Logan - Cannot practice what he preaches for the life of him when it comes to a healthy sleep schedule. Go to sleep at ten, he says. Wake up at six feeling refreshed, he says. And guess who is up to the butt-crack of dawn because he gets lost in his newest hyper fixation research binge? This guy.
Actually believes that he can just chug enough coffee that the others won't notice the bags under his eyes. Cue the other sides taking turns subtly switching his coffee supply with decaf or turning on episodes of Doctor Who just to lure him to the couch to relax and conk out.
When Logan does steer his mind towards sleep, he lays down on his back and there he stays for the entirety of the night. He doesn't roll. His legs don't jerk. He pulls a sleep mask over his eyes and sleeps until his alarm wakes him up. If he doesn't set an alarm, he basically falls into a small coma as his body demands rest. He hates sleeping that long, and he's definitely not a morning person, but he'd rather drag himself out of bed than be seen as unproductive. Also, the dude swears up and down he has never snored in his life, but he does a little bit sometimes and it's really cute.
Patton - Can and will fall asleep anywhere. One minute he's bright-eyed and the life of the party. Then next you're looking over and he's got his head nodding off into his shoulder, arms crossed to his chest, dead asleep. Other times he gets a pillow and a blanket and declares it's naptime and finds a comfy place on the floor.
He's got the most serious frown on his face when he's asleep. Because of this, Roman and Virgil like to ask him what he's thinking about, knowing he's not going to answer. Then one day Patton does answer (because he wasn't actually asleep, just resting his eyes). Roman screams like a banshee in surprise.
Patton frequently stays up way too late as well, but when he eventually falls asleep, the guy sleeps like a rock. The others have carried him to bed before and he's never, not once woken up during it, completely dead to the world. When he goes to bed himself, Patton says goodnight to each of his stuffed animals and likes to curl up in bed and read a chapter of his current book before taking off his glasses and going to sleep. He snores like a dad half the time, and it's not unusual for him to wake up with drool in the morning.
Roman - Surprisingly has a tight bedtime routine. A prince has got to slay and that means getting his beauty rest! He's big on lots of face masks or moisturizers or lotions before bed, and sometimes he burns candles or incense to make the room calming and luxurious. He also uses a sleeping mask like Logan, just fancier of course. He cycles through his favorite lullabies as he gets ready for bed. But on the nights that his self-confidence is paper thin, the songs are hummed in a minor key.
Roman can't instantly fall asleep like Patton can, but it doesn't usually take him too long. When he does go under, he's in a perfectly reasonable position for all of five minutes before he's kicked off the covers and sprawled out gracelessly over the mattress. He tucks his hand up under his shirt, tummy on display, and though he never snores, he is prone to sleep-talking or the occasional whimper when the dreams turn sour. Also, he looks like he's dead asleep, but this motherfucker is alert even while unconscious. If someone walks into his room at night, he's flashing a sword before his eyes have opened. Janus tried sneaking into Roman's room at night exactly once.
There's a dream journal on his nightstand. In the morning, he religiously updates it and expands on the more intriguing ones to use as creative fuel. Occasionally he wakes in the middle of the night and updates the journal immediately. On these nights, it's fifty-fifty chance that Roman will get too excited and abandon his room to go tell Logan all about his dream, whether Logan's currently awake or not.
Virgil - He would have better sleeping habits. Truly, he would if only his body would cooperate. He's learned over the years that he can't force it no matter how hard he tries. Usually he waits until he's too exhausted or (more rarely) when he's extremely comfortable and content. Other nights, he listens to music to distract his brain and sometimes it works like a charm while other times he's just jamming out for a few hours. In the old days, Virgil would go to Janus and he would always manage to get Virgil lulled to sleep with some head scratches.
Like Patton, Virgil is prone to napping. He sleeps better in short bursts, and typically he can't do so around others for fear of letting his guard down. Predictably, he has nightmares more often than not, but he's learned to deal with the aftermath in various ways. Also like Roman, he sleeps with one eye open. Light sleepers, the both of them. One time the stars aligned and they both fell asleep on the couch together and kept waking each other every few minutes because Roman would mumble something or Virgil's leg would twitch.
When Virgil's asleep, he's curled up into a tight ball. You can't see it from the outside, but under his arms and tucked up against his chest is a stuffed rabbit he's had since childhood. Also, Virgil totally has a hammock in his room and would love to sleep in it because the swaying is soothing, but he's too afraid he'll fall out of it. Mostly it's there for the spider aesthetic.
Janus - Second to Roman, Janus is the side with the most concrete bedtime routine. He likes a long, luxurious bath beforehand, treating his skin and scales to various products, and he usually goes to bed around the same time every night. Similar to Patton, he likes to rest in bed for a bit watching TV shows or reading until he's ready to call it quits for the day.
Not a single person has seen Janus sleep. In fact, this bitch has convinced everyone that he doesn't need to. And everyone totally believes him. Well done, Janus, you sly dog you! Anyway, if anyone tries to bother Janus after normal office hours, he is a terror to behold at being woken up in the middle of the night. Hell hath no fury like a snake who can't have his sleepies. Otherwise though, when Janus goes to bed, the conditions must be perfect for him to relax. He must have his favorite pillow and his sound machine playing white noise and any light in the vicinity must be devoured by the darkness, muahaha.
Definitely a stomach sleeper. One leg bent at the knee, one arm stretched out across the mattress. When he stays on the bed that is. He's prone to sleepwalking, for some reason. He usually wakes himself up fiddling with something in his room and then grumpily going back to bed. Sometimes he wakes up with random stuff in his bed that his sleepwalking self apparently thought was super important. Initially, Janus thought Remus managed to get in his room and was pulling a prank. But when asked, Remus answers honestly, "No, I wasn't in your room last night. Why? Did you want me to be?" Janus believes him, but he doesn't answer, nor does he bring it up again.
Remus - There's no routine here. What else did you expect? Sometimes he knocks himself unconscious for funsies. Sometimes he goes days without sleep. Sometimes he sleeps in a bed like a normal person, always in the buff. And sometimes, he makes it a challenge on what torture devices he can actually manage to fall asleep on.
On rare occasions, the others happen to find him sleeping in random spaces. Ideally this would be the common areas, though more often it's their own rooms or bathrooms. Each time, they startle and then Remus's eyes pop open and he rises like a vampire lord. If Remus ever was to pin down what his preferred sleeping method is, he'd say a coffin. Even when he's not in a coffin, he likes to lay on his back with his arms crossed in an X across his chest like a dead body posed for a wake. Surprisingly, Remus never dreams or remembers his dreams. His brain makes up for it during his waking hours.
If Remus stumbles upon the other sides asleep, he does in fact pull pranks. Whether it be a hand in a bowl of water trick or drawing phallic imagery on their faces. And in the spirit of keeping things unpredictable, Remus will sometimes throw blankets over their sleeping forms and pat their heads and wish them pleasant nightmares.
Logan comes back to himself without ever having left.
It's an odd sensation. As the heavy curtains that are his eyelids raise and stay open, he recalls the phrase 'out of body experience'. He has been mentally present, absorbing the sounds of those conversing around him. He sensed being relocated from outdoors to the living room couch. He heard Roman ask if they should call an ambulance, and he was aware when Remus's shouting at Virgil elicited a gasping response.
He's been aware of events passing him by, but Logan didn't seem to have any ability to be an active participant while it happened. Indeed, he barely had the presence of mind to give the most minimal signs of consciousness when Janus pestered him. It wasn't for lack of trying, rather...
It's as if his desire to try had entirely ceased. There were no thoughts to contribute, for there were no thoughts at all. Logan had never felt so catastrophically empty.
Who are you without your reasoning? Is a person still a person if they cannot decipher themself as such?
Personhood. What a strange notion to their shared, miniscule lives.
All of these considerations of course come after Logan regains himself. At the time, he couldn't so much as think to move or speak. Which was increasingly peculiar when his mouth moved of its own accord and practically vomited out facts. Random facts that Logan had not been aware of himself until he said as much. Educational though it may have been, Logan could not give consent in how his body reacted. He could not hold onto any of the thoughts. They came out in a stream unbidden. He laid there while another puppeted his body.
Logan raises a hand now, barely an inch from where it has been resting on Thomas's shoulder. Thomas is another matter altogether stretched out beside him on the sectional, but in this moment where Logan can be honest with himself, he stares at his hand and is petrified with fear. He moves the digits one by one to prove to himself that he can, that he is the one in control. But there is new knowledge now. A sinking, icy dread crawls into the pit of his stomach and refuses to leave.
The variables have changed, and Logan cannot shake the unfounded realization that he nearly died. Without Thomas, they cannot live. And more than that, they are not automatous. They are able to be influenced. By what, he hasn't gleaned enough evidence to form a conclusion. And after their last experiment...
It is human, to falter. Logan takes comfort in his weakness and pulls Thomas more firmly against him. The blame lies with Logan for this failure, but Thomas wouldn't begrudge him in this comfort, would he? Not when Thomas clings so tightly as well?
"Logan?" Thomas whispers.
Logan, sluggish but purposeful, places a hand at the back of Thomas's head right at the base of his skull. He can feel the shorter hairs there tickling his skin. Thomas is so warm compared to everything else.
"I am here," he assures him. He presses more firmly, hoping that Thomas can feel the weight.
"Are you guys awake now too?"
Ah, they weren't alone. How could he forget?
Logan twists to peer over his shoulder. He can see Roman down the length of the couch, sitting on the floor. It was him who spoke and he's looking at Logan like...
One by one, two other heads rustle into view popping out like unruly puppies. Patton and Virgil. They have similar expressions, all aimed at him.
A twinge. In his chest. How odd.
"I don't believe I was ever fully asleep," Logan refutes. He looks back to Thomas who rubs roughly at his eyes. Thomas on the other hand seems to have slept. "Are you alright, Thomas?"
"I think so? My head hurts."
It's by no means an emergency, but the other three react as such. Roman flees to get some water and Virgil takes the stairs two at a time to find some medicine. Patton crawls over and starts consoling Thomas and petting at him. Ridiculously, he includes Logan in his affectionate administrations as well.
"I'm okay," Logan attempts to convince him.
Patton nods and continues anyway. "That's okay. We're all okay now."
Roman returns with the water first and they both manage to help Thomas into a sitting position. There's not any artificial light here, only bleached, dim sunlight glowing behind curtains. Thomas still winces and squints his eyes shut.
"It's like a jackhammer," Thomas mutters.
"Here, sip this," Roman offers the glass, speaking softly.
Thomas grunts, "Gimme a sec, might throw up."
Roman quickly hands the water to Patton and retrieves the trash can in short order. Just in time too because Thomas gags. It's mostly dry heaving. It's been a while since he'd eaten.
"What did I miss?!" Virgil demands. He storms down the rest of the stairs, a pill bottle clutched in one hand, and he joins them in their worried half circle around Thomas.
"I'm okay," Thomas gasps out over the trash can. He spits into it and grimaces.
"Okay people don't throw up!" Virgil shouts, causing both himself and Thomas to flinch. Curious.
"Lower the volume, Pipes-A-Plenty. Thomas's head hurts too," Roman tells him.
Logan surveys Virgil more closely. His hands are twitching around the bottle, shaking subtly. And his eyeshadow is...prominent. "Your head hurts?"
Virgil is by no means calmed, but he does soften his tone. "Yeah. Though I'm not puking my guts up like someone else I know."
Thomas offers an appreciative thumbs up and resolutely does not move from his position over the trashcan. The heaving has stopped at least. He's wisely taking a minute to let his body settle down before moving strenuously.
"Hm," Logan hums. Absent-minded, he rubs circles into Thomas's back. Thomas has taken to gripping the leg of Logan's jeans, the material bunched up in his fist. It's a minor tingling of pride, to be needed.
Virgil does an anxious shuffle and the bottle rattles in his hands. "That's it? Just 'hm'?"
Logan blinks. "Am I supposed to give another response?"
"I don't know, maybe freak out a bit more like the rest of us? I'm feeling pain, you nearly died, Remus lost his mind, Patton went into a small coma with his eyes open, and Thomas is sick again. Aren't you gonna go into wild theories mode?"
True, Logan had been aware of all of this. He'd listened and gathered context clues, enough to piece it together for himself. And yet, when Virgil lists everything out in front of him, it's different. More poignant. Why though?
Guilt. Shame. Responsibility.
It's his fault. Everything that happened is undeniably his fault. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say, and there is barely any satisfaction in being brought back. They merely survived. That's all.
He focuses on that rather than how Virgil seems to think that he nearly died too (don't think about it, there must be some reasonable explanation).
"Right," Logan responds, nodding his head. He runs a hand down the length of his tie and holds onto the tip. He can do this much, at least. For them. "It occurs to me that you all deserve an apology. I realize that there are other pressing matters at hand, but as we are taking a moment to regroup, I think it would behoove your state of mind to know that none of this was my intention. However, I could have taken more time to deliberate on possible negative outcomes. Discovering our limitations is not worth the damage it has caused. That I have caused us. And for that... I am sorry."
Virgil outright balks. Logan doesn't know why. Perhaps his apology is not sufficient. He thought it to be well-spoken and concise. But words could never be enough, and it is not the right of the transgressor to give forgiveness. That belongs to the victims.
"Logan," Patton starts. He looks so pale and strung out, like he hasn't slept in days. "Logan, honey, you couldn't have known. That was–"
Logan holds up a hand to stop him. Patton is far too polite. Logan would rather be held accountable. "That doesn't negate the damage done. Whether I could have predicted future events– it doesn't matter. Because I was too overwhelmed with excitement to go through with testing. It overshadowed my judgement."
And what Logan doesn't say aloud is that, even if he suspected the risks going in...would that have stopped him in his quest for knowledge? It's easy to sit here in the aftermath and say that he wouldn't. It's more realistic to admit that he would.
The moment that Thomas acquiesced to his desires, he would have done anything to perpetuate the euphoria at being acknowledged. At having his pursuits be valued because he himself was of value.
Disgusted with himself, Logan stands up, letting Thomas's hand fall away. It hurts and he's reminded of the ordeal they recently suffered. It feels like prying out the needles and tubes of life support, to move away from Thomas. He shoves down the knee-jerk, emotional reaction to throw himself back at Thomas. He needs to–
"I should remove myself for a time, to give you all space," Logan says, and his voice comes out even and unwavering. He is collected and sure that this is the correct course.
But Thomas– his eyes flash open, pupils dilating as the adrenaline kicks in, and he lets out a startled squeak of terror.
"No!" he shouts and his hands flounder through the air to snatch at Logan's clothes again. His fists clench so tightly the knuckles bleach white. "Don't, please Logan– don't go."
Funny how little it takes to cave in his resolve.
"Thomas," Logan begins, but Thomas doesn't appear to be listening to his words, too caught up in fear.
"Logan, please," Thomas begs, and it's heartbreaking to listen to as he tugs desperately at him in an effort to get him to stay.
Logan plops down again and Thomas wastes no time in wrapping himself around him. His arms wind around his torso and he plasters his face to Logan's collar, squeezing in closer, tighter. It's more of a proper embrace than Logan has ever experienced, and he just wishes that Thomas isn't so close to crying.
He has suffered enough today.
"You know, for someone so smart, you really miss the point sometimes," Roman says dismally. He shakes his head, unimpressed.
Then of all people, Patton stands up and bares down on Logan with a stoney glare and fists clenched at his sides. "You don't get to decide to just walk away. Not after everything we just went through. You can't do that to us, not when we thought we lost you."
Logan swallows and stares down at Virgil's purple converses in lieu of meeting anyone's gaze. His worthless pride cannot take the disappointment.
Patton comes around and wedges himself in between the couch arm and Logan. There, he hugs Logan from the other side. Fervently, he says through tears clogging his throat, "Do you think we really care who's to blame? Do you think that matters right now?"
"Yes," Logan admits miserably. Whether the questions were rhetorical or not, it doesn't change the answer.
Patton envelopes his arms around them both. It's suffocating. "You're so stupid. I'm so mad right now, I could just– You're my boys. We're family; we're all we have. I thought I lost you forever."
"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," Thomas echoes from the other side. "It was like I knew you were gone, and the worst sense of grief I've ever..."
"You're not allowed to leave us. You're grounded."
Logan still doesn't understand, but he gives a ghost of a smile. "That's fair."
***
Patton has never been so mad in his life.
Not all of it is directed at Logan, though a good chunk of it is. And not for the reasons he obviously thinks! Patton will remember for days to come how Logan's first instinct was to expect they'd be upset with him. What sort of impression have they all given him that made him devalue himself so?
Patton thinks of what a parent would do in this situation, or a good parent at least. If your kid calls you and tells you they've crashed the car, you know what you're supposed to say next? "But are you okay?" Who cares about a stupid car when your kiddo could have never come home to you.
It feels like the same thing, in Patton's heart. He holds Logan fiercely and tries to convey through the strength of his hug how much he is loved.
But again, that's not what Patton's most angry about...
In the aftermath of the aftermath, Thomas struggles to be separated from Logan. He's taken to holding his hand. His bout of sickness subsides, and he rests his head against Logan's shoulder wearily. Logan sits stiffly, caged on either side. He won't say it, or maybe he struggles to understand it, but Patton knows he finds it comforting.
"I was screaming?" Thomas asks. He's got this wide-eyed look, like a kid being read a scary story. Patton wants to bundle him up in a blanket.
"Like a banshee," Roman confirms grimly.
"I don't remember... That's freaky that I can't remember."
"If it makes you feel any better, I can't either " Virgil consoles.
"That...that's worse, actually."
Roman nods. "Hear, hear."
"I don't remember really either," Patton confides. He struggles to recollect the events through the haze of emotions. So many emotions. "Logan walked away, and my chest felt tight after a bit, and then... It just kept getting worse, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd never see you again, Logan."
"Grief," Thomas says. He said it before too, and Patton nods in understanding because it fits so perfectly, that feeling of being ripped in two. "My chest felt like that too, I think."
"So it affected us the same."
"Since you guys are connected to me. I guess? More than we thought?"
Virgil raises a hand. "Question? Then why did I have a panic attack and nobody else did?"
Roman pats at Virgil's shoulder sympathetically. "We can't all be as special as you."
Virgil smacks him backhanded in the chest.
"Ow, just trying for some levity here."
"Would it kill you to take this more seriously?!"
"Yeah, I think it might," Roman answers soberly, and that quells any ire Virgil has gritting in his teeth. Roman doesn't look at Virgil as the two of them sit together on the coffee table. He stares down at his palms laying on his thighs, facing upwards. "At first I just thought you were being your worry-wart self. Which is entirely manageable, mind you. What came next was... I thought you were having some sort of conniption. And then you wouldn't wake up."
They are all silent for a minute after Roman tapers off. Virgil wordlessly leans a little more into Roman's side.
"I carried you in my arms like a princess," Roman says without humor.
It's the kind of remark said to goad Virgil. Virgil is allergic to vulnerability. It makes him hiss. But here, in the solemnity, Virgil presses further into Roman.
"Well now I really gotta make sure to not do that again," Virgil mumbles. "Can't give you ammunition to gloat."
"It's crazy," Thomas says, blowing out an explosive sigh, "to think that one little test created so much fallout."
"Sometimes bad things just happen," Patton speaks up and pats at Logan's leg so that he knows they're still not blaming him. "And all we can do is deal with it the best way we know how. I know it shouldn't have to be like this. Thomas shouldn't have to worry about ghost people or the spooks that come with it. And we shouldn't have to be afraid of taking a stroll through the woods alone, but that's the challenges we've been given. We just have to be mindful where we can and be there for each other."
The words taste like ash in his mouth. Patton's tone is kind. Patient. Paternal. He is what he needs to be, for them.
What about when it counts though? When Patton knew– when he knew without a doubt– that something bad would happen. When he sensed in his soul that tragedy approached around the corner, and what did Patton do?
He stood there, crying.
Some self-proclaimed father figure he is.
"Virgil?" Thomas is saying, and Patton tunes back into the conversation. "You doing okay?"
Virgil also seems to have zoned out in his thoughts. He stops fiddling with his jacket zipper. "Yeah? I mean, about as well as the rest of you. Why? Do I not look like the poster child of composure?"
"You said you passed out," Thomas clarifies, too nervous to partake in any teasing. He fidgets with Logan's fingers, which Logan has been staring down at. Patton wonders if Thomas is even aware of what he's doing. There's a rhythm in how he touches the tips of each finger in succession. One starting at the thumb, two, three, four, five ending on the pinkie, and back again.
"Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything," Virgil says with faux cheer and a fist pump.
"Did you dream?" Roman asks. "If you slept, then that means you could dream."
"Not everyone who sleeps remembers their dreams," Logan points out. It's an unobtrusive correction, coming out soft and tired, but it's there all the same.
Virgil shrugs. "If I dreamt anything, I sure as hell don't remember it. It was panic, then blackness, then waking up to more panic. Like I had never left, really."
"Did it...feel like anything? When you were asleep?" Thomas asks.
"...does it feel like anything when you sleep, Thomas?"
"Ah, I guess you're right," he says, subdued. "Apart from the nights I dream, I can't really tell what sleeping feels like when I'm already asleep. Sorry, that was stupid."
"Not stupid," Virgil disputes and doesn't give the notion more thought than that. "I'd love to say it was peaceful and restful, but, you know, not the best circumstances. It didn't feel like anything, just nothingness. And then Remus was shocking me awake. Which, remind me to kick his ass for later."
"Before or after you thank him?" Patton asks, trying for this side of amused.
Virgil waves his hand sideways, noncommittally. "Eh, I'll see how I feel when the time comes."
Thomas shoots up straight like he'd been electrocuted. "Oh my gosh, Remus! And Janus! Where are they? Are they okay? How could I not even– where are they?"
"Hold your horses, Thomas the Dank Engine," Roman grabs his arm and pulls him back down onto the couch when Thomas had moved to stand. "They're alright. They're in Remus's room. You know what they say about seven being a crowd."
"I thought they said three's a crowd?" Patton wonders.
"Seven would make more sense, numerically speaking," Logan chips in.
"Numbers aside, we're not sure they are in Remus's room," Virgil points out, sending Roman a heated look. He never does like it when people try to downplay circumstances or conceal facts. "That's just the best bet."
"Why would they be in Remus's room?" Thomas asks. He looks to Roman imploringly. "I thought you said you guys weren't affected."
"We weren't!" Roman is quick to deny it, but he can't contain a wince. It's a lot of responsibility Thomas is placing on him, looking to him for answers. "Not initially, at least. Remus kind of freaked out afterwards and disappeared, so we think he sunk to his room. And since Janus is the only one who can traverse through our rooms..."
"Has he checked back in?"
"Not yet..."
"Oh..."
When Thomas is swiftly on his way to downtrodden, Virgil stretches out his leg and knocks his shoe against Thomas's foot. Thomas startles a bit.
"Stop that," Virgil tells him. "You worry about other people too much. You need to take care of yourself first. You're the actual person here, and you just went through a hell of a lot. Whatever else happens, happens. Go take your temperature or something."
"I still don't know where my thermometer is..." Thomas protests feebly. "Can't we do something for them?"
"Janus already knows we're waiting to hear back. There's literally nothing we can do at this point. Which I despise, but it is what is is."
"But...but what happened?"
Patton waits to see what Virgil will say because he had yet to fully hear what happened as well.
Virgil stares at Logan for some reason, tense. Logan hasn't been looking any of them in the eye though, so he doesn't realize.
"L?" Virgil calls his attention. Logan tilts his head to show he's listening. "Do you remember?"
If Patton didn't know any better, he'd say that Logan appears peaceful in his thoughtfulness. Like nothing had happened and nothing troublesome plagues him.
"No, I do not," Logan answers at length. "My memory is distorted, much like the rest of you subjected to this phenomenon. I vaguely recollect suddenly being back by Thomas's side, and not much else after until I was completely coherent."
Patton has known Logan for years. You get well acquainted with someone when you're more or less forced to live with them. Patton knows that Logan loves Doctor Who, can solve math problems faster than a calculator, and he cares more about people and what they think of him than he lets on. He's also the most straightforward person Patton knows in his or Thomas's life. Patton's always found it refreshing, never having to wonder what Logan is thinking because he shares that freely. Perhaps a bit prone to stubbornness and opinionated. But they all were, in their own ways. They're not perfect, and they know it, even when they act like they don't.
Nevertheless, Patton knows Logan.
And in this instance, Patton can't shake the intuition that Logan is lying.
But why?
"You were talking," Virgil tells him warily, pausing here and there to give Logan time to process. "Just spouting off random nonsense... Nothing crazy, just random. And Remus... I guess it got too much, with everything else."
"You really spooked him, Specs," Roman follows up. Then he blanches and throws his hands up in apology. "Not that it's your fault! This has been a doozy of a smorgasbord."
Thomas lets out a little snicker and repeats, "Doozy, you can say that again."
Roman manages a proud smile. "Yes, a woozy doozy for all of us floozies. Which means we should cut ourselves some slack."
"You sure you weren't asleep, kiddo?" Patton asks Logan, rubbing up and down his arm in an effort to give him some sensation.
"Not a kid," Logan sighs, and at least it's a familiar rebuttal and gives Patton a tiny ray of hope. "Perhaps I may have been. I have no means of comparison. It could be similar to the act of sleep talking, if so."
Patton doesn't buy the explanation one bit. Not when Logan's tone remains perfunctory and flat. There's a roiling in Patton's stomach that can't sit right. Because what does Logan gain by avoidance?
Is he trying to repress what happened? Or...does he not trust them enough?
What really happened when Logan walked into those woods?
Patton tries not to show how his heart pangs. He puts on his best grin. "Maybe that's it then."
They speculate for a while, trading ideas back and forth and striving to regain a sense of equilibrium. Thomas keeps ahold of Logan. And Logan...
He slouches and does not meet their gazes.
Patton doesn't share his suspicions. He could be wrong. He's been wrong before, lord knows. He'll carry this weight in his gut and be comforted in watching over his family. They're working so hard to get through these hurdles. They don't need more battles to fight or more worries to wrestle with.
I'll do better next time, Patton silently vows.
***
Thomas has a problem.
Well, he has several. Let's be brutally honest. Several truck loads worth. Trucks that drive off bridges and into rivers of more problems. And none of these even involve the issues he's faced since gaining his roommates. Those are a different smorgasbord (he keeps thinking about that word ever since Roman used it).
Thomas has six metaphysical roommates that only he can see and touch. If any of said roommates wander too physically far away from him, it has been established an Incident will occur. It cannot be overstated enough that any occurrence of an Incident is to be avoided at all costs. Therefore, there is a permanent ban on all future experiments.
They never really discuss that last part, but Thomas feels like it's an understood agreement between them all. They're not touching anything resembling an Incident again with a ten-foot pole. Not after the memory of last time is so prevalent in their minds. Besides that, Thomas shudders to think of what other things could endanger them. He will not fuck around and he will not find out, thank you very much.
For days after the Incident, they deal with the repercussions. The biggest most obvious one is that Logan has embarrassingly become Thomas's comfort item. There's this lingering, irrational spike of fear whenever Thomas thinks about straying too far or if Logan is out of Thomas's eyesight for too long. The last time Logan left him...
Regardless, Thomas is struggling, and he realizes how much he's struggling the first time he attempts to go upstairs to the bathroom and can't bring himself to go up the steps until Logan volunteers to walk him up.
It's been a long time since Thomas has felt that childish need of accompaniment, and that's saying something considering this is Thomas. But does that dissuade Thomas from grabbing Logan's hand tightly and letting him walk him to the bathroom? Nope. Not a chance. And you can bet your bottom dollar that Thomas doesn't close the door until Logan promises him that he will be waiting right outside.
Is this what they call trauma bonding? Thomas thinks a bit deliriously. He's thought about it jokingly before, but now this feels dangerously close to PTSD. And hurrying through his bathroom routine so that he can get back to Logan, as if his presence alone can keep away the bad existential monsters, seems to be the beginnings of an unhealthy coping mechanism.
Thomas leaves the bathroom and sits on the bed beside Logan without pause. No deliberation. No consideration. Just a frightened kid wanting to climb into a lap and be soothed back to sleep.
Would Logan protest if he climbed into his lap?
Thomas laughs and heat prickles in his eyes. He knows Logan is watching him. He feels the questioning gaze and the worry that he has hurt Thomas beyond redemption. But Thomas leans his forehead against Logan's shoulder and hugs his arm, afraid that he'll fall apart if he doesn't.
Is it selfish to seek comfort from the one who blames himself for his suffering?
Absolutely. This can't be doing anything good for Logan's psyche.
Thomas doesn't want anyone else right now though. And there's a want inside, to further assure Logan that he is absolved from blame. That he is a victim too.
But Thomas can't voice that right now. He is so suddenly weak.
"The others will be worried...if we linger," Logan murmurs. His voice doesn't reveal any thoughts hiding underneath.
Thomas takes an aborted breath and clings harder to Logan's arm. "I think I might be going crazy..."
Thomas doesn't know what Logan thinks of him. By all rights, he should resent him. They all should. Or at least fear him. Right? This power he holds over them, they're at his mercy whether he likes it or not. They can't escape if they tried.
But Thomas can't escape either.
If Thomas ran and they chose not to follow, they could rip him apart just as easily.
Thomas thought he had accepted his new reality of forever roommates, or had started to anyway.
"I'm scared," Thomas admits and clamps his teeth together to stop himself from saying the rest.
Because the truth is...
No matter how good of a person he tries to be...
I'm scared of you and what you can do to me.
But he won't let go. He's scared and hates his thoughts and still he won't let go.
"I'm sorry," Thomas rasps out, because he is. He really is.
He doesn't want to put this on Logan. He doesn't want Logan to see him like this. He wants to be the one to smile and say it's going to be okay, like an emulation of Patton's positivity.
His heart hurts thinking about the effort. His mind reminds him of what he truly is.
Selfish.
Why does it always come back around to this?
A hand cradles his jaw and holds fast. Thomas doesn't think he imagines the warmth of the skin against his. It's an anchor point of five fingers that could play piano or type on a keyboard or catch a ball, but they'll never be that real to anyone but Thomas.
Thomas breathes in slowly, lungs expanded.
He breathes out.
"There are times when fear is good. It must keep its watchful place at the heart's controls."
Thomas listens to the timber of Logan's voice. He feels the vibrations vaguely through touch. He smiles despite himself. "This doesn't feel so good, so I don't think this is one of those times."
"Perhaps. I was quoting the Greek playwright Aeschylus, academically known as the father of tragedy. In addition to his works, his end was also tragic, so take from his words what you will."
"Huh," Thomas says. He stays focused on the conversation and the hand that keeps him grounded. He remembers his English courses from college and knows he read and attended class lectures about playwrights of old, but he doesn't know this one. He wonders how Logan, who is tied to him, discovered this tid-bit.
He's more curious about the unresolved mystery though. "Okay, you got me. How did his life end tragically?"
"According to legend, a flying eagle that carried a tortoise was searching the landscape for a rock to drop its prey in order to break its shell. The eagle mistook Aeschylus's head for a rock. What happened next might shock you."
Thomas is surprised into snorting. Not by the crazy story but Logan's casual turn of phrase. It's disarming whenever he does that.
"You're really smart, Logan," he sighs and leans a bit more heavily into his side. Despite his nap earlier, his eyes feel unfocused and scratchy with the need to shut them for a solid eight hours.
"I-" Logan stops short. He clears his throat and curls his fingers into Thomas's hair. The sensation is nice and further relaxes Thomas. He loves having his hair played with. "I have a keen memory, yes. I'm able to process data quickly, yes. Does this make me smart?"
Thomas shrugs. "There are different kinds of smart, dude. But I'm pretty sure you have a few of them."
Logan doesn't comment.
They sit there for a while, soaking up what calm they can.
The fear still hangs like a funeral shroud.
"Logan?" Thomas asks. When the other hums to show he's listening, he continues, "You got any other fun quotes? Maybe one to help with being scared?"
Logan rubs a lock of hair between his knuckles. The words pour out of him, "W. Clement Stone, an American businessman and philanthropist. He said, 'Thinking will not overcome fear but action will'. I can't tell you what would be best to do in this situation. But I can tell you that lingering in your thoughts for too long will only stagnate you. Fear is necessary, but it is temporary as anything else. You must continue to live your life. That means eating, working, sleeping, breathing, learning... Not all discovery is fraught with peril, that much I can promise you. Each new day has the possibility for wonder. It's hard to remember on the days rife with hardship. For those days, I would be happy to remind you."
There are a number of faucets to Logan and the others. Logan is not just serious or practical or knowledgeable. He also has the potential to be profound. Thomas thinks how it would be to see the world through Logan's lenses. He wonders what great accomplishments someone like Logan could have done if given a chance to be a real human.
Eventually they will rejoin the others, much to their relief.
Eventually Thomas will do all of those things Logan listed. He'll eat supper and he'll go to bed earlier than normal. He'll wake up tomorrow and work on producing content.
Eventually Remus and Janus will return. They'll talk and sort out their worries, and they may not have the answers that they want, but they'll carry on anyhow, like before.
Eventually he won't be so scared to let go.
Eventually, but not now.
Now, in this quiet moment with the man beside him, Thomas breathes in hesitation and releases a thready sigh of hope.
***
Thomas's living room is hardly recognizable.
The furniture is broken. Splintered wood is strewn about the floor, jagged pieces jutting out between ripped cushions. Shards of glass stick unnaturally through the carpet as if they were stabbed from below the foundation. The TV remains upright but crooked, floating in place with exposed wires dangling. Dizzying lines of static dance across the screen. Grime and watermarks cake the walls and there are holes and claw marks everywhere, like an angry wild bear had run rampant. A pipe has burst in the kitchen. Water sprays over the bar counter and pools on the linoleum. The fridge door is swung open wide, light flickering and shelves marred with unidentifiable gunk and gore.
There isn't a spot where madness and mayhem haven't touched and ruined.
In the center of the mess, atop a pile of debris and filthy rags and decaying body parts, sits a figure resting upon his macabre throne.
Janus has been to Remus's room numerous times before. He's the only one who's been to every room, and there are many. Rooms within rooms and doors that are not ready to be opened. Doors with missing keys and doors that have been painted over and doors that have been barricaded, the insides to never be seen again. The hallways between are dark and out of sight. It keeps straying eyes from wandering too far.
This is Remus's room, but the curtains have been drawn open.
No, not just drawn open. That implies some level of decorum and there is none of that here. The curtain rod has been torn down, the curtains pooling on the floor sadly without purpose. Fire blazes outside. The orange flames crackle in a vivid dance without smoke. Heat pours through the glass.
And here they are, stuck in between a burning world and a flooding home. Sirens wail in the distance, long and droning and incessant. But no help is coming. It's just them here.
Janus approaches warily. He steps slowly to avoid the glass. Little shards crunch under foot. Or maybe those are bones. He tries not to look too closely or breathe too deeply. The heat is slow-cooking the room and the smell is ungodly repulsive. Worse than fried hair or rotten fruit or deer carcasses left out to bake in the sun.
"Remus?" Janus calls, his tone hopefully unobtrusive to not cause alarm.
As if anything about this situation wasn't alarming.
Remus doesn't turn to him. He sits watching the blaze, chin in one hand and a morningstar held limply in the other. The spiked ball at the end is splattered with red.
Janus swallows and stops a good distance away. "Remus, honey, talk to me." He's close enough to see Remus's cheekbone smeared with something dark. "I know you like your messes, but this is fairly excessive. Just think of the cleaning bill."
Remus doesn't act as if he's heard him. He stares resolutely into the flames.
Janus's hands clench at his sides.
It's too soon. It's much too soon. They aren't ready.
In for a penny...
"Duke?" he asks more softly. Soft enough he hopes he can't be heard.
Remus sits up the barest of inches. His head inclines to the side, towards Janus but not enough to reveal his eyes.
"What are we, Janus?"
A shiver skitters up Janus's spine while his heart swoops down into his stomach and sinks right down through the floor. He wishes he could sink down with it. He's not ready for this either.
Despite the horrifying scene around him, Remus sounds for all the world like a lost child. A child demanded to grow up too fast and surely will but not before it asks why it has to.
Janus holds the brim of his hat and lowers it over his eyes.
"If you're asking me that, then you know I can't answer you."
"Can't? Or won't?"
Janus says nothing.
The silence is damning.
Remus raises his weapon and throws it blindly towards him. It passes Janus harmlessly and embeds itself in the drywall, handle protruding out. Janus doesn't flinch at the whoosh of air or the crashing sound. He feels no fear whatsoever.
"Snakes," Remus seethes, punctuating the word with a growl. He pulls at his hair. "Like the snake who gifted Eve an apple, except we didn't even get to taste the apple. We were just damned from the start."
There are no platitudes to combat this level of despair. So Janus offers none. He cannot undo the woe of self-realization.
He does what he can. He stays and he waits and he watches from the sideline.
Always watching.
Remus rises on gangly limbs. The sequins of his costume reflect the firelight in a dazzling array of sickly sparkles. He moves to stand in front of the sliding door. His form is a small shadow in comparison to what's beyond.
"I think I'll take a walk," Remus says at last.
Janus startles and his legs jerk forward. He makes it two steps before Remus holds up a hand and snaps.
Hands reach up out of the piles and clamp down around his ankles. Janus nearly falls from the momentum. He curses and tries to yank his legs free, but the hands are unnaturally strong. Bloody nails and missing chunks of flesh, more and more of them rise up from the floor, like zombie's breaking through grave soil, and one by one grab his legs. Janus beats at them as they emerge.
"Remus, damn it, I'm trying to help you!" he screams in frustration. He's simply angry about being restrained and ignored. There is no trepidation to squash when he has a job to focus on and fulfill. "You don't know what's out there! Haven't we taken enough risks today? You really think this is a good idea? Be mad at me all you want, just don't be stupid!"
Remus looks down at his hand, examining it. His fingers are still in the position to snap. His head turns slowly to meet Janus's beseeching gaze.
Those eyes of his are familiar as his own, red-rimmed as they are and tinged with melancholy.
"You ever wonder what it's like to burn alive?" Remus asks him, but he doesn't expect a serious answer. He can't, not when he's smiling like that.
The door slides open.
The flames part around Remus's body, arching above him.
He laughs with derisive spite and trudges forward into the welcoming, yawning expanse.
The sirens distort and die with an electric pop. Silence ushers in with finality.
Janus yells Remus's name one final time before he is suddenly shunted from the room.
The door slides back closed. The groping hands retreat from wince they came. Fire dances in the dark.
The actors have left the stage, but the audience remains waiting with bated breath. Whatever are we to do? The performance can't end there, can it?
Of course not.
This is just an intermission. Go get your concessions and pop into the bathroom while you can. Rest assured, we will be here when you return. The Mind Palace is always proud to present for your entertainment.
Better hold on tight to the edge of your seats until then. The next act's gonna be a real showstopper.
hey if janus sheds his skin do y’all think he ever acts like people when they get a haircut? like he’s not going to outright say “hey look how shiny my scales are” but if no one comments he will get disappointed.
"Notice anything different about me today, Patton?"
Patton turns to look at Janus who is giving a clear display of his profile to catch the light against his scales. They are shiny and Janus would love to preen at attention they so rightly deserve.
"Hmmm," Patton hums, assuming the classic thinker's pose with a hand on his chin. Then suddenly he snaps. "Oh, I got it! Did you get a new hat?!"
"....yessss, how did you know?" Janus hisses out with barely restrained fury that Patton is also oblivious to.
"What can I say? Nothing gets past these four eyes," Patton giggles.
Virgil, who witnessed the entire exchange from the sidelines, marks on a white board "Morality: 1, Deceit: 0". In tiny print under the zero, he adds "get wrecked loser".
are you okay with people making art or fic of your concepts and stuff?
Absolutely. Please come play in my sandboxes with me. If I ever post story ideas or fics yall want to use, go for it. I love seeing other people's different takes on concepts. It's what makes Fandom so beautiful.
That was a really good fic!! It's been forever since I read it, but I remember really enjoying that the author gave them powers that I wouldn't really expect but ended up fitting the characters well! Man, I should go reread it.
Title: Salt for Salt
Fandom: Sanders Sides
Category: Gen, M/M
Rating: T
Janus's heart was already racing painfully, but he felt a tight squeeze of panic begin to compress his lungs even trying to think about it. He didn't know where to start in trying to understand this. To understand what was happening to him—what the creatures wanted from him, what they were doing to him, why. And he wasn't too proud to admit that he was afraid to know. Because there was something very wrong with him now that hadn't been before he came to Inch Murrough. It had started the moment he had set foot on the island—perhaps even the moment he stepped onto the ferry—and its monsters were the only possible cause.
He had to believe that it wasn't too late. That getting away from the island might stop it...
I have so many thoughts about this new chapter. It did not disappoint! I need to sit here for hours and contemplate things. I'll come back and leave a proper review on ao3 later. I gotta absorb this in my brain for now.
Title: Salt for Salt
Fandom: Sanders Sides
Category: Gen, M/M
Rating: T
"Tell me I'm dreaming."
He knew it was a hopeless ask. From the cutting cold of the sea spray reaching him on the wind, the smell of the brine in the air, the shift and crunch of the stones beneath his feet—which were blessedly in shoes for once in this whole maddening string of misadventures—all of it was far too vividly, overwhelmingly real to dismiss as a dream. And even in his wildest nightmares, he would not have conceived of imagining creatures so, so-
Y'all need to read this. Everyone please read this. If you saw this story floating around and thought, "Well, I'm just not sure," this is a public service announcement advising that you definitely should read this. It's so good. Hella good.
Also, on top of op being a very talented author, yall should follow them for really good fic recs. 😀
I want a technologically advanced merfolk society.
Let me explain. They have the obvious shellphones that get signal in any ocean no matter the depths. But they have their own power plants on the sea floor fueled safely by naturally formed crystals. Medicinal practices enhanced by symbiotic relationships with certain types of slugs, algae, and jellyfish. Lights and central heating in all merfolk homes. Siren songs being bottled and honed for military purposes.
But the best part is their relationship with humans.
For many years, merfolk were just myths to humans. Until the humans started polluting their oceans. The merfolk rose out of the water pretty fucking quick and put a stop to that nonsense right away.
There are human soldiers who remember that day vividly, their faces pale and haunted.
"It took them less than a day to have us on our knees," parents tell their children in cautionary tales. "The only thing that granted us mercy was that they didn't want anything to do with us. We leave their home alone, they leave ours alone. That was the proposition given to us. And we were forced to roll over and submit. That's why we don't see them. That's why we don't go swimming where we shouldn't."
And their children who didn't see that day and can't possibly fathom the horror, they ask, "But aren't they just fish people?"
And their parents shake, wide eyed. "You don't understand, they came at us in mech suits. God damn mech suits. Even anime couldn't have prepared us for that."
Summary: All Virgil wants is to be home with his dads for Christmas Eve. With his flight canceled, he’ll do whatever he can to make that happen: even accept a ride from a classmate he barely knows. Human AU. Platonic Prinxiety, Background!Parents!Logicality.
Warnings: cursing, some angst, homesickness in drove, homophobia mention, brief discussion of foster care, puns and other shenanigans, car troubles, unsafe driving behaviors (please don’t drive when sleep deprived, friends!), lying, crying, arguing, please let me know if I missed anything.
A/N: Oof, friends. I started this fanfic before Thanksgiving, and only now finished it. It is my longest TS fic to date (yikes, over 10k? Sorry mobile users who’ll get spammed with the length of this fic on first posting). I actually really enjoyed writing it, though, even if it did give me fits at times. I really, really hope you all enjoy it, and that the wait was worth it. I would love to know what you think. ^u^ Happy holidays! <3 Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine.
Edit: Formatting issues warranted me trying to post this again. Sorry for the double notif! <3
Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @candiukas, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34 (I lost my tags list so if you’ve asked to be tagged after I posted “In Pieces” please send me an ask or DM, thanks!)
December 23rd - 6:04 PM.
Virgil Sanders feels his stomach sink as he stares at the email on his phone.
He’s gripping the device in fingers that are stiff and red from the cold air as he stands outside the university’s Humanities building. The cold, biting December air stings in his nostrils, and Virgil tucks his nose into the thick black scarf wrapped around his neck. The few students still on campus hurriedly rush across the plaza to duck out of the freezing, unforgiving cold and into the warmth of the buildings.
Virgil, on the other hand, feels rooted to the spot. He swipes down to refresh his inbox as if the airline might send him an email with the subject line of “hey, we were just kidding!”
Anything but the “Flight GW8102 Canceled” subject line, and the offer for a refund with the explanation that the next two days have flights completely booked.
Tis the season, Virgil thinks bitterly, his stomach churning. His chest clenches against the cold air.
Maybe he’s overreacting, but the realization that Virgil won’t be home for Christmas makes his throat close up and his eyes burn. He grits his teeth and resists the urge to hurl his phone through the campus square. He has to go home. The first time he has a real family and home to spend Christmas with, and he’d be trapped on campus with nobody. Alone.
This year was supposed to be different. Virgil hadn’t spent a Christmas alone—or feeling like it—since Logan and Patton had taken him in when he was fifteen-almost-sixteen as a foster kid. He was seventeen when they asked if he’d like to be adopted.
This would be his first Christmas as a real, legal Sanders. And now he wouldn’t even get to spend it with his dads.
Virgil clenches his jaw shut and shakes his head. “Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath. “Just perfect.”
“Everything Gucci?” a distantly familiar voice speaks up.
ALSJDHDJSSJSJ??????? the implication here that you read this fic as like. A December tradition?? Blows my mind. You’re super sweet. This made my day, thank you!
i just finished reading now that i had the chance to sit down and do it
and no yeah I Love this fic! It really makes me so happy!! and I love love love road trips irl and thats just one of many reasons this fic makes me smile!!!
I have been meaning to reread this! It's such a beautiful story. I can get behind this being a Christmas tradition in the Sanders Sides fandom. Everyone give this a gander to get in the holiday spirit!
I like to imagine that in any scenario where the sides are roommates, Roman has the best bedroom. Not because it's the cleanest or the aesthetic is the coolest. But because of The Vibes. And the soft ass feather bed. And everyone finds excuses to be in his room. It's the hang out room of the house and everyone knows it. Except Roman. He only realizes it when he comes home one day and everyone is hanging out in his bedroom...even though he wasn't there.
It's funny, as I was posting this, I literally thought to myself, "why do people even follow me, surely this isn't the kind of content they signed up for". Clearly I was mistaken. I will carry on baffling the masses.
