit if I wanted to."

"I'm not really sure how to put this, but… do you still want to?" Patton looked at Logan with hesitation and… hope?

"Yes, I still want to."

The reaction was immediate, Patton's face figuratively lighting up. "That's great. I… I really am gonna try, Logan. I promise."

"...You want to try?"

"Yes, I do."

"Oh… well… then I shall try as well."

Patton smiled gently at Logan. "Alright. Sounds good— better than good, in fact!"

"Better than good," Logan echoed.

"Hey, it's a Saturday so I know you won't have school, would you like to come inside and meet everyone?"

"Oh…"

"You don't have to, of course! I don't wanna overwhelm you after all. Just giving you the option."

"Ah, well, if it's alright, perhaps some other time? …If there is another time."

"That's just fine! And of course there'll be another ti— I mean, if you want there to be another time. Sorry, I guess I didn't even consider that you might not… I mean, I completely understand if you resent me and decide at any point that you'd rather not see me anymore."

"Oh, that's… when I said 'if there is another time', I meant if you still wanted to meet again after today."

"Oh, I do as long as you do! Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, technically I can think of a few reasons, but mostly I just didn't want to assume. Not everyone wants a random child in their life."

"Yeah, I suppose, but that's not me." Patton huffed lightly. "If anything I love random children in my life, you're the fourth one so far! My husband, Janus, had a son long before we met, and we both adopted the twins a few years ago."

"Ah, I see. What's one more, then?"

"Exactly! …That didn't quite sound right. I'd still want you in my life even if I didn't have Virgil and my sons. I was just trying to say that I'm not new to children rather suddenly appearing."

"Oh…" Logan's chest twisted with some emotion that he couldn't quite place.

"And besides," Patton continued, "You're not just a random child, you're my random child!"

"But that doesn't— wait, was that a Kung Fu Panda reference?"

Logan couldn't help but feel amazed at how quickly Patton had accepted him. Sure, it might not last long if Logan messed it up —as he did with most things—, but still, Patton hadn't even known Logan for thirty minutes, and was already calling Logan his child.

"Sure was! The twins really like that movie so I know quite a lot of the dialogue."

"Ah, I see."

There was a small lull in the conversation before Patton changed the subject with, "So… would you want to go to the park?"

"...I'm twelve."

"Uh, okay… I don't see what— Oh, I didn't mean on the playground necessarily! There's a nice walking trail, plenty of benches, and even an ice cream stand."

"Mm, that sounds pleasant… I'm allergic to dairy though."

"Oh, sorry, kiddo. 'Fraid you get that from me."

Logan stared at Patton incredulously. "You were going to take me to an ice cream stand, despite being allergic to dairy yourself?"

"...Yes. I— I don't always make the best decisions when it comes to dairy, okay? I mean, my favourite food is mac 'n' cheese."

"You… that's unfortunate."

"Oh, definitely. I don't let it stop me though."

"I have only heard legends of people who eat the food they're allergic to."

"Legends?"

"I… thought it sounded cool. Apologies, I shall refrain from—"

"No, you're fine, Logan! I was just wondering what legends had people eating their allergy in it, that's all."

"Ah, none to my knowledge. The closest I can think of would be the Norse myth in which Balder had a dream that he was going to die, so his mother Frigg made all the plants, trees, and animals promise to never hurt Balder, but she forgot to ask mistletoe. The gods assumed that Balder was invincible and often used him as a target for knife-throwing and archery. One day they were all playing darts, and Loki, having learned from Frigg that Balder wasn't immune to mistletoe, made a dart from the plant and pretended to help guide the blind god Höd's hand. But under Loki's supposed assistance, Höd struck his brother, Balder, piercing his heart and killing him.

"Although Balder wasn't allergic to mistletoe in that case, it was just the only plant that could hurt him, and then Loki was being mischievous, which makes sense as he's the god of mischief." Logan paused, realising that he'd rambled on for longer than he'd intended. "Ah, apologies, that was a rather long story with very little relevance."

"You're fine! I enjoyed listening! It's been quite a while since I heard that story anyway, and I can see how your mind made the connection."

"Oh, okay… well, thank you for listening."

"Of course, Logan. Anytime."

Logan frowned a bit. "We got quite off topic."

Patton laughed. "So we did. But we can continue to get off topic together as we walk the park's walking trail if you want. The trail start is only a few blocks away."

"Alright… have you ever heard about the story where Thor dressed as Freyja to get Mjölnir back?"

"Ooh, that sounds vaguely familiar, but I don't remember most of it. Wanna tell it to me?"

Logan felt himself get even more excited. "Yes, I'd like that."

The day had gone so much better than Logan had expected, more than he'd ever dared to hope. Not only did Patton not hate him, but they'd spent most of the afternoon talking. Their conversation had been a bit awkward at times —as Logan's conversations with people other than his mother often were, albeit usually more awkward than it had been with Patton; at least Patton and Logan had some things in common—, but Logan was quite pleased with how the day had gone.

Logan had rather expected to be going home in tears, rather than a small smile he'd found on his face.

After he got home, Logan heated some leftovers for supper and finished the last of his math homework, quite glad that there weren't any bottles from the prior night to clean up —just a beer can that was already in the recycling—, and that his mother hadn't been too hungover to go and work.

Feeling a bit unsure what to do until his mother got home from her evening job, he watched some TV, his conversations with Patton still in the back of his mind.

He especially couldn't stop thinking about when Patton had said that he hadn't known that Logan existed, how his mother had said, on multiple occasions, that his father had taken one look at Logan and left, that he didn't want him.

But Patton did want Logan —or at least thought he did at the moment, he easily might not after getting to know Logan and seeing how worthless he was— and he hadn't known of Logan's existence… and since Logan was quite certain that Patton was telling the truth, that could only mean one thing: his mother had lied.

It meant that his mother had been lying to him for a frighteningly long amount of time.

What felt like both too soon and not soon enough, Logan's mother came home, looking tired as always.

After she grabbed something small to eat, she laid down on the couch, Logan hovering near one of the couch's arms.

"...I saw him today," Logan finally said.

His mother looked up at him. "Saw who? …Your father?"

"Yes, I met him, his husband, Janus, and briefly two out of three of their children. Although the eldest, Virgil, was Janus' son, I assume from a previous relationship, who didn't seem to consider Patton his father."

"Huh, I see. Did it go well?"

"It went… a lot better than expected." Logan felt himself begin to get a little mad. "Especially considering the fact that Patton didn't know of my existence and was actually really nice."

His mother winced. "Oh."

More anger rose in Logan. "Yes. 'Oh'. I— Why didn't you tell Patton that I existed? And why did you tell me that he knew and just didn't want me!?"

"I… don't know."

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Logan was aware that tears were streaming down his cheeks but he couldn't find it in him to wipe them away.

"Logan, sometimes people just… make mistakes. And sometimes they don't realise until it's too late to fix them, at least directly, so they just leave the mistake to fester and it just gets worse over time but they certainly don't want to deal with it now." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "It just got worse, and the longer I waited, the worse I knew it would make everyone feel. So, I just never said anything… not till I finally, finally just bit the bullet and found his address."

She finally stopped staring at the ceiling and looked over at Logan. "I fucked up. I know I did, and I know I should've done it a long time ago, but at least you have your dad now. I know it's my fault that you didn't for so, so long, but you do now. I'm… Logan, I'm really sick, and it took… it took almost dying to realise that I was just trying to keep you to myself, and that's really not fair to you. I'm… I'm so sorry I didn't let you two meet sooner, and it's okay if you don't forgive me for a while, or ever, but I'm trying to fix it now. I'm trying, Logan."

"I—" Logan scrubbed underneath his eyes. "I know, Mom. I know you're trying. It— it really hurt, it hurt not to have him, but you… you did the right thing, and now I do have him. Him and you. That's all I ever wanted…” He paused. "I don't think I can forgive you today… but soon. I just need some time."

Logan's mother smiled softly. "I know, and I understand."

"I'm… I'm glad to have you back, Mom. Yo— you weren't really there for quite a while."

"Yeah, I know, and I am so, so sorry. But I promise that I'm not going to drink again. Your… your dad found me on Facebook earlier while I was at work and we messaged each other, and God bless him, he's actually paying for me to go to therapy with his cousin, Dr. Picani. I'm…" She paused to dab at her eyes with her handkerchief. "I'm gonna get better. I'm gonna get out of this depressive funk and I'm going to fucking stop this stupid alcoholism.

"It's not going to be easy, or linear, but I'm going to do it. I will."

"I know you will. If anyone could do it, it'd be you."

"Thank you for always having my back, little Lo. I don't know what I'd do without you. I— come here, baby." She raised her frail arms up and Logan quickly ducked between them, the both of them wrapping their arms around the other.

After a few moments they pulled away, Logan still kneeling beside his mother. "I… he invited me to come back soon."

"I know."

"I… I want to see him again. I'd like to get to know Patton and his family more."

"Okay, you know I support you either way, baby, so if you want to see him— all of them, then you should spend more time with them."

Logan wasn't sure what to say, so he just asked, "Do you want to watch a movie?"

His mother smiled. "Only if we pop some popcorn."

Logan sighed as he looked at Patton and Janus' white door. The parallel between now and the first time that he'd met Patton was making him hesitate, which was only making the moment feel even more familiar.

Logan startled slightly as Janus opened the door.

Janus raised an eyebrow. "Well, now isn't this déjà vu?" He rhetorically asked, the sarcastic tone that his voice usually took ever-present, despite the statement itself holding no actual sarcasm.

"Ah, apologies, I was just…"

"Gathering yourself for a moment?"

"Yes."

"Hmm… well, come in."

"Thank you." Logan went inside and Janus shut the door behind them.

"Logan's here, love," Janus called across the living room and Patton looked up from what he was fixing in the kitchen to across the kitchen bar.

"Hi! You made it!" Patton waved.

A golden retriever mutt came up to Logan, sniffed his pant leg, and began wagging their tail at him, so he patted the dog on the head a few times.

"I did." Logan remembered what his mother had said years ago about how people liked to have their house complimented. "Um, I like how your house's common area is an open plan. It's very… spacious."

"Aww, thanks, Logan. I really like that about our house too." His eyebrows furrowed a bit. "Where's your mom?"

"Ah, yes, she sends her regards and apologies for being absent, but she had to cover for a co-worker at work. It was rather sudden so we didn't have proper time to forewarn you."

"Oh, okay. Well, that's fine! That's too bad that she couldn't come, but I'm glad you're here anyway."

Patton was very generous with his compliments, Logan noted, a bit unsure as to why Patton's praise made him feel so happy. Well, Logan had been idolizing him since he was young, so perhaps it was a bit more obvious than he'd originally thought. He'd been wishing for a father figure since he was little after all.

"And I am glad to be here."

"If you'll excuse me for a moment," Janus said, "I'll go let everyone know you're here."

Janus went upstairs and since Logan wasn't sure what to do, he petted the dog some more.

"Oh! That's Biscuit, by the way!"

"Ah, they're a very good dog."

"Isn't she!"

Janus came down the stairs only a minute later, the twins in tow.

"Oh! It's the Boy Scout!" The twin dressed in a prince costume exclaimed.

"No! He's a zombie," The other twin —his name was Remus, if Logan recalled correctly— tried to correct, pointing his finger at Logan, the black and green sparkly cuff bouncing as he did so.

Janus clicked his tongue. "Remus, what did I tell you about pointing at people?"

Remus sighed deeply. "Not to because it's rude."

"And what do you say, dear?"

"Sorry, Logan."

"It's alright."

"Oh, also maybe don't call people zombies," Janus added.

Logan couldn't help but think what an odd family they were.

"...Are you a zombie?" Remus asked.

"No, I'm not a zombie, or a Boy Scout for that matter."

"Aww," The little prince whined. "Then who are you?"

"Logan."

He snorted. "Okay, smart—"

"Ass!" Remus finished.

"Boys," Patton scolded. "Roman, don't let Remus take the fall for your curse word, and Remus, we don't curse in this house!"

"You said 'fuck' just yesterday, Papa. You know, when you accidentally spilled milk everywhere?"

Patton sighed. "Okay yes, I did. But I shouldn't've said that."

"Also you're an adult, which means that if you wanted to curse, you could," Janus added.

"Yeah," Remus agreed. "Like Virgil, although he's not an adult… wait, why is Virgil allowed to cuss and we're not? We're only like… nine years younger."

"Well, my age minimum for children cursing is lower than your Papa's, so we compromised, and if you don't swear loudly in public, you can curse when you turn fifteen."

"Aww, but that's so far away!"

"Yes, it is."

"Oh, speaking of Virgil, where is he?" Patton asked.

"Still upstairs. He said that he'd be down in a minute."

"Oh, okay!"

"...So who are you really?" Roman asked.

"And don't say 'Logan' again!" Remus added.

"...Logan Sanders-Miller."

"Aww. You did it again."

Janus sighed. "Don't you remember when I told you last night that Patton had a son who was coming over for dinner today?"

The twins shook their heads.

"Did you tell them while they were watching TV?" Patton asked.

"Yes— oh, I see what happened. I always forget that they won't hear me if the TV's on."

"Are you really Papa's son?" Remus asked Logan.

"Um, yes, I am his biological son."

Roman ran into the kitchen where Patton was still cooking. "Papa?"

"Yeah, Ro?"

"Why'd you hide Logan from us?"

"Oh, sweetie, I didn't hide Logan from y'all! His mother had never told me that he'd been born so I had no idea he existed."

"Oh, that's sad… so kinda like how you and Dad didn't know that me and Remus existed until you found us at the adoption place? Well, except that Logan's your bioluh… biological son and me and Remus aren't."

"Yeah, that's exactly right!"

"Remus and I," Janus corrected. "I am trying to teach our sons some semblance of proper grammar after all."

…

Supper went fairly well, it was a bit awkward at times and Logan had a strong feeling that Virgil didn't like him, but the twins' lively conversation soon easily broke up any awkwardness.

"I can help clean up," Logan offered after they'd finished eating.

"Aw, that's okay! I've got it. Besides, you're our guest!"

"Oh, alright…"

"Um, but if you want, you could go watch the twins in the living room. They'll probably get out some toys which is fine, just make sure they don't physically hurt each other. Oh, but if that's too much pressure, I can come watch them, I'm just helping Janus clean up right now."

"That's alright, I can watch them." Logan walked deeper into the living room and around the couch, noticing Virgil scowling at him from the dining table as he went.

Seriously, why did Virgil dislike him so much?

"Logan!" Remus exclaimed as he knocked his plastic dinosaur into Roman's.

"Come play with us!" Roman whacked his pteranodon into Remus' triceratops, which fell out of Remus' hand, causing Roman to cheer.

"Aw, man!" Remus pouted. "Now how am I supposed to defeat the dino rebels!"

Logan sat down on the floor next to the twins. "Hmm, perhaps the Ankylosaurus could help?"

"Oh, yeah! But I'm dead, so you'll have to play him, okay?"

"Alright, I can do that."

"Oh no!" Roman cried dramatically. "Another leader of the Dinosaur Imperial Magistrate —DIM for short— has arisen!"

Logan played with the twins, using the plastic dinosaurs to fight for a minute or two when Virgil came into the living room and sat on the couch, gesturing for Logan to come sit next to him.

After Logan excused himself from the battle, Remus and Roman continuing on in his absence, he got up and perched himself on the edge of the couch.

"Yes?"

"You don't have to play with them, you know,"

"Oh, I know, but I actually enjoy playing with people younger than me."

"I just— I can take care of them by myself." Virgil huffed. "I know that Patton doesn't think that, but I can! I can be responsible!"

"Alright. I've never said otherwise—"

"You can't just come in here and suddenly be a part of this family."

"O… kay? I didn't—"

"I don't know what you think you're doing, just waltzing in here like you've always been here but you haven't! You can't just uproot our family because suddenly you want a dad."

"I understand that I haven't always been here but I really am not trying to uproot anything. I'm not trying to tear your family apart, I just want to earn my place in it."

"And what makes you think you will?!" Virgil exclaimed, his voice dangerously low, but still quiet so as not to let the twins playing on the other side of the living room or the adults in the kitchen overhear.

"I… I don't know," Logan admitted. "When I first met Patton, I didn't even originally come to try and join the family he'd built for himself. I just wanted to know why he hadn't wanted me as a baby, only to find out that my mother had lied and he had no idea I existed. I'm only here trying to earn a place in Patton's life because he's invited me into it."

"I—" Virgil's breaths were shorter than they should have been. "W— well stop trying! Who said you deserve to try! You shouldn't expect so much so soon!" Virgil's voice was steadily rising, so much so that the twins looked up from where they were playing.

"Are you okay, Virgie?" Roman asked.

"Yeah, you seem mad," Remus agreed.

"Everything's fine," Virgil gritted out, "I'm just talking to Logan."

"Okay, just remember Papa's saying: 'you say things bad when you're mad' !"

"Whatever, just go play."

The twins both frowned.

"Um, okay," Remus said, worry still evident in his tone. He looked at Virgil for a moment longer before he hesitantly went back to what seemed to be an odd game that involved both chess and checker pieces.

Logan took a deep breath. Virgil's words struck a little too close to home. "I apologize if it seems like I've been trying to barge in where I do not belong, but if I could ju—"

"Just stop it already. I don't wanna talk about this anymore."

"I— alright."

"I just…" Virgil took some more heavy breaths. "I just don't understand how you can come in here and act like you belong and like everyone's totally chill with that! Patton just met you the other day, there's no way that he could like you already! He's just being polite! And you're too naïve to fuckin' see that.

"No one even wants you here!" Virgil stopped, looking quite surprised at his outburst… at least he did until Logan's vision blurred with unshed tears. Logan couldn't see Virgil's face well enough to tell after that.

Logan stood up. "Well then, I apologize for overstaying my welcome. I can see that I'm not wanted so… so I'll be going then. Goodbye."

"Wait, I didn't mean t—"

"Didn't you though?" Logan snapped as he made his way around the couch and to the front door.

Patton came out of the kitchen, Janus right behind him, and asked, "Oh, Logan, are you leaving so soon?"

Logan opened the door.

"Wait, Logan—"

Logan shut the door behind himself with a bit more force than necessary, just able to hear Virgil faintly say, "Shit, I think I made him cry."

Tears streamed down Logan's face the entire walk home.

Logan had never been one to outwardly display his emotions, but he also tried not to just push them down. Which was why he'd felt so utterly embarrassed when he couldn't stop crying the day prior.

It was one thing for Logan to cry in the privacy of his own room, and another thing entirely to cry in front of Patton and his family. Sure, someone might've seen him cry as he was walking home, but that was nothing in comparison to how shameful he felt that Patton had to have seen him like that.

So much for trying to prove that he was good enough. He'd certainly messed that up beyond repair as there was no way that Patton would want him now.

Logan sighed, and forcing himself to get out of bed, he walked to the living room.

Logan's mother looked up from the TV and frowned, using the remote to turn it off.

"Hey, baby. What's wrong? Did something happen last night?"

"...I made a complete fool of myself."

She frowned. "Hmm, well come here. Let's talk it out."

Logan sat next to her. "Okay."

"So? What happened?"

"Well, Virgil said that no one wanted me there, among other things, and I kind of panicked, so I left… but everyone saw that I was crying before I could leave. It… Newton, I was so embarrassed. Still am, actually."

"Oh, honey! I'm so sorry."

Logan sniffed. "He was right though. I did kind of just barge in there and act like I was entitled to Patton and his family."

"Really?" His mother asked skeptically. "Because that doesn't sound like you at all."

"I— well… Virgil informed me that Patton didn't actually want me there, that he was just being polite and I was too naïve to see that," Logan spat as tears began to well up in his eyes.

"Hmm, okay. I don't know what Virgil's problem is, but I just really don't think any of that's true. I've been messaging your dad a bit ever since you met him. He seemed nothing but excited that you were in his life… well, and guilty for not being there for you sooner, but I've already told him that it's not his fault. I was the one to keep it from him after all…

"Anyway, point is, your dad absolutely wants you there. I think you'd know if he was just being nice. If there's two things I remember about him from college, it's how kind he was and how his passive aggression was not super veiled. I really do think that he cares about you, and while I don't know why Virgil said all those things, I think you should talk to the both them about it. Maybe it's not as bad as you think."

A few tears rolled down Logan's cheeks. "...Are you sure?"

His mother patted his shoulder. "Quite sure."

"Okay… when do you think I sh—"

There were a few light knocks on the front door, making Logan startle as he quickly tried to wipe away the few fallen tears.

Logan's mother got up and answered the door. "Hello, what can I do for you two?"

Logan couldn't hear what the other people had said, but his mother quickly ushered Patton and Virgil in with a, "Please, come in. I'm sure there's much to talk about."

Logan was just about to stand up and hide in his room when Patton said, "Wait, Logan. This'll only take a minute, but there's something that Virgil wanted to say."

Logan hesitated and almost left anyway, but Virgil seemed so genuinely worried that Logan stayed.

"Alright. Just for a minute."

"Okay…" Virgil nodded, still looking extremely nervous but almost a bit relieved. He stood in front of the couch, still keeping some distance so as to not crowd Logan.

Patton and Logan's mother went into the kitchen, most likely to make some tea, and Patton gave Logan a brief reassuring smile.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for snapping at you yesterday," Virgil began. "I didn't mean anything I said, especially that no one wanted you there… you don't have to earn your place in this family by the way. This doesn't make it right, but I was jealous because I thought that Patton liked you more than me. But that's not true, he doesn't play favourites like that."

"...Oh. I see."

"I'm afraid that I was kinda projecting my feelings of inadequacy onto you, like, everything I said to you was what I was feeling towards Pat. Um, but he and I had an entire conversation about it and I'm doing a lot better now, but still, I'm really sorry you had to get caught up in all that shit. In all of my shit."

"I… did not enjoy it, that's for sure, but as long as you learn from your mistake and try your best not to do it again…"

"I promise. From now on if I have a problem with someone, I'll talk to them about it instead of snapping at someone else."

"Good. In that case, I forgive you."

Virgil's shoulders slumped in relief. "Okay, thanks, Logan."

"You're welcome, Virgil. And thank you for apologising."

"No problem, it's the least I could do after I was so mean to you." Virgil shifted on his feet. There was a pause before he asked, "Hey, wanna go see what our parents are talking about in the kitchen?"

"Sure."

Logan's mother laughed at something Patton had said as Logan and Virgil walked into the kitchen.

"Oh, hey, kids. You get everything sorted out?" Patton asked, a bit pointedly at Virgil.

"Yeah, I apologized and he forgave me."

"Good, I'm glad."

"Um, hey… Pops?" Virgil seemed a bit hesitant with the nickname, and Logan deduced that he must have just started using the fatherly nickname after his emotional conversation with Patton.

Patton seemed to be holding back a beaming smile as he answered, "Yes, Virge?"

"Can we take Logan and his mom out to get burgers for lunch?"

"Oh, that's a great idea! Er, if they're not busy, that is."

Logan's mother hummed. "Well, I don't have work until three, and it's a Saturday, so it's not like Logan has school."

"Great! Do y'all like Sonic?"

Logan felt himself get excited. "Sonic's burgers are superior, especially when you consider the facts that you can get tater tots with it and that they have cherry limeades, as well as root beer. Which are my two favourite drink options."

"You're absolutely right," Virgil agreed. "They really are superior."

"Did you know that the first location opened near Shawnee, Oklahoma and was originally called the Top Hat Drive-In? In 1959 when Troy Smith and his business partner, Charlie Pappe looked into getting it copyrighted, but they discovered that it already was copyrighted. So they named the franchise Sonic, with the slogan 'Service With the Speed of Sound' ."

"Oh, yeah," Virgil agreed. "I think I read an article about that. They named it Sonic because the jets at Tinker Air Force Base in Oklahoma city were breaking the sound barrier, right?"

"Yes, that's correct." Logan couldn't help but give Virgil a small smile, who returned it easily.

Logan had never met someone who liked Sonic anywhere near as much as him, and looked forward to sharing more facts with Virgil.

In the end, Logan had never had so much fun doing something so normal as getting hamburgers. Although he was beginning to suspect that nothing was normal around the Sanders' family… and he was right.

Logan loved the science fair, it was one of his favourite things about school, and even if his mother usually had to work a lot, she always made time for Logan's science fair, and this year was no different.

…At least in that aspect, it was no different, it was, however, definitely different in another way, namely, Patton and his whole family came.

Janus and Virgil were each holding the hand of one of the twins who were trying to pull every which way to see everything, bringing up the rear was someone that Logan didn't know, but looked rather like Patton —a brother or cousin, maybe?— in a floral print shirt, and leading the whole procession was Patton, a large tote bag on one shoulder, and a big water bottle in his other hand.

Patton waved, the tote bag almost slipping, but he managed to catch it just in time, laughing at himself a bit. "Hey, Logan! I brought snacks!"

"...To a science fair?"

"Yeah! I thought we might get hungry after."

"Ah, that's true. I hadn't thought of that. Good idea."

"Thank you!" Patton beamed. "Oh! This is my brother, Thomas." Patton gestured with his lips at the person Logan didn't recognize.

"What's up?" Thomas greeted.

"I'm at the science fair."

Thomas snorted. "That's fair."

Logan squinted suspiciously. "Was that a pun?"

"Sure was!"

"...I can certainly see the relation."

Thomas and Patton laughed.

Janus turned to Logan from where he'd been talking to his children. "Ah, before I forget, good luck with your presentation."

"Thank you, Janus."

"You're going to do awesome!" Roman assured.

"Or fall flat on your face," Remus gleefully added.

Logan pursed his lips. "Well, I certainly hope I don't fall on my face."

"Nah," Virgil said. "You won't… probably."

"Confident as ever," Janus teased sarcastically. "Well, we should probably go take our seats, but we wanted to wish you luck first."

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

Janus took the bag and water bottle from Patton.

"It was nice meeting you," Thomas said.

"Nice to meet you as well."

"Break a leg!" Remus said sweetly as they walked towards the seats, and somehow, Logan knew that he only half meant it in the 'perform well' way.

"So, where's your mom?" Patton asked.

"Here! I'm here." Logan's mother smiled nervously as she tried to catch her breath. "Patton, it's, um…"

"Good to see you again, Cindy."

Her shoulders sagged slightly in relief. "Yes. It is."

Patton was about to say something in reply but a woman with a dyed blonde bob haircut walked up to them, an overly fake smile on her face. "Hi! I'm Sheryl."

"Hi, Sheryl, I'm Patton!" Patton shook her hand. "And this is my son, Logan, and his mom, Cindy."

"Aww, don't you two make a cute couple."

Logan sighed a little louder than he meant to.

Patton's smile quickly turned awkward as he explained, "Oh, we're not a couple anymore, but my husband and our other children are here."

"Oh." Sheryl just awkwardly walked off and spotted someone she knew. "Susan! How's the kids?"

Logan mentally groaned. "Apologies. That entire interaction was my fault."

"What?" Patton asked. "Nonsense!"

"You wouldn't even be here if I didn't have a science fair, or had met you… or even existed."

"Oh, hey, no. Logan, that wasn't your fault. And I'm really glad you exist, especially because I got to meet you. She was just being a bit of a jerk—

"Fuckin' asshole," Logan's mother interjected bitterly.

"But it's nothing I couldn't handle, and absolutely not your fault."

"...Okay."

"Okay."

"If she says anything else, let me know." Logan's mother pursed her lips. "I'm on the board, and I can assure you that we don't take too kindly to homophobia. Veiled or not."

"Thanks, I appreciate that. I'll certainly let you know."

Logan's mother checked her watch before she looked between Patton and Logan and nodded to herself. "Well, I'm gonna sit down. It starts in ten minutes but you two should have time."

"Should have time for what?" Patton asked.

"Logan wants to ask you something." She smiled knowingly and walked away.

Logan sighed.

His mother was a bit too perceptive at times.

"What was it you wanted to ask me about?"

"Oh… well, I was just wondering why… why you introduced me as your son. I mean, obviously I'm your biological son but…"

"Oh! I introduced you as my son because you are my son. Ah, but if that makes you uncomforta—"

"No! Er, no. I'm not uncomfortable. I just… am not clear what yo—" Logan cringed at himself. "Nevermind."

"No! Go ahead. What is it?"

"I… I'm not really sure how to explain."

"Oh, hmm, that's tough… maybe I can guess? I kinda think I know where this is going. Oh, but I can totally just give you time if you wanna think it out for yourself."

"No, that's… I'd— I mean, it would probably be easiest if you just said what you thought I'm trying to say."

"Okay. So, what I think you're maybe wondering is what… oh wow, this is hard. Okay, you're my biological son, but you're also just… my son, okay?"

"Oh, I— okay."

"Is that okay?"

"Definitely. I… yes."

"Okay. And um, well, you definitely don't have to… but I'm okay with you know, fatherly nicknames, but again, only if you want! Not trying to rush anything of course, or make you feel like you have to ever even. So… um, so yeah."

Tears began to prick at the corner of Logan's eyes.

He really hadn't expected this to happen when he'd woken up today. He'd of course known that Patton was kind and caring, but to know that he already thought of Logan as his son… that it was okay for Logan to call him father… it was all too much, albeit in a good way.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry! You don't have to—"

"No, no. It's alright. These, uh, these are happy tears… Father." Despite Patton having just said it was okay, Logan still warily looked at him to see his reaction.

Patton broke out in a big grin. "Awww! Oh my goodness, abjfshdjsjsjdh!"

"Wh— what?"

"Aah, sorry. I'm just, shvshshsh."

"...Are you having a stroke? The signs are—"

"No, it's okay. I'm not having a stroke. Just so happy I'm at a loss for words!"

"Oh, I see."

"...Can I hug you?"

"Yeah, I'd like that."

Patton wrapped his arms around Logan. "Thank you for being my son."

Logan buried his face into Patton's shoulder before mumbling, "And thank you for being my father."

Logan was almost late for his presentation due to his happy tears, but he found that it was very, very worth it.

Logan hadn't quite been sure what to think when Patton invited him to come along with the other Sanders to the beach. For one, he hated swimming, but also, if there was anything Logan hated more than swimming, it was sand. And that was without even mentioning the ride home in wet swim clothes.

So no, Logan wasn't looking forward to going... but Patton had invited him, and he did enjoy the Sanders' company.

When Patton's sky-blue minivan pulled up, Logan got up from the window seat, grabbed his bag, and, after locking the apartment door behind himself, walked down the stairs and to the van.

Patton rolled down the passenger window and leaned around Janus to say, "Hey, Logan! You got everything you need?"

"Yes, I have sunscreen, a pair of clothes, goggles, a towel, and the key to get back into my apartment."

"Great! Hop in!" Patton pressed a button and the side door slid open.

…

The drive there mostly consisted of the twins asking 'are we there yet' just to annoy everyone; bickering with each other; Virgil, Logan, and Janus trying to stop them from said bickering; and Patton jamming out to oldies as he drove.

Due to the twins' bickering and the fact that Logan had never been out this way to the ocean before, the drive felt longer than it actually was, but soon enough they were all unloading from the van and heading down to the beach.

It was a rather warm June day, and the sun sparkled across the water brightly as it was unhindered by any clouds.

Logan could feel the apprehension building in himself the closer they got to the water, but took a deep breath to try and get it to settle. Patton wanted him to go swimming, so swimming he would go.

After setting up their stuff and putting on sunscreen, they all got in the water. Remus and Roman instantly began racing, Virgil acting as the referee, while Patton and Janus got in the water at a more sedate pace, already wading in up to their knees.

Logan was still standing quite firmly in the sand.

Patton turned around to look at Logan and furrowed his eyebrows. "Logan? What's wrong?"

"I just… am not particularly fond of swimming, that's all." Logan hesitantly walked to where the water lapped at his ankles, feeling a bit silly as Patton was already in to his waist.

"Aww, I'm sorry. We would've picked a different activity if we'd known that."

"No, that's alright. If I really don't want to swim, I can sit in a beach chair."

"Still. We wanna do stuff that you'll like too. How about next time you can pick where we go?"

"Really?"

"Sure! Just name the place and we'll go soon."

"Hm… how about the planetarium?"

"Sounds great!"

Logan nodded and mentally braced himself as he walked farther into the water. It wasn't quite as cold as he'd thought, but was still pleasantly cool in the heat of the day.

Logan paused with a small frown once he'd gotten in past his bellybutton and sniffed the air. Since this was the ocean and not a pool, there was no chlorine to bother Logan. He got in to his shoulders and pushed his feet off the sand, swimming in place to stay afloat, finally level with Patton instead of trailing behind.

"This isn't as bad as I'd thought."

"Awe, I'm glad! I personally love swimming."

"Mm, I'd… well, not forgotten that there wasn't any chlorine, of course, but it's not that bad. And sure, it smells a bit like salt, but considering it's the ocean, that makes sense." The water began to lap at Logan's chin. "I really had expected it to be so much wors—" The water brushed past his lips and he wrinkled his nose as he spat out the few drops of water that'd made it into his mouth. "Eurgh! Why does it taste so salty?!"

Patton laughed gently. "You knew the ocean was salty, Lo!"

"Well, of course I did, Father, but I didn't know it was going to be this salty! Ugh, it's horrendous."

Patton giggled. "Aww, sorry, kiddo."

…

The saltwater had tasted terrible, but all in all, swimming had gone much better than Logan had expected. The lack of chlorine had really made a big difference.

After they had gotten out of the water for lunch, almost everyone made sand castles while Janus and Logan sat on a blanket under the shade of a big umbrella.

"So, how are you enjoying the family so far?" Janus asked, startling a small laugh out of Logan.

"What?"

"Well, it's been a few months. Surely you have formed some sort of opinion by now."

"Oh, I have. I just wasn't expecting the question." Logan paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. "I really like it here… not the beach— well, it is nice here, but what I meant was that I really like being with everyone."

"Good, I'm glad. Everyone likes that you're here too."

"...Everyone?"

Janus smiled like he was in on a joke. Perhaps he was. "Everyone."

"...I'm not intruding?"

"Not at all. I daresay that there would be many protests if you tried to cut us off. Patton is quite the protective papa bear. Actually, if you want to be specific, I believe there'd be five protests. Six if you count your mother."

"Oh… six?"

"Yes, six. Did you really think I'm completely apathetic towards you?"

"Well, I didn't know, and… well, I didn't want to assume."

Janus hummed. "Now you don't have to."

"True." Logan paused, a bit of anxiety building in his gut as he tried to think of how to word what he wanted to say. "Thank you for letting me into your family," Logan rushed out. "You didn't have to do that, but you did anyway, and I— I really appreciate it."

"I'm… not even quite sure what to say to that. I don't feel as though it was letting you as in 'I gave you permission', but more like you just naturally became a part of our family."

Logan hummed. "I see. Well, regardless, I'm still grateful for all of you."

"And us you," Janus said, voice full of sincerity.

They sat there in peaceful silence for several minutes until Patton came up.

"Janus! The kids say it's your turn to play with them."

Janus sighed faux-dramatically. "Well, if they insist…" He got up and went to where the others were throwing sand around.

"Hi!" Patton exclaimed as he sat down next to Logan.

"Hello, Father. How was the sand?"

"Sandy dandy!"

Logan exhaled through his nose, if only to keep himself from laughing. "That's… a very you response."

Patton laughed. "You betcha!" He looked out at the ocean for a few moments before saying, "Hey, Logan?"

"Yes?"

Patton looked back at Logan. "I'm glad you came to find me a few months ago."

"Mm, me too."

"I… I know I said this at your science fair last month, but you're family." Patton laughed a little. "I mean, of course you're family, but I just… I wanted to say it again. And that… that I really care about you, Logan."

"I really care about you too… Papa?" Logan hadn't meant it to sound like a question but he was a little unsure if Patton would think it was okay so it did anyway.

"Awwwww, c'mere!"

Patton scooted closer, Logan copying him, and Patton put an arm around Logan's shoulders, who immediately rested his head on Patton's shoulder.

"Love you… Lo-son."

"...Was that a pun in front of my emotional conversation?"

Patton laughed again, much louder this time. "I can tell you've been hanging out with Virgil a lot."

Logan smiled. "Maybe a bit."

"Hey!" Remus exclaimed from a bit farther down the beach. "Come look at what we made!"

Patton and Logan exchanged glances as Logan sat up properly again before they got up and went to where the twins and Virgil were gathered.

"Where's Jan—" Logan cut himself off with a startled laugh as he could only see Janus' head, his body under the sand which had been shaped to look like a snake.

"See!" Roman beamed. "He's a sea snake."

"You good under there, dear?" Patton asked amusedly, obviously trying not to giggle.

Janus pouted a bit, but still said, "Yes, I'm fine, just covered in sand."

"I like the details in the scales! Very fancy."

"Yeah," Virgil agreed. "Re and Ro did most of them."

Logan tilted his head to the side. "What species were you modeling this after?"

Roman thought about it for a moment. "Uh… sea snake?"

Virgil snorted. "We didn't have one in mind. Just used our imagination."

"Ah, I see."

"Come build sandcastles with us, Logan!" Roman exclaimed more than asked as he smiled up at Logan.

Logan couldn't help but smile back. "Alright. What time period and place were you thinking of?"

"Ooh," Remus cut in, "Which ones have the most gore?"

"Well…"

Everything was so very different from only a few months prior, but it'd only changed for the better.

Logan had always had his mother, but his family grew bigger than he'd ever thought possible.

Home really wasn't about the house, but rather about the people; and between Logan's mother, Patton, Janus, Virgil, Remus, and Roman, Logan had an abundance of home.

And there truly was no place like home.

~The End~

No reposting, likes are nice, and reblogs are very much appreciated! | Taglist (ask to be added or removed): @someoneiwasnt

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iclaimedtobethebetterbard · 3 years ago

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a change of heart or address - chapter 1

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: All the sides Rating: Teen & up (see Warnings) Relationships: Platonic everyone Warnings: Language; unhappy ending; characters perceiving other characters as unsympathetic (no actual unsympathetic characters); non-graphic violence; betrayal & guilt Word count: 3697 Notes: a big big thank you to @8beez for beta reading!! This is for the @sandersidesbigbang

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: In which everyone gets exactly what they wanted, and nobody is even a little bit happy about it. Or: How Virgil left the dark side. Or: What happened after Accepting Anxiety?

Chapter 1

“Holy shit,” Virgil breathed as he sank into his room. “Holy shit!” He shook out his arms, which did almost nothing for the jittery, delighted feeling coursing through him. “Holy shit,” he repeated one last time, for good measure, pushing open his door and making his way to the common room. “Guys!”

“Oh, you’ve finally decided to take a break from your new besties to give us the time of day? How gracious,” Janus snarked from just out of sight in the kitchen.

“I—shut up, okay—I just—” Virgil couldn’t even find it in himself to bother coming up with a retort. “Guess what happened?”

“Oh my god your face is sparkly!” Remus launched himself over the back of the couch and sprinted towards Virgil.

Virgil instinctively dodged, hands coming up to shield his eyes as Remus attempted to jab at them. “Hey! Hey. Nope. Those are fragile.”

“Ooh, like Thomas’s grip on sanity.” But Remus paused mid-grab. “I won’t stab, promise. Lemme see?”

Virgil sighed and lowered his hands; Remus immediately grabbed his face, examining his eyeshadow with interest and poking at it—not gently, but not enough to injure, which was an improvement over ten seconds ago. “’S been a while since you got like this,” he observed, swiping up some purple glitter from Virgil’s face onto his thumb. He examined it closely, sniffed it, then licked it off lasciviously—not that Virgil thought there was any other way Remus knew how to lick things. “Tastes like butterfly wings,” he announced. “But crunchier.”

“Gross,” Virgil commented, stepping back and regaining a personal space bubble. “I—yeah, I guess it has been a while.” There hadn’t been much lately for Thomas to feel exhilarated about; this wasn’t even about a feeling of Thomas’s, strictly speaking, except in the way that Virgil being a part of Thomas technically made all of his feelings Thomas’s too.

“So something fun happened?” Remus inquired, hoisting himself up to sit precariously cross-legged on the back of the couch.

“I—yeah,” Virgil said, the helpless grin returning to his face as he thought about what had just happened. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. I—it’s amazing, you’re not going to believe it, oh my god.”

“I doubt that,” Janus commented from the kitchen, tone still bitter enough to sting. “It’s not like they have anything all that special up there.”

“Janus—” Virgil let out a small, frustrated exhale. “Just—shut up and be happy for me, okay? Is that so hard?”

“I don’t know,” Janus snarked back, emerging from the kitchen, “is it so hard to put more effort into your relationship with your family than you do with people who barely give you the time of day?”

Alright, that hurt. Or it would have, even a couple of hours ago. But it wasn’t enough to bring Virgil down from the high of what had just happened. Of what they’d all said to him. What Thomas had said to him. “Just—listen, okay?” he said, waving Janus off.

“Yeah, I wanna hear what’s got Virgey all purple-eyes!” Remus said, conjuring up his morningstar and swinging it idly back and forth like a pendulum, not quite letting it hit the ground or his own shins, but a near thing on each pass.

Janus rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, pursed his lips, and leaned against the wall, one leg crossed in front of the other, making a show of how annoyed he was even as he gave in and waited for Virgil to speak.

“Okay, so—” Virgil hesitated, trying to decide where to start and what to leave out. “So I kind of had—not a fight, really, but—I thought I was done with the others. Done showing up for—for Thomas, when he didn’t even seem to want me, anyway.” He deliberately skipped over most of the details of how the day had begun. Angry Janus was bad enough, he didn’t need angry and worried Janus to give him a scolding over how terrible of an idea ducking out was. He was plenty aware, thanks.

“This isn’t fun so far,” Remus complained.

“I don’t know, I’m having a great time,” Janus countered, still sounding annoyed but softer. Probably because so far Virgil had only talked about being upset with the Others.

Well. That wouldn’t last.

“But I was wrong,” he rushed on. “I thought they didn’t care about me, and I was wrong. They all showed up because they wanted me around, they wanted to—to apologize for some of the stuff that’s gone down between us, to make it right, and—” He sucked in a breath. Rip the bandaid off. “Guys. Thomas accepted me.”

The silence was almost deafening. Remus’s eyes were round and he seemed genuinely speechless. Janus straightened, an unreadable but dreadfully intense look on his face as he stared directly at Virgil for the first time this entire conversation.

“Well,” Janus said coolly. “You were right. I don’t believe it.”

“Wow,” Remus said, tone off and a little forced. “That’s—you’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Virgil’s gut twinged. This wasn’t how this had been supposed to go. Now that it came down to it, he wasn’t sure why he’d expected celebration. All the same, he’d thought they’d have at least made an effort to be happy for him. Off-kilter now and desperate to save the situation, he rushed on, “Yeah, he for real accepted me and said he thinks I’m—like—an important part of him, that he needs me and even kind of wants me around. And—and the others were all kind of the same about it. Princey even said I make them better.” Virgil bit back a grin at the memory. He’d been convinced Roman hated his guts. If even Roman had been willing to apologize and bridge the gap—well. It meant a lot.

“Oh, great.” Remus rolled his eyes, and Virgil realized abruptly that perhaps Roman might not be the greatest talking point for the current audience.

“Listen—” he began.

“No, no.” Remus waved him away. “I’m so glad to hear that Mr Kiss-Up has decided he wants you around. Good for you. His opinions are always so thought out and great.”

Virgil huffed. “Look, just because you get all pissy that Thomas likes him better than you—”

“Virgil Anxiety Sanders!” Janus said sharply.

“—doesn’t mean that I have to hate everything about him!” Virgil hunched his shoulders defensively under Janus’s glare. “What? It doesn’t!”

“That is no way to talk about—” Janus began.

“No, shut up, Jan,” Remus said, pointing at Janus with his morningstar. (Janus raised his eyebrows, but complied.) “Virge—when did you get so boring?”

Virgil crossed his arms.

“No, seriously,” Remus went on. “I thought you came down here to tell us something cool.”

That stung. “Thomas accepted me,” Virgil said sharply.

“Funny.” Remus ran a finger idly along the morningstar, weaving between its spikes. “That didn’t seem to be the main event in that little speech you just gave. The others took up most of your talking points.” He pursed his lips. “Wasn’t it just last week we spent all evening talking about how fun it would be to tear Roman’s arms off? Isn’t Morality—what was it you said—‘overbearing and stifling, even when he’s trying to be nice’? And we all know how annoying Logic gets.” He frowned, letting the morningstar topple from where he’d been holding it up, catching it before it hit the ground, and setting it swinging like a pendulum. “Why would you care what they think of you? They’re boring. Why would you want to be like them?” He pointed the morningstar at Virgil, a sudden, sweeping movement.

Virgil flinched and took a step back. Bad move, he realized even before he was done. Reacting to Remus in an argument was as good as baiting him.

Sure enough, Remus grinned like a pouncing cat, stepping forward to close the gap again; he caught Virgil under the chin with a single spike of the morningstar, not quite pressing hard enough to break the skin. “C’mon,” he taunted. “Are you just like them now?”

A shiver of nerves went through Virgil in spite of himself. He pushed the morningstar away and stepped out of range again. “Leave it alone, Remus,” he said, quiet and very careful not to let any of the sudden anxiety translate over to his voice. Remus wouldn’t hurt him. Not really. He knew that.

…But Remus would be happy to hurt anyone he referred to as them in that tone of voice.

“Going to keep hanging out with them instead of us?” Remus went on wildly. “Have cute little tea parties? Talk about how great it is checking everything you say to make sure it meets Morality’s standards. Let Logic shut you up. Sounds great, doesn’t it?” He gestured forcefully with the morningstar.

“They—” Virgil swallowed, his mouth unpleasantly dry. “They’re not—actually all that bad. Once you get to know them.”

“Once they indoctrinate you, you mean.” Remus punctuated his words with a crack of morningstar against floorboard, inches from Virgil’s toes.

Virgil bit the inside of his cheek. Remus did stuff like that all the time. It didn’t mean anything. It hadn’t been meant to hit him. Probably.

“What’s the matter with you?” Remus complained. “Maybe we should just let them have you if you’re going to keep being this boring. I guess you’d like that, huh?” He pointed the morningstar at Virgil again.

“Can you just shut up and stop overreacting?” Virgil snapped, stepping back again and keeping his eyes on the morningstar. “It doesn’t have to be us or them, Remus!”

Remus gave him a flat look, lowering the morningstar. “You know that’s not true,” he said, more seriously than his wild ranting of a second ago. He frowned. “Or, you used to.” The morningstar began swinging through the air again. “Have you fucking forgotten why we have separate floors of the house? You think Morality or Logic would be so happy for you to stick around if you asked to invite me or Jan upstairs? Just because you think you’re special now doesn’t mean anything’s changed!”

“I don’t think I’m spe—”

“You do.” Remus swung the morningstar back and forth in frustration, making it pass uncomfortably close to Virgil’s nose. “You clearly fucking do. Just because Thomas will let you stick around, you think you can be just like them.”

Virgil took another step back and bumped into the banister, which made him realize he’d been backing towards the stairs up to the other sides’ dwellings. Shit. Not a good look in response to Remus’s accusations.

“Maybe before Roman remembers he hates you,” Remus snapped viciously, “you can hang out over on his side of the Imagination, with glitter unicorns in a meadow or some childish shit like that, and you can crow together about being Thomas’s—fucking—favorites!” He slammed the morningstar against the banister, cracking one of the supports and setting Virgil’s heart pounding.

“Remus, calm down,” he begged.

“Why?” Remus snarled, yanking the morningstar free of the banister. “You want to pretend everything’s all sunshine and rainbows like they always do? Is it fucking inconvenient for you to admit everything’s not perfect? So I should just shut up, Remus and let everyone else run Thomas, just like always?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—shit—” Virgil dodged the morningstar. “Janus, tell him that’s not what I meant!”

“I don’t know,” Janus said coldly, “wouldn’t Morality be upset if you asked me to lie for you?”

Virgil closed his eyes, willing himself to stay calm. “Listen, I don’t know what your deal with Patton is—”

“My deal with him is that I don’t like people who hurt my family, Virgil. And I don’t forget it and run to be their lapdog as soon as I’m fed a scrap of pity.” Janus glared at him. “Unlike some people.”

“That is not what this is,” Virgil insisted.

“Then what is it, Virgil?” Janus challenged.

“Yeah, what is it, Virgey?” Remus echoed in a mocking affectation of Janus’s tone, slinging the morningstar over his shoulder.

“I just—” Virgil let out a sharp sigh of frustration. “They’re different now, okay? They really have changed.”

“For you, maybe.” Remus rolled his eyes. “From where I’m sitting, they’re just the same as always.”

“Maybe if you toned it down a little—” Virgil realized it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left his lips.

Remus’s face darkened. “You’re starting to sound like him, too.”

Virgil didn’t need to ask who him was.

“Huh,” Remus went on, voice cold and dangerous now, “maybe you are just one of them.”

“No—Remus—” Virgil swallowed and stepped back once more. His shoulders hit the wall, an answering wave of terror hitting him as he realized he was cornered, and no longer certain he was as safe around Remus as he’d always known he was.

Remus hefted the morningstar. “I mean, apparently Thomas himself said so, huh? Said you should get star treatment?” He raised his weapon and swung.

Virgil broke. He flung his arms to shield his head, terror thrumming through him, and screamed, “Roman!”

The sound of his Tempest Tongue almost drowned out the thunk of metal on—wood. Not flesh and not drywall.

Virgil opened his eyes.

The morningstar was buried in the banister once again. It hadn’t been aimed anywhere near Virgil. Remus’s grip on it had gone lax, and he was staring at Virgil in shock. Confusion, even.

Virgil’s insides began to crumple with the realization that he had well and truly fucked up.

“What the fuck, Virgil?” Remus choked out after an awful silence.

“I just—” Virgil’s voice came out wavering and thin under the accusatory stare. “You—the morningstar—” He looked away. “I thought you meant it.”

“Of course I didn’t fucking mean it! I was just mad!” Remus sounded hurt, and Virgil couldn’t remember the last time that had happened, which made it so much worse. “I thought you didn’t mean it either, I thought we’d fuck around and yell at each other for a bit like we usually do and—and then Jan would make us fucking tea and tell us to grow up, and it’d go back to normal!”

The door at the top of the stairs opened. “Virgil?” Roman called, sounding alarmed. “Are you alright?” He stepped fully through the door, his katana in his hand, and Virgil cringed at how bad the timing was.

Roman’s gaze swept from Virgil, still pressed against the wall, to Remus and the damaged banister before him, and his expression turned from concern to a scowl. “What are you doing to him, you fiend?”

Remus’s face closed up, rearranging itself into rage. “I guess I mean it now,” he spat bitterly at Virgil, grabbing his morningstar and swinging to block Roman as his twin charged down the stairs at him.

“Take it outside,” Janus snapped, springing into motion as the twins crashed into the living room, knocking over a sidetable; Roman’s katana nearly sliced open the couch on a wide swing that Remus easily dodged. His next move was to slam his morningstar directly into his twin’s face—Roman sprang back, but one of the spikes caught him near the temple, leaving a wide scratch welling with bright, wet red.

Janus’s staff materialized in his hands as he marched over from the kitchen, giving the grappling Creative sides a wide berth; he stopped by the wall and briskly knocked on it with his staff. It opened up under his touch almost immediately—the common area had always been the most responsive to him—and created a doorway to the Imagination.

“Outside,” Janus repeated, firm and loud, and he brought the staff down with a smack on Remus’s shoulder to get his attention. “Hey! I am not washing blood out of the carpet for you again. Move!” He herded the twins towards the door he’d created, keeping at a distance as well as he could.

“Virgil, are you okay?” Patton’s voice called from above.

Virgil turned, looking back up the stairs, and saw Patton’s worried face peering down at him from the doorway at the top, with Logan hovering just beyond. “I—” he began, and choked off into uncertain silence, not knowing what to say. I think I just betrayed my best friend for you would perhaps not fly.

Patton took the bare reply as a cue to scramble down the stairs and wrap Virgil in a hug anyway. Virgil stiffened in alarm for an instant, but the warmth and comfort overwhelmed him, and he found himself curling into Patton’s grasp and clutching Patton’s shirt in his fists, clinging to the other Side and desperately fighting the urge to break down entirely.

Janus slammed closed the door he’d created in the wall, having successfully shepherded the fighting twins out into the rolling, thorny-vine-laden fields of the Imagination. Remus’s half, of course; Janus may have objected to fighting indoors and getting blood all over the furniture, but Virgil knew he certainly wasn’t about to try and make things easy on Roman, either. Janus rested his hands on the wall for a moment, his head bent and his shoulders heaving with deep breaths. He drew in a final breath, straightened his shoulders, and drew himself up to his full height before turning on his heel. “Get out.”

“Hey now,” Patton began in his gentle-warning voice.

Janus shot an icy glare and stalked across the room, coming to a stop before Virgil and ignoring Patton entirely. He placed one finger beneath Virgil’s chin, tipping his face up to force the eye contact Virgil was trying so desperately to avoid. “Get. Out,” he repeated, his breath ghosting disdainfully across Virgil’s face.

“Jan—” Virgil protested weakly.

“I’m sorry,” Janus interrupted, “do I look like I care what kind of excuse you plan to come up with for that little stunt? Do you honestly think you deserve another chance after saying something like that to Remus?”

Virgil swallowed. He couldn’t help but agree. “Jan—” he whispered again.

“Don’t call me that,” Janus said icily. “You know, I thought you at least still cared about us.”

Virgil winced and closed his eyes.

“Deceit,” Patton said, his gentle-warning voice getting less gentle.

“Pat—don’t. Let him talk,” Virgil said.

“I don’t think this is appropriate—”

“Let him finish,” Virgil said, even though all his insides were shriveling into a dead little ball of shame and Janus was no doubt about to make it worse.

“No, no,” Janus said. “If dear darling Pat here doesn’t think it’s appropriate, I’m sure that just makes everything all better.”

Virgil gritted his teeth, pulling away from Patton and facing Janus. “Just—say whatever it is, Janus. Alright? Just—just fucking tell me I’m a piece of shit and you hate me, or whatever it is. Just get to your fucking point, already.”

“Oh, so demanding. You simply have to be the center of everything, don’t you, Virgil?” Janus sneered. “I didn’t think you’d stoop so low.” He clucked his tongue. “Perhaps I never knew you after all.”

“No, I—Janus, please—it was—it was just a dumb mistake.” Virgil clutched the inside of his hoodie sleeves, trying to wipe the sweat off his palms.

“Well. At least we agree on something,” Janus said coldly. “Now, get out, and don’t you dare to come back and act like this is your home anymore. Is that clear? You’ve made it very clear where you think you belong.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Virgil pled, not really believing it would do anything but desperate to try anyway.

Janus stared at him for a moment, his face an awful blank, only the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth giving away how much he was hiding. “Tell that to Remus,” he said after a long moment.

Virgil winced and looked away.

“That’s what I thought,” Janus said, his voice a quiet, angry knife twisting in Virgil’s side. “Now leave.”

“Deceit—” Patton began, stepping half in front of Virgil.

“Pat—Patton, no.” Virgil caught him by the shoulder. “Let’s just—go,” he mumbled, avoiding Janus’s eyes and tugging Patton towards the stairs.

Patton held Janus’s gaze for a long moment, then let out a heavy sigh and gave in to Virgil’s urging.

“I hope you’re fucking happy,” Janus snapped when they were halfway up the stairs.

Virgil flinched and looked back—but Janus was looking at Patton.

“Is this what you fucking wanted?” Janus demanded. “Fine. You win again. You get everything I want. Are you happy, Patton? Is this fair? Is it what’s right?”

Patton’s shoulders were stiff, his hand resting protectively on Virgil’s arm. “I think it’s right for everyone to feel safe and welcomed in their home,” he said, his voice holding the slightest tremor. “And that’s not what I saw here tonight.”

“Oh!” Janus flung his hands in the air. “Oh, well if that’s all! You came, you saw, and you passed your judgment. That’s right. It’s always my fault. How could I forget?”

Patton shook his head and turned away without another word, wrapping his arm around Virgil’s shoulders and guiding him up the stairs once more.

“Ask him what he did,” Janus snapped.

Virgil tensed, but Patton didn’t stop.

“Ask Virgil what he did, Patton,” Janus repeated. “See if you still think everything lines up to your cute little good-or-bad worldview then.”

“Logan,” Patton said evenly as he and Virgil came to the top of the stairs, “can we make up a bed for Virgil tonight with the extra blankets from the cupboard, do you think?”

“Certainly.” Logan straightened his tie. “Let me go retrieve those.”

“Or ignore me,” Janus called after them. “That’s fine. You’re so good at it. At ignoring everything that makes you uncomfortable or inconvenienced. How could I forget?”

Patton sighed. “Come on, Virgil,” he said, and shut the door behind them.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #thatsthat24 #virgil sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #peregrin writes #tssbb 2022 #thomas sanders sides big bang 2022

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starry-knight-skies · 3 years ago

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Defying Fates Plans

It’s that time of year again for the @sandersidesbigbang ! It was a lot of fun getting to work on this project again this year, and I have to give a big shout out to my betas @wistful-wish and @shadow-rhelm , and of course to the artists who helped! @thecrowslullaby and this lovely art of Remus and Logan and @pompomqt and their lovely little comic of Logan and Virgil’s first meeting

Summary: Virgil should be dead. He knew this, fully, without a doubt. And yet, here he stood in the Underworld, still very much alive. How?

Little does he know, a certain set of twins have been plotting and making plans. Logan's a little too stuck in his routine and they've decided that Virgil was exactly what he needed to get out of his funk. It doesn't go as smoothly as they had hoped, but hey, Virgil and Logan will have plenty of time together to work it out. Hades and Persephone au

Word count: 7242

Pairings: Analogical

Warnings: murder attempt, mild manipulation

The Underworld was orderly. Monotonous. Things continued as they always had, the dead either awaiting sentencing or having already been sent to their eternal rest… Or torment. Nothing out of the norm had occured in millenia, and it was looking like nothing would in the next dozens of thousands of years either. Endlessly, deceased mortals arrived and were eventually processed. Things were as they had always been, since the gods overthrew the Titans. Until, suddenly, everything changed.

A young man raced along a path, heart pounding in his ears, legs aching from exertion.

Dark hair, which had been so carefully and lovingly braided just that morning by his father had come loose, strands being ripped out of place by grabbing hands and low branches of the dead trees that lined the path. His senses were on high alert, tensing up and flinching at each thud of unknown footsteps or screeches in the distance.

Virgil couldn’t understand what he was doing here, in the land of the dead. As terrifying as it was, he knew he was in the Underworld as no nightmare had ever felt so real. He knew that things were different down here, that time was perceived differently, but it couldn’t have been more than a couple hours since he last felt the sun on his face. He shouldn’t be here. He and his father lived a simple life, and food was scarce sometimes, but he was healthy! He couldn’t possibly be dead! He just had to find a way home!

[ao3 link!]

#tssbb 2022 #analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #starry writes

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purplecrayonismine · 3 years ago

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My THIRD piece for the @sandersidesbigbang For the story It’s Tough To Be A God by @just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot

It's unstoppable, unparalleled, incredible, showstopping, never seen before, king among of it's kind- Just, please, be prepared before reading it ajshsjd

[ID] (It's in the form of a poster that says Pantheon presents October 31th at 3 am on city limits: arachne. A digital drawing of Virgil in an outfit very close to his canon one but with a longer jacket and a black t-shirt with eyes and spider motifs, he's floating in a black background posing with a microphone that's glowing, his hair covers one eye and the eye that isn't covered by hair is glowing too and his hair is an ashy purple. )

#tssbb 2022 #sanders sides #virgil sanders #my art

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jaderj1209 · 3 years ago

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Running Away From You

Hello there! I participated in the @sandersidesbigbang so this is for that! Also thank you to my beta reader @im-an-anxious-wreck !! AO3 Link

Summary: In the town of Sandersville, there are a group of super powered villains and heroes. On the supervillain team consisting of Patton the healer and force field wielder, Roman the speedster, and Virgil the shadow caster, they use their powers to steal money from banks and other nefarious deeds. On the superhero team consisting of Logan the telekinetic, C!Thomas with super strength, Janus the shapeshifter, and Remus the speedster, they use their powers to defend the city from the group of villains. Their roles seemed pretty concrete. However whenever two people from the opposite teams start to catch feelings for the other, what do they do? One runs away from the other of course. 5 times Roman ran away from the superhero Janus and the one time he didn’t.

#tssbb 2022 #thomas sanders big bang 2022 #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #roceit #intrulogical

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kaythegay2022 · 3 years ago

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Stick It to the Man (Ch. 1)

All’s Well That Ends

Summary: Remus and the rest of his band weren’t sure what to do after Virgil, their lead singer, disappears. They have no idea where he is or why he left. No one is more upset about this than Remus. The two had been close, having only just started dating. But they don’t have time to dwell on Virgil’s disappearance. The Battle of the Bands is coming up, and this year they might actually have a real competition. And maybe that band has a couple of familiar faces...

This story is stuctured like a songfic throughout it.

The song for this chapter is All’s Well That Ends by Rainbow Kitten Suprise

Relationships: Romantic Dukexiety

Warnings for this Chapter: implied cheating

This story is the first part of my fic for the Thomas Sanders Big Bang 2022 ( @sandersidesbigbang ). It had been so much fun to get this story written and have had the time of my life!

Thank you so so much to my amazing artists as well!!! All of their art is amazing, and I am so happy to of gotten to work with them!!!

@purplecrayonismine art which is amazing!!!!!

@dystopiagnome

Also a huge thanks to my beta reader, @antisocial-xxxpert ! You have been so amazing helping me with writing!

And finally, a huge thank you to my partner I met through this big bang, @clemjolichose I love you so so so much my dearest. You’ve helped me with this so much.

Read on AO3

Part 2

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Wait, for just a moment. Breath, deep and from the stomach. Stay focused, don’t let the crowd get to you. There’s the guitars, signaling the start of the song. He would never get used to the anxiety that starts a show, no matter how many times they perform. It was a rush of adrenaline and fear, mixing together to create something new. He would hear Remy starting the background vocals, a haunting sound that carried so smoothly. He glanced over at Remus, who was smiling without a care in the world. He wished he could be like the bassist, who was now grinning back at him. He looked away as Janus started playing too, the beat carrying him back to the moment.

Virgil was ready, and he knew he could do this. He’d done it hundreds of times by now, after all.

“The colder the night, the warmer your hands hold

Held in your arms, the hole in my head grows whole.”

There was Remus, staying in time with Janus’s beat. It was a relatively simple song for the both of them. For all of them, actually. But simplicity often sounds chillingly beautiful.

“I don't want to die alone, but I don't wanna die at all.

I'm not gonna keep you by the phone, dear

Hang up when you've had enough,

Too much to talk.”

Virgil could remember writing these lyrics. It had been after one of his late night phone calls with Remus. He’d been sure Remus would hang up soon, tired of talking to him. But instead he stayed through the whole night, until Virgil fell asleep during the call.

“Call me when you're coming down, call me when you hang.

All is well that ends well, but all is well that ends.”

The music still played in his head, even after the show had finished. The first song in particular seemed to stick to his brain. The crowd loved it, cheering for the newest song.

“Clocks made God from the monsters in my head.

Do you wanna know my name?

Is that all you want to take from me?”

Where was Remus at? The bassist had disappeared backstage almost immediately after they finished playing. The music was still ringing in the singer’s head. Janus and Remy seemed a bit worried about him, but Virgil wasn’t for once. This was a pretty normal occurrence. They all got overwhelmed by the crowd, and Remus tended to disappear when it got to him. Virgil knew where he went to hide anyways, so he told the others he would go get him. They had a meet and greet after this show, after all. He didn’t want to force his- boyfriend? Lover? What were they?- friend to do this, but it was part of their contracts.

“Josh, stop it.” Well, that was Remus. But why was he talking to Josh? They’d broken up over a year ago, at least. He’d been the last guy since he and Remus had… Well, since they developed whatever they had. The bassist’s ex hadn’t been around since. Virgil shivered, anxiety suddenly spiking. Remus wouldn’t cheat, right? Even though no one knew they were dating. Virgil had wanted to keep it a secret, after all. Was Remus tired of waiting for him to tell everyone? He felt like it was an understandable fear… They were becoming so popular after all. No need for the fans to know their relationship.

In your arms the end is in my eyes.

And I don't want to die in my sleep, when you're left.

Virgil rounded a corner and spotted the two others. He hid behind the corner, peeking around to see them. Josh was blocking Remus from his sight, seemingly boxing Remus against the wall. Virgil couldn’t see Remus’s face. His heart was pounding, his brain telling him that this was it. Remus had finally figured out that he was too good for the guitarist.

“I miss you, Rem. Come back to my place tonight? I know you want to baby…”

“I can’t Josh. Not tonight, at least.” Not tonight? Did that mean… Did Remus plan to go some other night? All he could see was Josh leaning down and kissing Remus. It didn’t seem like Remus was going to push his ex away, either.

Call me when you hang and

Call me when you're left.

Call me when you come down, call me when you hang.

Virgil took off, retracing his steps. He couldn’t stand there and watch any more, and there is no way he could have confronted the two. He couldn’t bear to watch Remus do anything more. How could he? He had said he wanted to be with Virgil forever… He had said that they were soulmates, that they were meant to be. How could he have lied, looking Virgil in the eye while he did so. It had all seemed so real… Had he just been a rebound for Josh?

I don't wanna to die alone, but I don't wanna die at all/

I'm not gonna keep you by the phone, dear.

Hang up when you've had enough,

Too much to talk.

Remus was tired of him. That had to be it. There was no other explanation. He had overstayed his welcome. The other was annoyed and couldn’t stand to be around him anymore. It made sense. Virgil could barely blame the bassist. Remus had canceled their plans all last week, hadn’t he? Virgil should have seen this coming…

Call me when you're coming down, call me when you hang.

All is well that ends well, but all is well that ends.

Call me when you hang,

Call me when you…

No, Virgil decided. This wasn’t his fault. It… It couldn’t be. Remus was the one cheating on him. That wasn’t okay, no matter if the bassist was tired of him! No, he was done with this. Virgil shoved past Janus and Remy, ignoring their calls for him to come back. He was leaving, and no one could stop him. They would be just fine without him. Remus had proven that.

Virgil hadn’t even noticed that he was crying as he rushed out the back door of the venue they were at. He was focused on leaving. He was going home and moving. They would never find him, he would make sure of that. He’d block all their numbers, find a new band to play with. It couldn’t be too hard, with his popularity. Any band would take him in a heartbeat, right? Remus would regret doing this. Virgil would make sure of it even if it was the last thing he would ever do.

Hang your head and cry if you like, but all is well that ends.

#thomas sanders sides big bang 2022 #tssbb 2022 #sanders sides #ts virgil #ts remus #dukexiety #my writing #my fic #ts fanfic

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dystopiagnome · 3 years ago

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oKAY SO I AM NOT OVER THIS ONE. ANOTHER THING FOR @sandersidesbigbang. ABSOLUTELY LOSING MY MIND. FIXATED TOO HARD ON THIS ONE. THE THINGS I WANNA SAY. LOOK AT WHAT @purplecrayonismine DID. I AM IN TEARS.

Title: Stick It to the Man

Author: @kaythegay2022

Character: Virgil

Rating: Teen

[IMAGE 1 ID] [The first digital drawing of Virgil holding a purple phone with skulls. There are six total green hearts three by three at his sides. He is of Egyptian descent with purple eyes and dyed purple straight hair. His jacket’s patches are multiple different shades of purple. The background is just a purple square behind him.]

[IMAGE 2 ID] [The second drawing Virgil, same as on top, in the Simpsons Skinner Out of Touch meme top panel reading “Am I misinterpreting the conversation from afar?” as Virgil replicates Skinner’s hand to mouth pose with tears. The bottom panel reads “No, Remus is clearly cheating on me.” As Virgil looks up. The background unchanged as Springfield.]

#tss virgil #dukexiety #tssbb 2022 #thomas sanders big bang 2022 #dude honestly I hardly have the energy to make fun tags this time #I just fucking love this story #it’s so fun man #I fucking love it 😭#also I’m obsessed with the songs #there’s still stuff I wish I did but hhhhhhhhhhhhhh

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sandersidesbigbang · 3 years ago

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silver and gold

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Main romantic Loceit, background romantic Prinxiety, found family all around

Summary/Excerpt:

Janus’ life of petty crime alongside Virgil and Remus isn’t ideal, exactly, but it’s good enough – until he tries to pickpocket the wrong person and learns three life-changing things: One, mages are terrifyingly real, go by the name of Logan, and do not appreciate being stolen from. Two, Remus has a twin brother. And three, Remus is actually the crown prince of the neighboring country, forced to start a new life after being framed for treason and left for dead in a brutal coup.

Whisked off to a new nation with Remus and Virgil, Janus struggles to adjust to high society and a life of court politics and intrigue, his inherent distrust of magic and his rocky – to put it lightly – relationship with Logan only complicating matters further. Trouble soon begins brewing in the kingdom as well, bringing with it whispers of old threats to the newly reunited princes, and when things go horribly wrong, Janus is forced to confront two questions with extraordinary consequences: How selfish is he, exactly? And just what is he prepared to sacrifice for those he loves?

AUTHOR

@rosepetalgold I’m Rose, writer of copious amounts of angst at all hours of the night, and snarky thief!Janus stole my heart. Watch out or he might just steal yours, too.

BETAS

@iclaimedtobethebetterbard

@dragonsaphirareads

ARTISTS

@hedgeyart

@thecrowslullaby Magic? Found family? Trust issues, intrigue and coups? Loceit? I don’t think I could have clicked this fic fast enough.

#thomas sanders big bang #thomas sanders sides big bang 2022 #thomas sanders sides big bang #tssbb 2022 #promo posts

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rosepetalgold · 3 years ago

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all the silver stolen (will one day turn to gold) 4

Summary: Remus' past comes to light and brings with it more questions than answers.

Warnings: Mentions of past physical violence and death

Word Count: 7756

Read on Ao3 Masterpost

start - previous - you’re here! - next

“How the fuck did they find me?” Remus demands, slamming the board they use as a makeshift lock across the door. A lot of good it would do them now. “Fucking bullshit, after all these years—”

He’s still going, ranting as he snatches a satchel from beside the fireplace, sword still clutched in a white-knuckled grip in his other hand, but Janus hardly hears him, still trying to process everything that has just happened in the last two minutes and how any of them are even still alive. Then the other man’s voice cracks on a word and Janus snaps back to attention to realize Remus is crying.

Remus. Is crying.

Janus quite possibly has never felt less prepared to handle a situation in his entire life, not even when Virgil had fallen hopelessly in love with the watchmaker’s daughter when he was fifteen and Janus had been forced to comfort him through his heartbreak.

Remus doesn’t cry. Remus didn’t even yell when he got upset, not after he’d realized it upset Virgil. Normally he just glowered as he sat by the fire whittling down a piece of wood with his largest knife, making a little figurine if it was a small annoyance or nothing but curls of wood on the floor if it was something more serious. But he doesn’t cry.

Janus has never seen him like this, furious and weeping at the same time, and it’s borderline frightening, the way the burning intensity in his eyes is undercut by the tears tracking down his cheeks.

“We have to go. Right now,” Remus interrupts himself to say, a wild look in his eye as he surges into the bedroom and begins to shove their meager few possessions into his bag.

Well, that was an attitude Janus certainly could have used ten minutes ago.

“Stop,” Virgil demands, voice harsh, glaring fiercely despite the way his face has gone pale, but Remus doesn’t so much as look up. “Just—stop and start doing some explaining, Remus, because I just saw your fucking doppelgänger walk through the door along with some mage and the apothecary owner from the nice side of the city and figuring out how they all fit into this picture is not a riddle I’m in any mood to solve!”

Remus soundly ignores him, which Janus knows from unfortunate experience is always a dangerous thing to do when Virgil is angry, and shoves past him back into the common area, not even seeming to notice as Virgil latches onto his arm, the taller man getting dragged along for a full two steps before Remus notices the deadweight and halts.

“Stop!” Virgil shouts again. “You’re freaking me out! What the hell is going on?”

“Get off of me Virgil, we have to go,” Remus insists, trying to shake the other man off, and Virgil’s expression turns practically murderous as he only clings on tighter.

“None of us are going anywhere until you start talking. How far do you think you’re going to get dragging me around?”

“Janus, come on,” Remus appeals, turning to where he’s still frozen helplessly in the middle of the room. “You’re the one who wanted to leave.”

Janus is the deciding vote, then. Leave right now, fleeing into the night with barely more than the clothes on their back and nowhere to go, or stay at least long enough for Remus to offer an explanation of his past and risk Roman or Logan returning for round two.

But for all his insistence earlier that Remus leave, he finds himself hesitating. The mage already knew where Remus was, could very well have put the same kind of tracking spell on him as he had Janus, and who was to say they wouldn’t be walking right into an ambush if they left now?

Remus swears fiercely into the silence, finally managing to shove Virgil off of his arm.

“I’ll go myself, then.”

He strides to the door, knocking away Janus’ reaching hand, and Janus braces for him to disappear into the night, to be gone just like that, but Remus just—stops, with his hand on the knob.

“I’m leaving,” he says, but there’s the slightest waver in his voice now, an edge of uncertainty creeping in like he’s trying to convince himself of his own decision. “I need to go. I should go.”

But he doesn’t move a muscle.

“Remus,” Virgil tries, edging closer, and Remus slams his palm against the doorframe with enough force that even Janus flinches.

“Fuck him. Fuck! I need to go but—I can’t, I can’t—”

He turns, sliding his back down the door until he’s sitting on the floor, tears still glinting on his cheeks, and brings his fist up to the side of his head once, then again and again before Janus manages to catch his wrist.

“Hey, we don’t do that, Re.” He scrambles for a compromise between staying indefinitely and leaving immediately, something that will give him enough information to make a halfway informed decision about the best course of action. “Who is Roman, exactly?”

“My fucking brother,” Remus growls, and Janus resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“I know that. I mean who is he? Some Sideran nobleman?”

“Not quite.”

“Fine, some filthy rich Sideran nobleman, then?”

Remus shakes his head mutely.

“Well, what then? Out with it. Any second that blasted mage could come back and smite us into dust, and if I don’t have an answer before then I’ll come back as a ghost and haunt your sorry ass forever.”

Remus grimaces, twisting his bag in his hands for a moment before setting it aside with a decisive thump and meeting Janus’ gaze, something almost like defiance in his eyes.

“Try the king.”

~~~

The king.

No, that can’t be right. Janus must have misheard him, because if Roman is the king of Sidera and Remus is his brother, that would mean—

“The twin princes of Sidera,” Remus says, unmistakable bitterness lacing his voice as he glares down at his hands clenched in his lap. “A gift from the gods, as some people liked to call us. We were practically inseparable as children after both of our parents died. Most people probably expected us to be at each other’s throats, especially over the throne, and we did argue all the time as we got older, but just over stupid shit, nothing serious. Nothing that had any real consequences. I was technically crown prince since I was born first, but we’d always planned that we would co-rule as soon as we were old enough to properly inherit the throne from our regent. Until then, we were just kids. I was learning how to be king and Roman was learning how to manage the castle but we had everything we could ever want and we spent all of our free time together wreaking havoc on the palace and we were happy.

“It was good,” Remus insists, something raw cutting into the underside of his voice even as anger curls around his words. “Everything was good until it wasn’t and I don’t even fucking know why or what changed, he just—”

He cuts himself off, fingers curling into tight fists where they rest against his thighs before he tips his head back against the door, blowing out a breath.

“He sent me away on business,” he continues after a long moment. “Right before our eighteenth birthday. Some stupid trip out to one of the nobles in the countryside, something he normally would have taken care of himself, but he’d asked me to go in his place and so I went because that’s what we did for each other. But apparently being a good brother in turn was just too fucking much to ask of my darling twin because the whole trip was a set-up. Nothing more than an excuse for my own guards to get me days away from the palace, alone at night on some deserted country road, and attack me. Killed the only one of them who tried to intervene and then took turns beating the fucking shit out of me until I was one breath away from finding myself on the wrong side of death’s doorstep. I’m sure they thought I was dead or else they never would have left me there without a knife in my throat. That’s what they would have done to begin with if they had so much as a cockroach’s brain between them, just run me through with a sword or two and be done with it, but apparently taking out their feelings on me was just too good an opportunity to pass up.”

His hand presses to his stomach as if unconsciously trying to soothe an old wound, expression pinching in as his eyes take on a glassy, unfocused quality.

“Before trying to kick my skull in, one of them had the fucking nerve to tell me that it wasn’t personal, that they were only following their new leader’s orders. He could only have meant Roman; by that point, not even our regent had the authority to issue commands to the Guard without clearing it with Roman and me first, and the members of the Royal Guard in particular were handpicked from the ranks for demonstrating exemplary loyalty to the crown. They wouldn’t have taken orders from anyone but us two. It had to have been Roman who orchestrated the whole thing, but I didn’t—How was I supposed to believe it? He was my brother. He may have made jokes all the time about how I was the undignified one and how I was tarnishing his perfect royal image and how I belonged out in the woods with the wild animals, but they were just fucking jokes. I never thought he actually meant them. Even as my own guards were beating me to death, I thought it was some mistake, that Roman couldn’t have had anything to do with it. But then I regained the barest sliver of consciousness as they were dragging me into the ditch and I overheard them talking about how glad they were that Roman would be the one to take the throne, how everything was falling right into place, how much better things would be with ‘the other twin’ in charge, and I just—”

He breaks off as his voice cracks, squeezing his eyes shut as a fresh tear traces its way down his cheek, but he doesn’t even seem to notice it, and when he speaks again his voice is carefully controlled.

“It had to have been Roman who arranged the whole thing in order to take power all for himself. There isn’t any other explanation. I don’t even know how I woke up again after passing out for gods know how long. My brain felt like it was leaking out of my ears and I could hardly keep a coherent thought in my head for more than a second but I knew that going back to the castle would be nothing more than serving myself up on a silver platter for my brother’s newfound taste for fratricide, so I headed for the coast. My guards had taken my royal ring like the despicable, piece of shit cowards they were, probably as some sort of twisted trophy, so I sold everything but the clothes on my back for a charm magicked against tracking, just in case anyone ever got suspicious that they couldn’t find my rotting corpse, then managed to bargain for passage down the coast with a shady group of traders who were just waiting to sell me for parts. I heard on the way that Roman officially ascended to the throne on our eighteenth birthday. He didn’t even fucking wait until my mourning period was over, if he even ever decreed there should be one. I stopped listening for news from Sidera after that unless my name was involved. If he was going to run my country into the ground, I sure as fuck didn’t want to know about it. I abandoned ship as soon as we got to a decent port in Umbra and hightailed it as far as I could before I ran out of the few coins I’d managed to save, which just so happened to be here, as luck would have it. I became a street rat, met you two before too long, and the rest is history.”

Rarely in Janus’ life has he ever been rendered truly speechless, but words fail him as he stares and stares and stares at Remus, trying and utterly failing to process this new wealth of information. Secret plots of deception, attempted murder, a royal turned petty thief—it all sounds too fantastical to be true, like one of the bedtime stories Remus had always used to tell Virgil even when he was far too old for it, and if it were anyone else claiming such things, Janus would laugh them off in a heartbeat.

But even though he’s clearly been alarmingly ignorant about Remus’ past, he knows Remus himself. He knows his countenance, knows the subtleties of his temperament, knows when he’s being dishonest. And as far as he can tell, not a single lie has come out of the other man’s mouth despite the unbelievable tale he’s woven.

“We need to go,” he demands, fresh fear buzzing just under his skin at the all but certain prospect of Roman returning at any moment, bursting back through the door to finish what he’d started all those years ago.

But Remus just shakes his head, not budging from where he’s sitting blocking the door, every single bit of fire and urgency seemingly drained away at the worst possible time.

“We can’t,” he says hollowly, some far-off look still haunting the back of his eyes as he meets Janus’ gaze. “You and Vee can’t travel quickly, not with your injuries, and what good would running do anyways when that mage could probably find us no matter how far we went? Besides, if Roman is going to come back and try to take me out, I’m sure as fuck going to go out taking a stand in my own home instead of being hunted down like some animal.”

“Remus,” Janus implores. “He tried to have you murdered and very nearly succeeded. I sincerely doubt distance has made his heart grow fonder.”

“Yeah,” Remus agrees, but his voice is uncharacteristically quiet, the single word not strengthened with any conviction.

A fantastic turn of events, truly. Janus is just so glad that he’d finally gotten Remus on board to leave only for him to change his mind at the last minute. It wasn’t like their very lives were at stake or anything.

He turns to Virgil, a silent request to help drill some sense into Remus’ skull before Roman returns with the whole of the City Guard to get his revenge, but the other man is staring at the floorboards, steadfastly refusing to meet his gaze. Janus’ stomach twists as the silence drags on entirely too long before Virgil finally shrugs, straightening his shoulders and drawing himself up in a pitifully transparent guise of bravado and indifference.

“I don’t want to go on the run,” he declares. “At least going out alongside an exiled prince would be a badass way to die.”

Fucking stars. Since when is Janus the only one of them with any sense?

“They have a mage with them,” he says, on the verge of pleading, fingers tightening into a white-knuckled grip around his knife hilt. “And he’ll—he’ll—” He blows out a breath, struggling to get himself together. “Trust me,” he says after a moment, trying to force down the lump in his throat, the memories rising in the back of his mind. Unrelenting heat, snapping flames impervious to water, unnatural black laced amongst the orange— “Trust me when I say that mage’s hellfire is not a pleasant way to go out.”

Remus reaches out, squeezing his hand, and Virgil awkwardly pats his shoulder.

“I know, Jan,” Remus says quietly. “I know. You can go if you want. You should go if you want. You can still get out and leave us martyrs behind. I doubt the mage would go after a slippery little snake like you anyways.”

Gods, how Janus wishes it were that easy, that he could just pack up and leave Virgil and Remus behind to fend for themselves and not feel guilty about it for a moment.

But he can’t, despite his instincts screaming at him to take the chance to run while he still can. Virgil and Remus are his family, for better or worse, and he can’t abandon them, even for the sake of saving his own skin.

His own damn loyalty is going to be the death of him one day.

The others are both watching him, waiting for his decision, so he forces himself to scoff, pulling a mask of nonchalance around himself as tightly as he can despite the panic still snapping at his veins.

“You think you can get rid of me that easily? Honestly, it’s like you don’t know me at all.” Remus makes a tiny sound that might be an attempt at a laugh, something like relief flashing across his face, there and gone again as he wipes at the tear tracks on his cheeks, and Janus nudges him gently with one foot. “Now scoot over. If we’re going to do this, we’re at least going to do the smart thing and sit watch. I’m not in the mood to be blindsided by any more surprise visits from the king of Sidera.”

The king.

The words ring mercilessly in Janus’ ears as he sinks onto the ground beside Remus, Virgil taking a moment to grab the fire poker before likewise settling onto the floorboards across from them. Janus doubts the makeshift weapon is going to do much good given that they no longer have the element of surprise on their side, but he can’t focus his thoughts long enough to formulate any sort of comment about it.

The king.

Roman is—no, technically Remus is the king of Sidera, even if his brother is the one currently sitting on the throne. It sounds nothing short of absurd, but even if Remus had suddenly become an immaculate liar overnight, he certainly didn’t have any reason to concoct such an extravagant tale to explain his past and his brother’s identity.

And the consequences of Roman being in such a position of power… Janus doesn’t even want to consider the myriad of worst-case scenarios, but the sharp-edged questions roiling over one another in his mind are wholly unremitting. Just how much of his likely inexhaustible wealth of resources was Roman willing to throw into going after Remus, and by extension Janus and Virgil? Was he really going to try to kill his twin as soon as he got his hands on him, or was he planning some worse fate? And even if by some miracle he and his mage did decide their little trio wasn’t worth dirtying their hands over, what then? Would Remus, someone who had apparently grown up in the lap of luxury with everything he could ever want, really be content to forswear his royal identity and continue living a life of poverty and crime? And on the slim chance that was true, how were they supposed to go on knowing that at any moment Roman could change his mind and send the whole of the City Guard after them and have the three of them arrested and hanged?

He doesn’t have the answers, and no way to get any other than to let the indifferent mistress of time run her course.

The king.

The minutes tick by agonizingly slowly into even more wretchedly lethargic hours without so much of a whisper of Roman and his companions returning and still Janus can’t shake the two words. Not as Virgil questions Remus relentlessly about his past. Not as Remus supplies answers with an unsettling lack of his usual flair. And certainly not as Remus gently bullies him into bed after several excruciatingly tense hours despite his protests, leaving him to stare up at the flickering shadows cast on the ceiling from the fire and wrack his brain for what he’s going to do to keep the three of them alive another day.

The king. The king, the king, the king.

Janus doesn’t sleep a moment that night.

Neither do Virgil or Remus from the looks of things the next morning, both of them sporting dark circles under their eyes as they get ready for the day, Virgil jumping and scowling fiercely at any sudden noise and Remus unusually subdued.

Janus isn’t exactly feeling peachy himself, nerves skittering under his skin as he cracks the door open and peers out, bracing for the sight of a whole platoon of guards on his doorstep, but the street is empty and quiet in the weak morning light.

Empty—

—except for the small pile of gold coins tucked beside the door underneath an angled rock, hidden from the road but clearly visible to anyone coming out of the house.

Well, that was new.

Janus just stares at them for a long moment, waiting for his sleep-deprived brain to offer some kind of explanation as to why there are suddenly riches tucked alongside their little hovel, but if there’s a logical reason for the shiny gold coins nestled in the dirt, it thoroughly evades him.

“Remus,” he calls over his shoulder, and the other man is at his side in an instant. “You didn’t tell me the coin seeds you planted were due to sprout.”

Remus peers over his shoulder out the door, swearing as he catches sight of the gold.

“The fuck?”

“Precisely my question.”

Remus nudges past him, leaning down to scoop up the coins, and Janus hisses in protest.

“What are you doing? The mage could have cursed those for all we know.”

Remus considers the money for a moment, then shakes his head.

“I doubt it. If he were going to try and hurt one of us, why not just do it directly? And he already has some kind of tracking spell on you or something you had on you, so it wouldn’t make sense for him to do another one with these. Besides, they don’t feel like they’re magicked at all.”

Janus stares blankly at him, waiting for Remus to cackle at his own joke, but the other man just raises a questioning eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“You can feel magic?”

“Yeah, it just has that certain vibe to it, you know?”

“A vibe.”

“Can’t you sense it? I thought everyone could to some degree.”

Another new thing he’s just learned about Remus. He’ll add it to the growing list.

“No,” he says flatly, then over his shoulder, “Virgil, darling, can you sense when objects have fancy magical spells on them?”

“I can sense that I’m going to murder whoever used the last of the tea leaves,” Virgil mutters, glowering into the empty tin.

Janus was going to take that as a no.

“Come on, you’re letting all the cold air in,” Remus says, tugging Janus back inside and pulling the door shut before taking Janus’ hand and pressing the coins into it. “I swear they’re not magicked, Jan. One of them probably just dropped them yesterday in their rush to get out of here. And it’s free money! Why stare at a gift horse’s mouth or whatever?”

Janus is hardly convinced, but Remus just claps him on the shoulder and moves past him to the table, starting up some half-hearted banter with Virgil about the tea leaves in a clear attempt to make things feel normal that only falls flat.

Janus stares at the foreign stamp on the coins as he tips them from one hand to the other, a little stunned despite himself at the amount of wealth he’s holding. The money in his palm is dramatically more than he’s ever possessed before, the gold easily enough to keep all three of them fed and clothed through the rest of the cold season and right through summer, if not longer.

Remus could claim what he liked, but they both knew the coins hadn’t accidentally been spilled from Roman’s or Logan’s or Patton’s coin purse. One of them had deliberately placed them there, and Janus doesn’t like the implications of such a thing one bit. If he spends the money, will one of them claim he owes them something? Is this a setup to get their little trio arrested for larceny? Is the king trying to split them up so that a second attack will be more successful?

But then he glances up at Virgil, still staring into the empty tea tin as if it’ll refill itself if he glares at it hard enough, and Remus, pouring the last of their dried grain into a pot of water to make a meager porridge, and his resolve caves.

Cursed coins or not, he can’t sit by and watch the others go hungry.

“I’m going to get food,” he announces, shoving his boots on and snatching his cloak and bag from beside the door. “If I don’t come back, assume I’ve been murdered by Roman and his entourage.”

He’s out the door before either of them can protest, taking in a deep breath of the crisp morning air as he sets off to the market and trying to ignore how the gold coins feel like a leaden weight in his hand. Everything is fine, he lies to himself, trying and failing to calm his nerves. Everything is just fine. He’s not at all concerned that at any moment he’s about to be ambushed by some disgruntled guard from Remus’ past or a malicious, steely-eyed mage eager to do much worse than place Janus under a tracking spell.

It’s a short walk to the market square, thankfully, and once there he’s easily able to track down a merchant who’s one of his favorites given her penchant for not asking questions about the kinds of things he pays with. Sure enough, she lives up to her reputation, arching an eyebrow at the foreign coin he offers but sweeping it out of his palm without remark. It’s shocking how much food he’s able to purchase, and even more shocking how much change he still has from the gold piece to barter for more, and he’s tempted to see what wares are available from the other vendors. But he can’t shake the nagging feeling that at any moment the Guard or Roman or Logan could be barging into their house with retribution on their minds, so he unceremoniously shoves half of his haul into his bag and gathers up the rest in his arms, setting off at a brisk clip.

Winding his way back through the familiar streets seems to take twice as long as it should, his unease only growing with every step. He shouldn’t have ever gone out. The coins must have been a ruse after all, a way to lure one of them away to make the others an easier target, and their home is going to be nothing more than smoldering ashes by the time he gets back—

But when he rounds the final corner, everything is just as he’d left it, not a stone out of place and no evidence anyone has even so much as walked by in his absence.

Safe and sound. Janus can only hope it stays that way.

~~~

All three of them remain on edge the next several days, just waiting for the Guard to come bursting through the door or for Roman—or, gods forbid, Logan—to return and exact some revenge, but nothing out of the ordinary happens. The days pass shockingly normally, aside from the fact that none of them have to venture out to pickpocket or try to find work, thanks to their new abundance of both food and money.

Virgil demands Remus repeat his story multiple times, clearly searching for some hint that he’s making the whole thing up, and Remus complies every time without complaint, even the smallest details never changing as he steadfastly answers any question Virgil can throw at him.

Janus doesn’t even bother interrogating him. His gut instinct already tells him that Remus isn’t lying, and even if the other man did want to continue to conceal his past, there were vastly easier ways to do it than claiming he was an exiled prince whose brother had set him up to be killed.

By the time a week has passed, the threat of being imminently attacked seems to have abated, at least, but Janus isn’t stupid enough to think that Roman has just forgotten about them. Maybe Roman isn’t intent on killing Remus outright, but he surely wants something from his brother, and Janus isn’t entertaining any ideas that he’ll stop before he gets it.

In the meantime, Janus finds himself faced with an entirely new problem: his stitches. He’d been tempted to take them out himself, but Virgil had panicked about him doing it wrong and bleeding out on the floor when he’d mentioned it, and even Remus had wrinkled his nose and suggested Janus find a professional to unsew his skin flaps, as he had so tastefully put it.

But the thought of having to explain his injury to an unfamiliar healer, especially if he has to pay for their services using one of Roman’s foreign gold coins, is more than enough to make him wary. The last thing he needs is to arouse suspicion and get arrested again. One stint in prison had been plenty.

That leaves Patton, unfortunately.

Maybe it isn’t all a loss, though, Janus muses as he lurks in the shadows of an alley across the street from the apothecary. Perhaps the other man will let something slip, some valuable piece of information about Roman’s plans tucked away in an offhand comment, and even if he doesn’t, Janus’ visit is a golden opportunity to steal some more medicine, either to hoard for future crises or to sell for emergency, get-the-fuck-out-of-this-city money.

It’s a long time he lingers, watching for any guards or signs of increased security or anything else out of place, but it all seems like business as usual, just a steady flow of customers coming in and out. Still, he waits until things have cleared out and Patton is moving to the door to lock up before he makes himself seen.

He strides across the street to the apothecary door, rapping his knuckles on it just as Patton is nudging it closed. The other man startles, fumbling the key right out of his hands, his mouth already forming a surprised O as he glances up. He flinches ever so slightly when he meets Janus’ gaze, which Janus can’t exactly blame him for given the armed standoff they’d been engaged in the last time they’d met, but a bright smile is on his face in an instant.

“Hi, Dee! What can I help you with?”

“You said to come back in a week to get my stitches removed.” Blunt and to the point. Janus doesn’t want to be here any longer than necessary, and that includes taking the time for pleasantries.

“Of course! Come on in and I’ll get you fixed right up!”

He gestures Janus inside and he obligingly slips through the door, ready to bolt at the first sight of anyone else, but the room is empty. The shop is much nicer when it’s not under the cover of nightfall and he isn’t panicking about stealing the wrong medicine; the late afternoon light streaming through an array of empty glass jars casts colorful reflections on the wall, and the wind shivers the bundles of herbs drying from the rafters with a gentle rustle.

The lock clicks shut on the door behind him and his breath catches before quickening, his hand creeping to the hilt of his knife at the prospect of being locked in, the memory of a blade biting into his side sending a phantom pain through his ribs.

Surely Patton wouldn’t hurt him, would he? Didn’t healers take an oath to do no harm? Still, all it would take is one scream from the other man to send someone running and then he could claim that Janus was threatening him or trying to rob him or worse and Janus would find himself right back in manacles in prison—

“You can sit over here!” Patton chirps, gesturing to a cot, oblivious to Janus’ belated realization that this had been a terrible idea. He should have just taken his stitches out himself without telling Virgil. It wasn’t like he could hurt himself any worse, right?

Actually, with how his luck had been going lately, he probably could, but considering he’s now locked in an apothecary shop with someone who has every reason to have a grudge against him, he’s wishing he would have taken his chances.

“Let me just get a few things,” Patton says, crossing to a cabinet in the back of the shop and beginning to rummage through its many drawers. Janus reluctantly eases onto the cot, taking advantage of Patton’s turned back to snag a small pot of medicine from several perched on the table on one side of the cot, tucking it surreptitiously into his satchel.

He’ll just consider it compensation for the emotional trauma of a mage and the king of Sidera barging in on his home uninvited.

“Here we go!” Patton announces, snapping Janus’ attention back to the healer as he bustles back over, and over his shoulder Janus catches a glimpse of the back door, now cracked open. It’s hardly a pleasant feeling to have been read so easily by Patton, but considering he now has an easy escape route if he needs it, he’ll stomach the hit to his ego.

Patton deposits an armful of items on the table and kneels beside him, gesturing at his torso.

“Can you lift your shirt for me?” Janus does so and Patton hums approvingly as he surveys the wound. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Janus nods, since he doesn’t know what other choice he has, and Patton presses lightly at the skin around the stitches.

“Any significant pain?”

“No.”

He has to force himself not to flinch away from Patton’s touch, nerves still crawling under his skin. Can’t the other man just cut the stitches so Janus can leave?

“Everything looks really good, Dee! I’m just going to make sure the area is clean and then I’ll take the sutures out, okay?”

Janus nods again and Patton smiles brightly, dipping a cloth into a bowl and beginning to dab gently at the injury as he starts in on some mindless small talk about the weather. Given the way the healer’s eyes keep flickering to the knife on Janus’ belt, Janus can’t tell how much of the chattiness is nerves and how much is just his personality, but Patton seems perfectly content to keep up the entirely one-sided conversation.

After what feels like a short eternity, he moves on to a steady chatter about the stray cats outside his shop as he dries the healing wound and begins to carefully snip away the stitches with the tiniest pair of scissors Janus has ever seen, which he would be very strongly tempted to describe as adorable if he weren’t a street-hardened criminal.

Not that he would admit such a thing, of course. He has a reputation to maintain, after all.

“All done!” Patton announces after a few minutes, sitting back on his heels. “You did great!” he enthuses, as if Janus has done something more than just sit in silence.

Janus stands, already eyeing the sliver of sunlight cutting through the cracked back door, and Patton rises as well, dusting his hands off on his apron.

“Do you need any more of the medicine I gave you? I won’t charge you for it.”

It’s shocking how casually he offers such things, how easily he’s willing to part with life-saving medicine without asking for anything in return, but Janus forces himself to keep his expression neutral.

“Yes, actually; I could use another one of those little red jars,” he lies smoothly, and there’s another lie already on the tip of his tongue about dropping the glass container, because he knows Patton must know that even between him and Virgil there’s no way they could have gone through a whole jar already, but Patton doesn’t even question it, just nods and turns to the shelf of medicines to retrieve it.

It’s almost enough for Janus to feel bad about slipping an unattended roll of bandages up his sleeve.

Almost, but not quite.

When Patton returns, however, he’s holding not just the crimson jar but a thick letter, the parchment heavy and stamped with an elaborate wax seal.

Shit. Janus had known there had to be a catch in exchange for Patton’s medical care, even if he’d expected it to take the form of something mildly more intimidating than a sheaf of fancy stationery.

“This is for you, too,” Patton says, nerves clear in his voice for the first time since Janus has arrived. “Well, it’s for Remus, really, but if you could just give it to him? It’s from Roman explaining everything that’s happened during their time apart. I think there was some, um, miscommunication the last time we, uh, met”—that was the understatement of the year—“and hopefully this will clear some things up.”

Janus hesitates, eying the paper with no small amount of trepidation. Is this some kind of trick? He can’t even read the thing to try to vet it before he gives it to Remus. Who’s to say it isn’t filled with webs of twisted lies deliberately calibrated to mess with Remus’ head?

“It’s nothing bad!” Patton assures him, worrying the letter between his fingers. “I mean, I haven’t read it, and there were definitely bad things that happened in the past that Roman probably wrote about, but I swear he doesn’t want to hurt Remus or you or your other friend. None of us do. He just wants to straighten things out.”

Janus wavers another moment, but the temptation to possibly glean some sense of what Roman wants from his brother is too great. Besides, it isn’t really his choice about whether to read it; he’ll just give it to Remus and it’ll be up to him what he wants to do with it, whether that be devour every word or toss it in the fireplace. He warily accepts both the jar of medicine and the letter, tucking them away in his bag, and Patton looks undeniably relieved.

“It was so nice to see you again, Dee!” Either Patton is an excellent liar or he truly means it. Janus doesn’t know which is scarier. “Stop by anytime if you need anything, okay?”

Janus nods mutely, taking the clear dismissal for what it is and heading for the back door, but he pauses on the threshold, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Patton?” he calls, and the healer looks up from where he’s tidying up his supplies. “Thank you.”

He can barely grit the words out, but the last thing he needs is for Patton to be able to claim later that Janus owes him anything, and when the other man smiles, it seems genuine.

“Stay warm on your walk back!”

Janus doesn’t reply, just slips out the door, tucking his cloak tighter around him, and he's already turning for home when he hears a muted knocking on what must be the front door of the shop, followed by a voice calling inside. The tone sounds tantalizingly familiar, and despite himself he stops in the shadows clinging to the building, pressing one ear to the smooth wood of the back door.

“… just missed Dee!” Patton is saying. “He came by to get his sutures taken out and to get some more medicine.”

An answering scoff.

“You are aware that he likely stole from you, are you not? You ought to double-check your inventory.”

Logan. Janus knew he’d recognized that voice. Apprehension coils in his gut, but he forces himself to stay put.

“I know he borrowed some things, but that’s okay! He wouldn’t have taken them if he didn’t need them, right?”

Being caught was a blow to any thief’s pride, but being caught by Patton, of all people? That stings more than Janus wants to admit, and he scowls fiercely at the stolen goods stashed in his bag. He must be off his game if someone as cheerful and unguarded as the cat-loving healer had noticed him doing a bit of light ‘borrowing.’

“Mmm.” Logan doesn’t sound at all convinced, and Janus shifts his glare to the door. He’d like to see the uptight mage try to survive a single day on the streets, let alone a life-threatening injury without medicine. How dare he judge Janus for wanting to prevent a redo of one of them nearly dying when he’d probably never known a moment of true hardship in his life.

“Do you have any updates?” Logan continues, and Janus presses his ear harder to the door. Updates. Now they were getting somewhere.

But the echo of footsteps in the shop is getting fainter, a creaking of wood suggesting the pair are headed upstairs to the residence above the apothecary, and when Patton speaks again his voice is faint.

“The Coalition has been spreading their usual nonsense, as always, but…”

The words trail off into indistinct sounds, then nothing, and Janus swears under his breath. But what? Who is Patton talking about? He lingers for another long moment, hoping the two of them will return back within eavesdropping reach, but there’s nothing but silence, and he doesn’t dare risk staying too long lest one of them spot him from the second story windows.

So he pulls back, straightens his cloak, and heads for home, left with more questions than he’d had when he arrived and armed with a letter that might just offer some answers.

~~~

Remus immediately seizes upon the letter when Janus explains what it is and hands it over upon his return home, his eyes burning with ferocity and face pulled into a scowl as he harshly breaks the wax seal and begins to scan the first lines, retreating to the fireplace and collapsing onto the mattress there without taking his eyes from the first page.

Janus doesn’t bother to ask him to recount the contents aloud as he reads. He’s sure he’ll get an earful of Remus’ reactions as he goes, not to mention a lengthy rant after he’s through.

But aside from the occasional muttered bastard or prick, Remus is silent, and more than once Janus glances over to find him staring through the pages, mind clearly somewhere else entirely. Dinner is a solitary affair, since Virgil is already asleep and Remus is so captivated by the letter he doesn’t even glance at the bowl Janus pushes his way, and despite his best effort, when Janus curls up between Virgil and Remus, he can’t keep his eyes open.

It must be well into the night when Janus wakes, his eyes still scratchy with sleep, but Remus is still up, now crouched on the hardwood with sheets of the letter strewn around him and muttering under his breath as he scrawls notes in the margins like his life depends on it.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he insists to no one, and Janus pushes himself upright, nudging back the covers and sliding to the edge of the mattress.

“So he’s lying?” he murmurs, and Remus shakes his head, apparently not at all startled by Janus’ voice.

First being caught stealing by Patton and now not being able to sneak up on Remus? Janus really must be losing his edge.

“No, it does make sense, it just—all this time, I thought he—I—it just—it doesn’t make sense. This can’t be true, right? But it has to be true; I mean, he has proof for everything. But if it’s true then everything I thought happened, everything I thought he did—”

He breaks off, staring at the wild mess of papers around him like the answer will suddenly appear in front of him, and Janus stares at them too, wondering just what secrets are contained within the swirls of ink.

“I don’t know, Re,” he says honestly, trying to be helpful despite not having a single clue what Roman has written to his twin.

“He can’t be making all of this up, not without any inconsistencies, and look.” He gestures to the papers and his copious notes crowding the margins. “Zip. Zilch. Nada. Not a single one. He can’t be smart enough to lie his way through all this without a single contradiction.”

“What about the mage, then?” Janus offers. “He seems like a wily one. Maybe he’s the brains behind the whole operation.”

Remus shakes his head, still staring intently at the letter like it’ll provide him the answers to all his questions if he wills it to hard enough.

“He wasn’t a part of the court when I was there, so I don’t know him. Roman must have brought him on after I left. Maybe he did this? But the writing, the style, all of that screams Roman, and there’s things in here only he would know, so I don’t…”

He trails off and the two of them sit in silence for a long moment, Janus waiting for Remus to offer some kind of explanation about what, exactly, is enclosed in all those pages, but the other man is uncharacteristically quiet.

“Go back to bed,” he finally says, glancing up to meet Janus’ gaze for the first time, and he smirks, a hint of his usual humor peeking through. “You’re a grouch when you don’t get enough sleep.”

“Slander and lies,” Janus scoffs, cuffing Remus lightly on the back of the head, but there doesn’t seem to be much he can do to help Remus at the moment and sleep is dragging at his eyes, so he retreats back to the middle of the mattress and crawls back under the blankets.

“Wake me if you need anything,” he whispers. Remus gives him a thumbs up, sharp gaze already scanning the letter again, and Janus closes his eyes and lets sleep pull him under.

---

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