Yo guess who finished the Injured fic (me, and I feel tons better now, so thank you to everyone who suggested a prompt: @monikastec @hellomusicalnerdhere @ccecode and the lovely anon)
The day had been oddly quiet for Thomas’s mind. Morning had come and gone in hushed comfort, the loudest noise Patton and Logan’s casual chattering over the bubbling of the coffeemaker on the counter; afternoon gave little more to offer, just reading and careful crafting and music’s soft carry past earbuds overlapping the television’s background drama.
This was, of course, because Roman was out.
He’d left before sunrise - something about ‘inspiration in its purest form, straight from the depths of the Imagination itself, Padre’ - and had yet to return by late evening.
Patton sat at the dinner table with the other two well past nine o’clock, his attention caught by the slightest sounds around the apartment every other minute, his bright smile vying for opacity as they all turned up empty; Logan sighed and finally stood after thirty minutes of blank conversation over untouched food between the three of them, right after Patton started to visibly droop over his plate with hooded eyes.
“Perhaps we should retire for tonight,” he said, his words firm but soft at the other’s crestfallen face. “He’ll be home soon, you know he rarely keeps us waiting too long. It will do us no good to sit here all night, should it take that long.” Patton opened his mouth and Logan cut him off, “You’ll be too tired to even hug him, Patton.”
Patton froze, scrunching his mouth to the side and staring at the door. “Well…” He looked to Virgil, his eyes lighting up. “What about Virgil? I can stay up with you, kiddo, if you need me to-”
“I’m good, Pat,” Virgil said. “Imma go ahead to my room - you go sleep.” He pulled an earbud out and nodded at Logan, who mouthed a quick “thank you” over Patton’s shoulder.
“I-” Patton looked lost, but he sighed and stood, his chair rustling against the carpet as he pushed it back. “I guess. But I’m making pancakes tomorrow morning, no ifs ands or buts-” he cut himself off with a yawn, “-about it, mmkay?”
Logan raised his eyebrows. “Of course.”
They headed off, up the stairs and out of Virgil’s view as he shoved his earbud back in. It was only ten thirty - he had a few hours before his brain exhausted itself and he’d get his sporadically allotted hour or two of snooze. He re-opened Tumblr.
An hour must have passed before he decided to at least head to his room; should Logan or Patton come down for whatever reason and find him still slumped at the table, Patton wouldn’t let him hear the end of it, and honestly, Virgil didn’t want to give the father figure another reason to worry.
He shuffled up the stairs and started down towards his room, his eyes trained on his phone, until he saw a flash of white at the end of the hallway. His gaze snapped up.
The prince halted, his red sash nearly blending into the darkness, but his white jacket gave him away near his door. He straightened up suddenly and turned to Virgil with a smile. “Virgil! Good-” he faltered, glancing at the shadows around them. “...Night?”
“Yeah,” Virgil said, continuing his journey to his door. He paused near Roman and waited for the prince to walk beside him. “What took you so long?”
“Oh, there was a- uh, squabble, in the kingdom and I had to attend to it quite immediately,” Roman said with another charming smile, but he didn’t meet Virgil’s eyes. “I’m afraid it took longer than I anticipated. No worries though, all were absolved in the end!” He let out a small laugh and cleared his throat. “I- you should probably get to bed, Virgil. Patton will be rather upset if he sees both of us up this late-” he paused and stared at the ground, his eyes glazing over for a mere second before he coughed again. “Goodnight, Virgil.” He started to turn back to his own door.
Roman froze and glanced over his shoulder. “...Yes?”
Virgil studied the other Side, eyes traveling from the top of his sash to his boots, scrutinizing the outfit. He realized what was so off to him:
Roman whipped around and scoffed, but his elbow pressed further into his side. “What? Of course not! I’m perfectly fine, Al Pac-emo, though I appreciate the sentiment. Now, I suggest we both retire to-” He went to gesture to Virgil’s own door, removing his arm from its suture position at his waist.
He sucked in a breath and doubled over.
Virgil reeled back, eyes widening as he ripped his earbuds out completely. “Roman,” he hissed, grabbing the prince by his shoulders and shoving him through the door to Roman’s bedroom. “What the fu-”
”Language,” Roman winced.
He steered Roman to the bed where the prince collapsed onto gold covers, both hands pressed tightly to his side. “It’s not a big deal, Virgil, I’m fine.”
“Clearly you’re not, and this’ll go a lot faster if you just show me now and let me help.”
Roman glanced up at him with clouded eyes, searching his face for… something Virgil couldn’t pinpoint - ridicule, maybe, or spite. Whatever he looked for, he must not have found as he nodded tightly.
He pulled his hands away at a snail’s pace, shifting his weight to the bedpost. Virgil couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his lips.
Roman’s side was spotted with red, darker than his sash and feathered at the edges, steadily growing dots on his pristine jacket; his hands came away stained in the color. There was a laceration near his sash, stretching from the brim of his black pants to the second-to-last button on his jacket.
“What happened?” Virgil breathed, staring at the wound.
Roman pulled his hands away from the bedspread where he was about to lay them and frowned. “I, uh, encountered an adversary that was quite a match for my knightly abilities.”
“Yeah, no dip, Sherlock,” Virgil snapped, ripping his hoodie off and pressing it against Roman’s side.
“Oh, your-” Roman stared down at it forlornly. “You’ll get blood on your jacket.”
“Yeah? Not the biggest problem here, Princey!” Virgil looked around, muttering under his breath - surely Roman had some kind of first aid kit, Patton gifted them each a personalized one last Easter. He went to Roman’s desk and frowned when he didn’t see the little red box anywhere on its surface. He ran a hand through his hair.
“Virgil, you really needn’t worry this much, I’ll-”
“You can drop the noble air, Roman,” Virgil huffed, sending him a look over his shoulder. Roman looked small, his shoulders hunched and his skin painted with a pallor that made Virgil’s stomach twist. He sighed. “It’s really not a problem - me helping, I mean. The gash in your side is very much a problem.” He finally spotted the first aid kit across the room on Roman’s dresser, buried underneath stacks of makeup and a red sweatshirt. He strode back to Roman while rifling through its contents. “Pain pills, gauze, antiseptic-” He looked again at the wound. “...You’re gonna need to take your shirt off.”
Roman managed a smirk. “Well, all you had to do was ask-”
Virgil cut him off, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Get it off, Princey.”
“Right.” Roman fumbled with the buttons of his jacket, wincing as the bloodied sections stuck to his torso.
“So, what stupid stunt did you achieve for this, exactly?” Virgil said after a minute, kneeling down at Roman’s side with the kit in his hand. Roman frowned.
“I… ran into a creature from a neighboring kingdom,” he said simply, gritting his teeth as Virgil swiped at the gash with antiseptic.
Virgil snickered. “What, another dragon witch?”
Roman’s voice was so small - more of an exhale than a word, even in the buzzing silence of his room - that Virgil froze and looked up at his face, a silent question in his gaze.
“I-” Roman cleared his throat again, his eyes focused on Virgil’s hoodie, cradled in his hands and spotted with his blood. “The Imagination is created around the thoughts of whoever is in it. I- well, I suppose none of us can completely control its contents, not even me, because there are thoughts we cannot control.” He paused and Virgil raised his eyebrows, prompting him to continue. “Well, what I mean- there are- thoughts manifest themselves in different ways, you see, and sometimes that’s landscapes or flora around kingdoms, and sometimes, they’re… creatures, I suppose, benign and not-so-benign alike.” He chanced a look at Virgil, his lips pursed at the anxious side’s confused expression. “Darker thoughts tend to produce malicious beings, from what I’ve… observed.”
Virgil turned the words over in his head, slowly returning to Roman’s side. “You had thoughts that did this?”
Roman shifted uncomfortably. “Well… yes.”
“Oh-” Roman stared again at the jacket in his hands, tracing the white stitches in its sleeves, blinking quickly down at it.
Virgil traded the antiseptic for gauze. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, it’s not that. I just-” He sighed. “I don’t know. Just… I haven’t quite been myself recently.”
“Whaddya mean?” Virgil hadn’t noticed anything too terribly off about the fanciful side - he’d entered rooms with Disney ballads as often as usual, shot the same bantering quips during recordings, preened at every reflective surface.
“I haven’t been producing the same quality or quantity of ideas for Thomas,” he said quietly, glancing at his desk, which overflowed with messy notebook paper and uncapped pens in a rainbow of colors. “They’re not bad, of course, but I’ve done better in the past, far better. I haven’t been able to create a clear idea for weeks. I feel as though I’ve lost my edge.” He looked down at Virgil, his face pinched with frustration. “I’m creativity, Virgil. What use am I to Thomas if I can’t do even that properly?”
Virgil paused and chewed his lip as he considered Roman’s words. “That’s an awful lot of pressure to put on yourself.”
Roman let out a small laugh, short and bitter and so fundamentally different than his usual contagious laughter that Virgil nearly winced. “Well, I suppose it works, doesn’t it? Or it did, anyway.” His jaundiced smile wilted. “I just…I don’t know how to fix it. What if I can’t fix it? What if I remain this- jaded from now on? If I never feel inspired, what if-” He stopped, swallowing thickly. “What if I fail Thomas, Virgil? What do I do then?”
A sigh escaped him before he could stop it. “You won’t fail Thomas, Roman. Yeah, you’re a little stressed out right now-” Virgil stared at the cut in front of him. “Okay, a lot stressed out right now, but you’ve always bounced back after creative blocks. Who’s to say this is any different?” Roman pulled at a piece of lint on the hoodie in his lap, nodding slightly along with Virgil’s words. “We all believe in you, Ro, and we have good reason to. And it’s not like being a little worn out is a bad thing - it’s just a sign that you need rest, and then your ideas will be just as amazing as they always are.”
A tiny smile made its way to Roman’s face. “You think my ideas are amazing?”
“Yeah, I do.” Virgil mirrored his smirk. “Besides, what-if’s are usually my thing.”
Roman took a deep breath, the tension in his shoulders escaping him finally. “Noted.” He smiled at Virgil, a real smile, as Virgil ripped off a piece of tape to secure the gauze around his waist. “Thank you.”
Virgil examined the wrap. “I’ve never really had to patch something like that up, but it should work enough.”
“I wasn’t talking about that.”
“I know.” Virgil closed the lid to the first aid kit and dropped the leftover wrappers in the gold trash can near Roman’s desk. He glanced at the heap in Roman’s lap. “Don’t worry about the hoodie, I’ll get it tomorrow. I’m sure Logan can get any stains out.”
Roman opened his mouth but Virgil spoke first, glancing at the clock, “Well, I don’t know about you, but it’s past my bedtime and I’m actually tired.” He walked to Roman’s door and glanced over his shoulder at the prince.
He nodded, his eyes twinkling with a warm fondness at the anxious side. “Goodnight, Virgil.”
