Laugh
Prompt: Hi!! I really love your writing and always look forward to when you update, I can’t tell if your prompts are open (please ignore this if they aren’t!) but if they are I have a prompt for your (un)wanted series; each of the fae making Virgil laugh for the first time, at first he’s insecure/scared to laugh because of experiences in the village but he slowly learns to be ok/comfortable laughing thanks to the fae; again, if your prompts aren’t open I apologize and hope you have a nice day!! - anon
so uh
hey
did you guys know that this past Friday was the one year anniversary of the first chapter of (un)wanted
'cause wow
uhhhhhh I'm not good at speeches so have fluff
Read on Ao3 (Un)Wanted Masterlist
Warnings: none!
Pairings: DLAMPR, it’s found family nonsense
Word Count: 5419
Whether or not they agree on who made Virgil laugh first is irrelevant, the point is that they’ll find something to argue about sooner or later, and when they do, Virgil’s learned enough to curl up with Oliver and just watch. Preferably from the safety of the kraken’s head, a little bit away from the shore, where he’s close enough to hear the things they say but not close enough to be in the way.
It was Oliver’s idea to do that, actually. Virgil…hasn’t been the best at learning how to deal with anger. Other people’s anger, in particular, for completely understandable reasons.
It had been Logan who spotted it, coming over to his side when the twins were having an argument over what side of the lake they were each taking jurisdiction for that decade and Roman’s voice had risen, Remus’s voice had multiplied, and Logan had seen Virgil curl in on himself, clutching his tunic tightly around him and trying desperately to vanish into the wall.
Once the twins realized what was happening—namely, Virgil breathing heavily in Logan’s arms as he glared at the two of them for being so oblivious—they’d stopped right away, calming down and crouching to be smaller so that Virgil could see them, see them, not their anger, and apologize. Remus had tugged Virgil into his lap as part of his apology and Roman had ruffled his hair and promised that he’d never raise his voice around him again.
Logan had been quiet as Virgil clung to him, only later working up the courage to ask what was wrong with him.
“Nothing is wrong with you, little one, you’re experiencing symptoms of your trauma.” A cool hand had passed over his forehead, smoothing his hair back from his face. “Your experiences with human anger have not been good, it stands to reason that you react to it.”
“But—it’s stupid,” Virgil had spat, “I know—I should know you guys won’t—won’t—“
“Shh, shh, hush, now…that’s it. Come back here for a moment. There you go.” Logan’s chin had come to rest on top of Virgil’s head. “Knowing something theoretically and properly internalizing it are two different processes, little one. It’s going to take time.”
“But I’ve given it time.”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. There’s no textbook on healing from trauma.”
“There should be.”
Logan had chuckled. “I don’t think even with our combined lifetimes we would be able to read it.”
But that didn’t mean that they couldn’t start trying to help Virgil work through it. It had been the twins who started taking the bigger steps; sometimes Roman or Remus would be spending time with Virgil and the other would bustle in, muttering about something or other gone wrong. A patch of kelp that kept getting infected, a herd of deer that insisted on trampling half of the garden, something. And as they talked, the other would coax Virgil into their lap, keeping him grounded. Their voices might raise, just a little, but they were very careful not to yell and the warm weight of arms around Virgil and a head on his shoulder kept him safe.
When someone couldn’t hold him, Oliver does. The kraken made no secret of how much he liked to hold Virgil—Remus muttered something about how he wasn’t jealous of a kraken, shut up, Roman—and had no reservations about extending an arm for Virgil to step into to wrap him up and carry him to safety. The others made sure not to yell, of course, but that meant that it manifested in other ways.
Logan’s hands turned blue.
Roman’s magic started to tingle from his fingers.
Remus’s tentacles came out.
Janus started hissing.
Patton’s chest glowed.
And sometimes, when he’s safely in someone else’s arms and high away on top of Oliver’s head, that was fine.
Virgil shuffles a little, careful to keep his weight squarely on top of Oliver, not shifting too much either side. Of course, that’s easy when Oliver is really fucking huge. And the kraken burbles every now and then, shifting slowly from side to side in the water, careful not to jostle him too much. He pats the spot next to him in thanks and the water thrums with Oliver’s purr.
Onshore, about twenty feet away, he makes eye contact with Logan. Logan rolls his eyes dramatically, the sheer exasperation on his face making Virgil snort. When he looks back, Logan’s face has softened considerably into such fondness that he can feel the tips of his ears flush.
“I don’t know why we’re still fucking arguing about this,” Remus says, drawing their attention, “I won! I got him to laugh first! So I win!”
“You have no proof of that,” Roman says immediately, “besides, you haven’t even told us what it is, how are we supposed to trust that?”
“Just because we’re not all Lolo with his meticulous journals and note-taking methods doesn’t mean I’m not right, you absolute—“
“Language!”
“Oh, I’ll show you fucking language—“
“How is it,” Virgil mumbles at Oliver, “that they’ve been arguing for so long and Remus hasn’t said what he thinks it is yet?”
The kraken just shrugs. Carefully, not moving Virgil, but he does shrug.
“Well, since you’re so adamant that you’re correct,” Janus drawls, effectively cutting off Remus and Patton’s tangent about swearing—which is something they never can quite put down—“why don’t you tell us what it is?”
“Roro and Pat were there,” Remus huffs, putting his hands on his hips, I don’t see what there is to argue about.”
“We were—oh goodness,” Patton sighs, “are you talking about the first time Virgil met Oliver?”
Remus beams. “Sure am!”
“Was that when I got absolutely covered in that voracious green slime that was determined to consume me?” Roman scoffs and wipes his sleeves at the memory of it. “Absolutely dreadful.”
Remus throws his head back and cackles.
“It was a wonder I was able to get clean,” Roman mutters, glaring at his brother, absolutely splitting his sides.
“Ah,” Remus sighs after a moment, wiping his eyes, “good times, good times.”
He points victoriously at Patton.
“See? You were there! You remember!”
Patton sighs. “I do…but that doesn’t count.”
“What?” Remus whirls around and gestures at Oliver, who stick up two tentacle tips and waves. “Are you discounting this magnificent, glorious beastie from our debate?”
“Technically that would be Oliver getting Virgil to laugh, not you.”
“Or,” Roman says, puffing his chest out, “it would be me. Since I was the one to get so egregiously wounded—“
“You were covered in slime,” Logan points out, “calm down.”
“—then it was me that sparked that reaction.”
Virgil rolls his eyes and pats Oliver’s head again. “You’re not just a beastie, you know that, right?”
Oliver rumbles under him.
“Okay, good.”
“Besides, that was barely a laugh.” Patton pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It was…okay, yes, it’s one of my favorite memories since Virgil has come to stay with us—“
Remus turns and shoots Virgil a wink over his shoulder.
“—but a laugh?” Patton looks at Logan. “What’s the definition of a laugh, Lo?”
“Technically, it’s to express certain emotions, particularly mirth or delight, through a series of spontaneous and usually unarticulated sounds.” Logan crosses his arms. “Which means that as long as it wasn’t planned and it wasn’t articulated, anything counts as a laugh.”
“Thank you!”
“Alright, alright,” Patton huffs, “always with the technicalities.”
“You were the one who asked me for the definition.”
“So what do you think it is,” Janus asks, examining his gloves with feigned disinterest, “since you’re so insistent that you know the correct usage of the word ‘laugh?’”
Virgil can see Patton’s grin from Oliver’s head.
“Why, the bread day, of course!”
As if on cue, several groans go up around the clearing.
“Patton, none of us were there for that—“
“You can’t just keep insisting on that one, it’s not like—“
“You can stop rubbing it in, Pat—“
“Of course, you need—“
“It was wonderful,” Patton says, raising his voice just a little to speak over the others, “he looked so happy.”
Virgil does actually remember that one too. And yes, okay, maybe he’s glad that he’s far away from the others so they can’t see the small smile spreading over his face at the memory. The warm kitchen, the smell of the bread, the soft warmth of Patton’s presence next to him…
Yeah, that’s a good memory.
Oliver thrums under him and he pats the kraken’s head absentmindedly. Patton sighs over on the shore as the others mutter amongst themselves. Then he claps his hands.
“Well, I think that’s me winning, so—“
“Hold on,” Logan says, holding up his hand, “as we said, you are the only one who was there. I would argue that a laugh where all of us were present is much more significant.”
He glances up at Virgil and his gaze softens.
“Considering the incredible amount of work that Virgil has done since arriving to stay with us, I’d say that marks…quite an achievement.”
Of course, as soon as one of them starts to get all sappy, the rest quickly join in. Virgil is incredibly glad that he can use shifting on top of Oliver’s head to duck away from the blush he knows is spreading all over his face. Mostly so he doesn’t have to look at the fondness and pride on their faces. Partly because he knows Roman would immediately become insufferable.
“So,” Roman says after a while, which means it’s safe to look up again, “what exactly did you have in mind?”
Logan crosses his arms, using one hand to adjust his glasses on his face. “Do we all remember the first time Virgil began to experiment with his webs?”
Virgil’s breath catches in his throat. Oh, he knows what Logan’s talking about.
The seasons had been turning, fall creeping in through the tendrils of the forest. The leaves had begun to change, dislodging themselves from their branches and twisting down through the air to land in massive piles on the ground. Carpets of red, orange, purple, and brown had covered the paths they would walk, fruits growing heavy and ripe. Roman and Patton had spent hours out in the woods near the lake with him, plucking berries off the trees and eating them until their mouths and fingers were stained with the juice.
The trees around the clearing had lost their leaves a little quicker than the others, leaving their limbs bare, the naked wood gleaming in the sun. The light had warmed the leaves during the day, leaving them dry and crunchy as they walked over them. Something Virgil hadn’t minded at all during the day—he had gotten into more than a few playful encounters with Remus, crashing through the leaves just to hear them crunch—but when night had rolled around…
The thin limbs blowing in the breeze hadn’t been pleasant reminders that the seasons were changing. No, they were fingers tapping threateningly on the windows, or looming there to scratch him if he moved too much.
Logan had noticed him hovering just outside the clearing the next day, softly placing a hand on his shoulder after alerting him to his presence and asking, gently, what the matter was.
“The…the trees,” Virgil had muttered, balling his fists up in shame, “I, um…they…”
Logan had taken one look at the way the shadows fell around the clearing and nodded firmly. “I understand, little one.”
He’d tucked Virgil up in his arms when Virgil asked, rubbing his back gently.
“Would you like to talk about it, or be distracted from it?”
“Distraction, please.”
Logan had smiled. “Have you had a chance to practice with your webs yet?”
“No.”
“Would you like to try now?”
“Uh, sure. What do we do?”
Logan had started to walk them toward the center of the clearing, explaining how spiders use their webs as a part of their consciousness.
“Wait, they what?”
Logan had nodded. “There is a theory of mind known as ‘extended cognition.’ It states that whilst humans—and most sentient beings—use their minds as a great deal of their processing of thought and feeling, we rely on a lot of external structures outside of our minds to help us think. Sometimes outside of our own bodies as well.”
“Whoa…” Virgil had looked down at his hands. “What do you mean?”
“Think of the way you organize your room.” Logan had gestured to Virgil’s door. “It’s laid out in a way that helps you think, helps you process information. It informs your decision-making sometimes, does it not?”
At Virgil’s nod, Logan had asked softly for his hand, beginning to make small circles in the air as Virgil started to let his webs slip.
“The same is true of a spider’s web. Picture the web as something of a hub.”
“A hub?”
“Yes. Do you remember talking about how spiders use their webs?”
“Yeah, as like a sensory extension. They can feel the vibrations of different strands in order to track their food or sense what’s coming for them.”
Logan had smiled. “Very good memory, Virgil, that’s excellent. Yes, they can tell the difference between different types of vibrations too, from different types of prey to debris to predators.”
A small web starts to form between the gaps in Virgil’s fingers.
“But what else they do is fascinating.” He tugs very gently on one of the strands. “The spider isn’t idle when it sits in the middle of its web. Rather, it’s constantly moving, checking each individual strand. Pulling this one a little tighter, tugging that one.”
Virgil watches as the light gleams off of the strands. He moves his fingers a little to watch them. “What for?”
“Pulling a strand tighter makes it more sensitive to vibrations.” He reaches up to Virgil’s head. “Like cupping your hand around your ear to hear things more clearly.”
“Whoa, that’s cool.”
“Mm. An external way of filtering what information the spider receives in order to better process it.”
Virgil had looked up at Logan. Logan had smiled softly and stepped back, letting Virgil spin the web between his own hands.
“…you think this will help me too?”
“I think that my research has shown that taking a spider’s web away from them severely impairs their ability to function,” had come the quiet reply, “and that you haven’t had much of a chance to spin freely.”
Virgil had looked down at his hands. The web had looked so small, too small. He had looked back up at Logan, chewing on his lip.
“Can I…?”
Logan had smiled and folded his hands behind his back.
Virgil had closed his eyes and reached.
There was something strange, he had realized, about being in your body without being in your body. Something like a wall, sometimes thick, sometimes only static, between you and whatever you sense. Hiding somewhere in a corner of your mind where you were in the world, but not really with the world. As if you were existing but just…slightly to the left.
His body didn’t need to do anything spectacular, it just needed to exist. He was a shape. Just a shape. Nothing more, nothing less.
And that was okay.
Without even realizing it, his four legs had lifted him up, suspending him a few inches off the ground as his hands continued to spin. He had felt them taking the web produced and moving it from place to place, but he wasn’t thinking about it.
He had just…done it.
He had been the slight crack in his left finger as he wrapped his hands around and around the threads of the web.
He had been the very tip of his upper left leg as it took the web and tossed it into place.
He had been the last strand that decided to stick to somewhere and make that its home.
When he had opened his eyes, an unknown amount of time later, his mouth had dropped open in awe.
The clearing, previously empty save for the bare-limbed trees and scattered leaves, was draped and covered in spiderwebs.
Logan, who must’ve been standing there quietly, had looked up and around him, eyes wide with wonder. He had turned slowly, spotting Roman, Remus, Patton, Janus, all staring around with wide eyes at the mass of webs that clung with gossamer elegance to the fabric of the world.
Virgil had hung there, suspended amidst the web, spinning slowly as he felt the world breathe.
Dusk had fallen, bathing the clearing in a soft light that reached gentle fingers out to paint thin blue shadows along the ground. The cool air had been weightless, blowing effortlessly through each strand and setting it to tingle. Everywhere a strand vibrated, a single drop of dew had formed, a single crystal in the half-dark.
A glittering hub.
And for the first time, Virgil had looked at something he’d made not with fear, not with anger, but with wonder.
And he’d laughed.
Giddy, child-like, bemused entirely by his creation and the way his body molded to the soft chimes of the web, spinning, spinning, unspun in the comfort of the mist.
Virgil’s legs twitch behind him at the memory of the first web, and as he looks down, he realizes he’s been idly toying with a web on top of Oliver. The kraken, of course, is more than delighted to realize he’s received a present, burbling happily as Logan finishes his quiet recounting of that evening. A lull hangs over the shore for a moment before Logan adjusts his tie.
“I believe I win.”
“Hold on,” Roman says, “let’s not be too hasty, here.”
“I do remember that,” Patton murmurs, glancing over at Virgil, “that web was so pretty.”
“Pretty enough for Logan to win?”
“Maybe not that pretty.” He sends a wink at Virgil.
Rude.
“Well,” Logan huffs, turning to Roman, “if you’re so certain, Roman, what on earth do you think it is?”
Virgil can hear the fucking smirk on his face from here.
“Have you all forgotten so quickly?” He spreads his arms. “Has the image of our sleepy little spider left your minds so soon after it happened?”
Oh.
Oh, no.
Virgil knows exactly what Roman’s talking about.
Okay, in his defense—who is he kidding, he knows damn well he set himself up for this. But it had been such a long day! He’d been working with Logan, trying to get the garden set up properly and that was hard, okay? Trying to manage the three different notebooks, the planters, the pots, the tools, it was a lot, and he still wasn’t used to using his new legs so he kept bumping into things and it was a lot. Then he had to help Patton with clearing out another section of the kitchen to make room for all the new baking pans and they were so loud and hard to manage and get the things in all the right places took so long and ugh. And then to top it all off Janus had promised to go with him on a walk and—listen, okay, the day was long.
And Roman is really, really warm.
He’d been walking back from the portal, drained from the effort of keeping his magic under control on the other side of the garden, panting slightly as he rounded the corner. He’d looked up just in time to see Roman shutting his red door behind him.
“Ah,” he’d said, coming over with a smile, “there you are, little honeybee, I’ve been looking for you.”
He’d taken one look at Virgil’s demeanor, however, and quickly softened his voice, coming a little closer, hands at the ready to ensure he was alright.
“What’s happened, little honeybee, are you alright? Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine, Roman, I just—oh—“
“Shh, easy, hey, come here…” Roman had leaned Virgil gently against the side of the house. “Too much?”
Virgil had nodded wearily. “Think I just…pushed it a little too hard today.”
“It happens.” He’d run his hand gently through Virgil’s hair. “Magic-wise or just existence-wise?”
“Bit of both?”
“My poor little honeybee, you must be exhausted.” Virgil’s eyes had slipped closed for a moment as Roman had carded his hand through his hair again. “Do you want to be left alone, or can I take care of you?”
Virgil had leaned into Roman’s touch and mumbled something. Roman had chuckled.
“Those aren’t words, little honeybee.”
“Mm.” Virgil had managed to crack one eye open. “C’n I come with you?”
“Of course, Virgil, let’s get you somewhere warmer.”
Roman had guided him carefully through the red door, sitting him down and producing cloth and bottle out of seemingly nowhere. He had shushed any protests gently, saying that it didn’t matter that Virgil hadn’t been crying, he can still let Roman clean his face off. He’d cupped Virgil’s head and asked him quietly to look at him.
“I don’t want you to fall asleep here, little honeybee,” he’d murmured, “so try and stay awake until we can get you somewhere comfortable, alright?”
“I’m not that tired,” he’d protested, “I’ll be fine.”
Roman had just smiled.
And Virgil really didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing him be so tired that he’d tried really hard to keep his eyes open. Even when Roman’s hand under his chin had been so warm, so confident in holding his head right where it needed to be. Even when the soothing repetitive motions of the cloth had coaxed his gaze not to Roman’s face but to the way the fabric moved in and out of his vision. Even when Roman had to pause and rewet the cloth and he’d let his eyes drift shut for a moment, just a moment.
Only to realize later that Roman had stopped completely, and was watching him with a quietly smug smile.
“Stay awake for me, little honeybee,” he’d whispered, “I’m almost done.”
“‘M trying.”
“I know, I know,” Roman had soothed, finishing cleaning his face, “and you’re doing a wonderful job for me.”
Then, of course, everything had gone wrong.
Because just that one little word of praise had been enough for the very tips of Virgil’s ears to go read, and of course, Roman had spotted it.
“Little honeybee,” he’d murmured, tilting Virgil’s chin up just a little higher, “what’s got you so flustered?”
“Nothing.”
“Hmm, nothing? Are you sure? Your ears look awful red.”
“It’s fine.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Roman had said lowly, still cleaning off Virgil’s face with gentle swipes of the cloth, “I’m sure it’s fine, little honeybee, I trust you completely, I’m simply worried. If I’m doing something wrong, then I’d hate for you to be uncomfortable.”
He says, as he’d looked directly into Virgil’s eyes.
“Why,” Virgil had whined out as Roman had chuckled, watching him cover his face, “are you so mean?”
“Sorry, little honeybee,” Roman had murmured, not sounding very sorry at all as he leaned forward to press a kiss to Virgil’s forehead, “I couldn’t resist, you’re too cute.”
“I am not!”
“Oh, little honeybee—“
“No,” Virgil had said—said, definitely, not pouted, “don’t respond to that.”
“If you insist.” Roman had given him another moment before reminding him that he still needs to finish. “I’m really almost done, I promise. It won’t take much longer.”
Of course, having someone hold your face when you were already flustered is not easy, and it was Roman, so…
“What happened,” he had asked as though he didn’t know damn well what had happened, “why aren’t you so sleepy anymore, little honeybee?”
Virgil had been quite impressed with the glare he’d managed to give Roman through the remaining blush on his cheeks. Roman had simply laughed.
“Alright, I deserve that.” He’d stroked a thumb carefully over Virgil’s clean cheek and leaned in to kiss him lightly on the other. “You did wonderfully, little honeybee, thank you. I’m all done now.”
Roman had turned away, putting the cloth and the bottle back into whatever aether he’d pulled them out of and offering his hand to Virgil.
“Come on, do you want to change into something else?”
The sleepy haze had returned by the time he’d managed to get into the softer clothes Roman had offered, all but stumbling into Roman’s arms as they retreated to the large mess of cushions and pillows. Roman had laid down first, Virgil on top of him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other scratching lightly at the center of his four legs.
“Shh, shh,” he’d coaxed when Virgil had started to whine, “none of that now, little honeybee, just relax.”
A soft knock on the door.
“Yes?”
“Roman, have you seen…” Logan had trailed off the instant he spotted them. “Ah. Nevermind.”
“Have I seen our little spider?” Roman had lightly knuckled Virgil’s jaw. “Yes, I believe I have. Did you need something?”
“Only to join you, if you’d allow me.” He’d glanced behind up. “Or rather, allow us.”
Virgil hadn’t been able to fully recognize the others coming in to join them around the mass of pillows, but he had registered the soft weight of Patton asking if he could dust him off a little and the soft gurgle of Remus as he settled in above them on the wall.
“My, my,” a voice had drawled, Virgil too tired to look over at Janus, “what a sleepy little spider.”
“Mm.” Virgil had felt Roman’s chest warm as the hand on his back continued to scratch gently. “Precious little spider.”
“Are you two just going to fuss at him until he falls asleep?”
“Why shouldn’t we?”
“Well, if you fluster him too badly he might not be able to sleep.”
“Why, Logan, I’m hurt. Surely you know we would never.”
Virgil still isn’t sure what it was, whether it was the drawl of Janus’s voice, Logan’s disbelieving scoff, or the very real memory of Roman enjoying driving him out of his mind a few minutes ago, but whatever it was, it bubbled up in the pit of his stomach and he started to giggle.
The room had gone quiet, just listening to Virgil lying on Roman’s chest, absolutely stunned.
“You’re so giggly, little spider,” Roman had teased, “so giggly, so adorable, I’ve never heard you giggle before. It’s so cute!”
“Giggle spider, is that a thing, Logan?”
“Well, it certainly is now.”
Roman had rubbed his back soothingly, still teasing, trying to lull Virgil back to sleep. Janus had reached over and tucked a blanket over the two of them, leaning down to kiss Virgil’s hair and murmur something about getting it out, little spider, it would be alright.
Virgil isn’t sure if that was the first time he’d fallen asleep with a smile on his face, but it wasn’t the last.
“…yes, alright,” Logan concedes, “that was adorable.”
Roman throws his hands up in triumph. “See? Everyone’s favorite is our giggle spider.”
Yeah, Virgil’s really glad he’s not standing next to Roman right now, and that he’s far enough away that they can’t see his blush if he ducks his head. He still gets all giggly when he remembers it, no use in reminding everyone of that now.
“Janus? Are you going to try and compete, or…” Roman strikes a dramatic pose. “Shall we commence with my victory already?”
Janus is quiet for a minute. Then he raises his hand and lets a little bit of the golden glow of the Claim flicker up around his hand.
“Virgil,” he says softly—oh, he’s using it so he doesn’t have to raise his voice, that’s clever— “would you come over here, please?”
“Uh, sure.” He pats Oliver’s head and the kraken burbles, wrapping an arm tightly around Virgil’s waist to set him on the shore near Remus. Remus reaches out to steady him, make sure he’s alright. “I’m good, thanks. I’m here now.”
“Yes, thank you, little mouse.” Janus tilts his head. “Do you have a favorite?”
“…favorite?”
“A time you laughed,” comes the soft voice, “do you have one? It’s alright if you don’t.”
Virgil glances around the circle, expecting to see scoffs or playful challenges or maybe—just maybe—someone will whisper that he knows theirs is the correct choice. But he doesn’t.
All he sees are curious expressions, even a few encouraging smiles.
“Wait, really?”
Janus nods. “Anything? It doesn’t have to be much.”
Virgil thinks. Does he? He remembers meeting Oliver for the first time, remembers making bread with Patton, remembers spinning in the clearing, remembers falling asleep on Roman’s chest.
Something else…something else…
“I remember,” he starts nervously, “it was one of the first times I went for a walk at night by myself.”
He looks around, maybe he wasn’t supposed to do that, but no judgment meets his gaze. He swallows.
“It was dark outside but the moon was really bright. I could see perfectly, even with the trees, all the way to the lake.”
He glances behind him, at Oliver, playing in the reeds.
“Oliver was asleep. He—I think it was after you guys spent the day cleaning out the underbelly of the caverns down there, he was really tired. So the lake was, like, super flat.”
He remembers little ripples, just the barest touch of the breeze to the surface of the water.
“And I, um, I realized that I’d never actually seen anything be that…” He struggles for a moment for the right word. “…still before.”
He shifts a little.
“Everything was always moving. Even when it was quieter, the water was never completely flat. There were waves, there were—there was always something.”
But not that night. No, that night it felt like the lake was breathing, not like the wind was blowing across it. If he sat still enough, it was almost as if he could watch it inhale and exhale, at peace in the moonlight.
“And I…I dunno, I really liked the way the moon looked.” He looks down at his hands. “It, uh, reminded me of what the Claim looks like.”
He’d sat there for a while, just staring at his hands, wondering how the gold of the Claim would look bathed in silvery light. He’d rubbed them together, trying to see if he could feel it, only for something else to emerge entirely.
He hears the gasps of Roman and Patton as a purple orb begins to form in his hands.
“I, uh…made this for the first time that night,” he murmurs, watching it spin and dance in his hands, suspended there, floating like some great bubble, “and it looked…like me.”
He remembers staring into it and not seeing anything but energy. About looking at it the way he used to watch the moon, the stars, anything he could never understand but wanted to, so desperately.
Only to realize that he already understood it.
Gone were the gauntlets, gone were the strings, gone were the threats of torture and hurt and pain.
All that was left was this.
And feeling that relief, seeing this orb as a manifestation of the fact that it was free…
In that release, he’d laughed.
“It was…the first time I think I realized I was me.”
Virgil looks up at them. The orb fades back into nothingness, leaving his hands empty. After a pause, Janus reaches forward and gently draws him in.
“That,” he says softly, “that is my favorite.”
“You fucking sap.”
“He has gone soft.”
“Oh, like you haven’t?”
And just like that, the petty bickering is back, but filled with fondness and barely concealed amusement and it’s so perfect, it’s so right, that Virgil can’t help himself.
Virgil can’t help it, he laughs.
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