A/N: Day 3 of Intruality Week. I wanted to write a story about the two as brothers. I have never really seen the two being siblings to each other as much as Roman and Remus. With that said, enjoy 🩵💚
Sidenote: This Human AU is separate from any other Human AU lore.
Concept(s): Remus and Patton are adoptive brothers, Remus and Patton sleep in the same room (bunk bed), Logan and Roman are together, Logan and Roman go out for the night, Remus wants Patton to play Pirates, Human AU, Logan is Patton's adoptive father, Roman is Remus' older brother
Synopsis: Patton and Remus play "Pirates" while Logan and Roman are out for the night.
Trigger(s): N/A (Let me know if there are any more)
Word Count: 886 words
~~~
The two had all kinds of playdates before so why was this so different? Just because their guardians were dating. Well, Logan never specified the word "date", just "Going on an outing with Roman for the evening." Patton never saw it as strange. But what was strange was the person he was now sharing a room with. Remus was just as energetic as Patton was and yet, Remus didn't have much of an "off switch", that included when it was time to go to bed.
"Come on. One more game. Please, Putt-Putt?"
"But I thought that you said you were sleepy."
"Well, 'naptime' sleepy. Not 'bedtime sleepy'."
Patton giggled to himself as he turned himself upside down, hanging over the guard-railing.
"We are going to get into trouble if Logie finds us up again so late."
"Well, their fault for leaving us so bored in the house alone."
"But what if we get hurt?"
"We have the contact list on the fridge. 9-1-1 on speed dial. And a first aid kit in all of the rooms, including the attic."
"But I still don't know…"
Remus pouted and stomped up the stairs in fake sorrow. He put his hands on either side of Patton's shoulders and shook him semi-aggressively.
Patton sighed as Remus dragged him out of their bedroom. The house wasn't completely quiet. The old radio in the kitchen downstairs was up and playing soft classical music that could be heard through the house. The TV in their guardian's bedroom was creating static-y white noise. When their laughter and screams of joy were added, Roman' singing tone and Logan's reprimanding, the house was truly alive.
Remus got out the stick from in the closet to bring the attic hatch down and climb up the new constructed stairs. Patton followed after him into the finished attic that doubled as their playroom. Most of their extra games and and toys were up there. When they were secured in their play tent, Patton started giggling again.
"So what's the game you wanted to play, Oc?"
"Pirates!"
"Ooh!"
"Yep! We get to sneak around the house and plunge stuff."
"Wait… isn't that stealing though?"
"Not if it's in the house. Besides, we are going to give it back. We are basically going to be borrowing everything we steal."
"I guess. Do you think your brother will be okay with that?"
"Oh of course not! He's going to be so pissed!"
"Remus!"
Remus snickered as he put an eyepatch on over Patton's left glasses lens as he placed his pirate captain hat on. He picked up two wooden play swords and tossed one to Patton.
"And you are telling the complete truth, Patton? You do not have any recollection of where are things have gone?"
"No, Lo. I promise."
"Hmm… you promise?"
Roman put a hand on Logan's back.
"Now, now, Logan. Don't be so hard on the kid. Who knows? There could've been a ghost burglar rampaging last night?"
"Ghosts are merely paranormal concepts, Roman."
"G-g-ghosts??"
Roman smirked down at Patton and Remus, who had just made his way into the kitchen.
"Haven't you heard of the story? Of the ghosts of a petty theft who wanted more than he could afford?"
"N-no… I can't say I have, Mr. Sanders."
Roman picked up the two of placed them in their chairs at the dining room table, where Logan joined them. He could tell by the look in Roman's eyes, that he was lying straight through his teeth.
"This guy was known as Bird Bandit."
"He stole birds too?!"
"Nope! But he would clean your supply out. Fast and clean like a whistle."
"And what happened to him, Ro?"
"Well… he finally came up on a house. The last house he tried to steal from. This man was very good at hiding his stuff. And he had methods to get others to give his stuff back."
The two kids stared at Roman in slight horror.
"What does he do?!"
"He picks them up!"
Roman lifted Patton up quickly, making him scream momentarily before Roman laughed evilly.
"He picks them up… flips them upside down and gives them— a little shake~!"
Patton laughed loudly as Roman playfully shook him up and down by his legs.
"Be careful, Putt-Putt! Ro-Ro might drop ya'!"
"Noooooooo! Don't drop meeeeeeeee!"
Roman laughed as he turned Patton right side up again as Logan let out a small whistle, bringing the attention of all three people to him. There was now a box in front of him that had the word "PLUNDER" written on top of it.
"So you two were telling the truth, correct?"
Patton looked at Remus as Roman sat him back down in his chair.
"You should've touched our things."
"But you hid it really well! I would've never thought to look for a loose floorboard in the hallway closet."
"A loose floorboard where?!"
Roman awkwardly laughed before dragging Logan out of the room with the two kids bursting into laughter. They might have gotten in trouble but at least they had fun the night before. That's all Roman cared about. While Logan was much more concerned about the potential uneven foundation issue Roman stumbled upon.
~~~
@intrualityweek
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>> Main Page
(Very late) Analogical Week entry for Day 4, Au/Home. Also, my first chaptered fic! Look out for chapter 2 in about uuhuhhh a week or so? We’ll see!
WC: 4085
Warnings: Past minor character death, grief, repression of grief, major character feeling like he's going to die, starvation, forcibly starving oneself, depression, fear, panic, food, blood, and like 3 swear words
Ao3
1. those who are far from home
Is a man who runs from the broken husk of his home a coward?
Is it a sin to want to forget the sun when he’s spent so long in darkness?
Is the chill bleeding into his veins from the winter cold, or from something clawing, aching, empty?
Sure, the snow crunching under his feet, the wind whipping through his hair, and the numbness of his fingers could all stem from a violent December afternoon. The lightness of his bags may hint at a harsh winter, the blisters on his feet an uncomfortable trek. All of this could be the season, or the fact that such a fool would decide to travel in the middle of a storm.
And yet, Logan Croft hasn’t felt cold in a long, long time.
It’s by a distant sort of static that he registers the weather, peering through a pair of thick lenses and vacant eyes. He’s looking at the harsh snow falling around him, but only experiencing it in a way a mystery enthusiast watches the victim getting bludgeoned with a steel pipe. He could tell you which way the wind was blowing, maybe give an estimate of the temperature, but if you asked him to describe the chill, the words would die in his throat.
Another thing, Logan hasn’t felt in a long time, either.
Between the endless months of travelling, the odd jobs he took just to make a buck, between preparing for winter as the Earth continued her unrelenting march around the sun, Logan’s been far too exhausted to feel cold. Like a thick, heavy cloud in his mind, the fatigue’s been perfect enough to drown his thoughts in condensation, for him to slip away and leave someone else in his place.
That someone else doesn’t need to care about the aching cold. The stress of finding something affordable, practical, safe is enough to distract from what creeps in the defiles of his mind. That someone knows that he won’t be walking in the snow long enough to contract frostbite, that the human body is more than equipped to survive a few days without food, that...
That he’s not in any danger when he wakes up screaming. He’s not drowning when the air around him grows thick and catches in his lungs. He’s not going to die because of something as stupid, illogical, painful as grie—
Nothing.
Absolutely, definitively, nothing.
There’s no one he yearns for, no one he misses like a physical blow. The hollow, aching thing was always supposed to feel deep enough to stick his arm through. He’s fine.
It’s so much easier to forget, than to remember the hole in his chest might’ve ever been full.
There's nothing left to stop him when he does.
Wiping the sleet from his glasses, Logan looks up. A painted sign stands tall against the white snow.
Pottsfield, New Neighbors Just Around the Bend!
Logan forces himself to move forward.
~
The wooden floor of the establishment creaks under his weight. He wipes his feet on the scratchy welcome mat, streaking the warm letters in mud.
“Hello,” he says, “I would like to buy a house.”
The woman at the counter—the owner, he presumes—locks him with a fixed gaze. She’s formless, bundled up in a pile of grey flannel and blankets. A scholar could write their senior thesis on debating where her mound ends, and she begins. She straightens up, letting the blanket around her shoulders fall down to her lap.
“A house,” she repeats, testing each syllable on her tongue, “...In the middle o’ winter?”
He nods, removing the satchel around his waist and to procure his funds. “Correct. I was under the impression that you had a number of vacancies, and after assessment, I've found this town to be the most satisfactory.”
“‘Satisfactory’.” She snorts. “You’re somethin’, aren’cha? Where you from? Jersey?”
Logan stiffens for a fraction of a second, before he slides a wad of cash onto the counter. “I don’t believe that’s necessary information. What is necessary, however, is the information regarding your available residencies.”
The owner unfurls, eyeing the wad of cash with jilted curiosity. She bites her lip, and pulls a stack of papers from her desk. “Alright, hun, I'll bite. What kinda house you lookin’ for? All our fancy ones are sold, but you don’t seem like the type. We can start touring near the town homes sometime after the weather calms—“
“That won’t be necessary,” Logan interjects. “I simply require something convenient, and preferably, secluded. We can forgo the tour.”
“I—“ The woman pauses, considering everything she’s done wrong in her life to end up here. Sellin’ a house to some lunatic who appeared in the middle of a snowstorm, talkin’ like a dictionary, and askin’ to skip the tour for an immediate purchase is on her list o’ things she’d thought hell would freeze over before she did. But...she gazes at the stranger's tattered cloak, his moth-eaten gloves, the exhaustion that radiated from every inch of him, and it clicks.
There’s no way this man is anything but acutely, achingly desperate.
“Alright,” she sighs. “There’s an old place down at Two Cat’s Lane.” She slides a file over to Logan, wiping the dust off it with a flick of her sleeve. “’S not a complete shitshack yet, but it might as well be. Still, it runs a good price for what ’s got. Open lawn, dense forest, nice property when it’s actually tended to. ‘S not wholly isolated, but the nearest house is still a ways away. I think you’d like that.”
Logan nods, inspecting the paper with interest. “Where is the estate?”
“Few miles from here. I'm assumin’ you got no family, right?”
Logan—
Logan shakes his head, completely calm and composed for what was a completely unremarkable question. The shopkeeper doesn’t seem notice him crack, doesn’t see him shoving old memories where they belong, six feet underground.
“I don’t,” Logan rasps.
“Then you’ll have more than enough room for yourself.” She smiles, almost genuine, before it slips off her face and something dark overtakes her features. “Although...”
Logan swallows, resisting the urge to bolt from the shadows covering her face. “Ma’am?”
“...You’re not one for superstition, right?” At Logan’s bewildered expression, she grimaces. “You're not gonna believe me on this, but...I swear to you that place is haunted.”
“I—” Logan tilts his head, because surely he misheard. “Haunted?”
She nods, her grave expression deepening. “They say there’s something stalkin’ the woods, like a vulture would circle its prey—People have seen things, too! One day their tools go missin’ and the next a basket of skulls appear on their doorstep. Mysterious paths in the forest open up the second they turn their heads. Great shiftin’ and boomin’ soundin’ n the dark, like the Earth herself opened up and came to say ‘hello’. No one knows what’s out there, but whatever it is, it sure as hell ain’t human.”
The silence sits, settling into the air like an aroma, before Logan breaks it with a cackle.
“Oh—come on!” The agent flushes at the hysterical giggle bubbling past his lips. “I know it’s hard to believe—but I ain’t pullin’ your leg! I swear!”
“I’m sure you aren’t,” he wheezes, “b—but consider, for a moment, that I’ve seen far too much of this world to think that—that—”
Logan coughs, straightening himself out before he can dissolve into another fit. Something heavy and crawling settles onto his shoulders. “I’ve seen my fair share of ghosts. I severely doubt one more would do significant harm. I would like to purchase the house.”
The woman’s brow crinkles. After a moment, she hands a pen to Logan, lips slanted. “Alright, be that way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when the wind starts howlin’ your name.”
Logan takes the pen, and the owner shows him to the dotted line. After the usual legal menagerie, she sticks her hand out, a rusted key glinting in the candlelight. “Good luck with it, hun. Take care out there.”
Logan takes the key, and his cold hand brushes against something still warm.
“Pleasure doing business with you.”
~
The house groans when he steps inside.
The seller had called it a miracle it stood after all these years. The wood rots, the dust suffocates, and the furniture is decorated with a layer of cobwebs thick enough to supersede rope. Everyone who’s ever come here has given up, decided the shelter wasn’t worth the monsters, and left for something better.
Logan plops a sack down on the creaking floorboards, and nearly chokes when a spray of dust flies into his mouth.
He doesn’t have that luxury.
He’ll be fine. He’s never been one for painted wallpaper or crown moulding. If the walls need replacing, the forest will supply. If he can’t afford tools, he’ll make them. If the open space is too suffocating or the silence makes him want to tear off his ears, then he’ll...
Logan swallows, acutely aware of the stillness around him. There’s no laughter chiming from another room, no padding of feet on the stairs, no crackle of a fire under a brick oven. The emptiness claws at him, wrenching the hole in his chest open another yard wide. He shoves the flaps closed with a painful shudder.
He’ll get through it, just like he always does: perfectly stable, perfectly distracted, perfectly alone. It was always like this.
It was.
It was.
Logan explores his new house, and tries not to feel like he’s falling apart.
~
For the most part, winter goes well.
He spent his first night on a tarp in the living room, collapsing after a failed attempt to dust off what was once the master bedroom. From there, it was planning, sighing at the cobwebs covering the cleaning supplies, and thanking the stars the walls didn't need to be demolished. Cleaning indoors busies his hands, and the dust settles into his mind like a weighted blanket, smothering his dreams.
For a time, he’s at peace.
It all falls apart, of course, when he awakes one morning to find his rations torn apart, and a pack of rats scurrying away as his shadow falls over them.
Logan stares at the remains of his food, the resources he had meticulously organized, strewn on the floor in shredded residue. He does not breathe.
Only when panic clogs his throat and the walls close in does he move.
He lunges for his coat, fishing out his wallet with trembling hands. A quick glance and a lurch in his stomach confirms what he already knew; he’s out of funds.
Logan hisses through his teeth, shaking the wallet as if some missed bill would flutter out. This—this couldn’t be it. He couldn’t have been so utterly, monumentally stupid. Why hadn’t he hidden his rations better? Why hadn’t he gathered more before the move? Why, after everything, did he not take the steps to ensure he wouldn’t perish like everyone els—?
Logan takes a breath, deep and measured. If he’d given up at the first sign of death these past long, hard months, where would he be now? He wouldn’t have even made it out of—
Nowhere.
He yanks a knife off his dresser and dawns his dirt-caked boots. He's never hunted before, but he knows how to use a blade well enough. He’ll be fine.
He returns that evening with a damaged knife and a tattered cloak. Hunger, exhaustion, and something far blacker rips a hole through his stomach.
He sighs, collapsing into the torn armchair, and begins to ration.
The next few days are abysmal. A rabbit slips from his fingers, snow obscures the remaining fauna too much to read its edibility, and his supplies dwindle. The night Logan decides to make the trek to town, he wakes up to snow piled to his knees, and the road ice.
Logan is, for lack of a better word, completely fucked.
Tighter rations would give him, what? An extra week? Even if he did starve himself, he wouldn’t have the strength to do anything but shiver. He drools over the remainders in his ice box, pondering whether to wait for the snow to clear or give in to his hunger now. Every time, he walks away, having reached forward only to realize his skin was colder than the remaining scraps of meat.
He doesn’t sleep. It wasn’t as if he slept willingly before, but between the nausea and the tremors and the gnawing, aching want, Logan finds himself too exhausted to rest.
He’s sitting on his porch—not even his for a month—when it hits him.
Logan, by the cruel fate dictates his existence, survived all these months only to die when he was safe. He clawed his way out of a ruined home, dirty streets, an ocean of sweat and pain and heartache for what? For this?
To fight with everything he had, to hang by the thinnest thread, to fall when he finally, finally reached solid ground, makes something brittle and freezing settle into Logan’s chest.
He stares down at his hands, clenching his raw, frozen fingers. The tear that slides down his cheek mixes with the falling snow. At least, after this, he’ll be able to see his family agai—
A flash of fabric catches his eye.
Logan blinks.
There, at the edge of the clearing, is a sack; stark grey in the bleak, white snow.
Logan heaves himself up, trudging over to the object as curiosity prickles in the back of his mind. It’s large, a bundle of thick fabric tied up with twine and force. From the way it creaks into the snow, it’s heavy. Perhaps someone’s hiking gear? Who would even be out here in the middle of a storm? The object’s too large to have been carried by the wind, and Logan’s neighbors aren’t exactly a stone’s throw away. A wild animal? A lost traveler? Someone like him, caught in the cold?
You're not gonna believe me on this, but...I swear to you that place is haunted.
The dry skin on Logan’s hands cracks and bleeds.
It’s just a neighbor. It has to be. A lost traveler means at best new company, and at worst, a corpse. A neighbor was curious, that’s all.
He shakes himself, kneeling down in the wet snow, and opens the bag.
Hunger hits him like a freight train. Logan doesn’t notice he’s salivating until a line of spit freezes down his chin. Inside, stacked together and gleaming in the winter afternoon, is enough supplies to last him weeks.
Oil. Butter. Salt. Canned vegetables and beans and fruit. A block of cheese and a loaf of bread. Even the frozen blood of venison seeps into its own plastic bag. All right there, all ripe for the taking.
Logan bites his lip. Surely, whoever left these goods wouldn’t mind if—
The trees groan.
Logan, pauses, peering up into the snow-blanketed woods, only to throw himself back as the forest begins to move.
It’s a storm in motion. Trees whipping, bending under the weight of something. The violent rustling gives way to heavy, rhythmic booming, reverberating through Logan down to his core. It’s like the woodland itself has come alive, earth-shattering shaking and groaning pronouncing its newfound consciousness. Logan’s heart jams into his throat as for one, heart-stopping moment, the rumbling seems like it’s coming towards him.
Suddenly, the trees snap back. The resulting silence blares.
Logan has never quite felt so small.
He swallows down a mouthful of bile, pushing off the ground with frozen fingers to a shaky stand. He takes a step. Another. Blood roars in his ears.
The forest stays still.
Logan sinks to his knees and chokes on a scream.
He lost it. He’s completely lost it. Ten months of starving and two months of hell and he’s finally gone mad, because there is absolutely no way to describe the forest suddenly coming alive unless his mind’s as dead and gone as—
Logan slams his teeth down on his tongue. He tastes blood.
The fog and the trees and the eye-searing white are too thick to see anything, and even something as—as earth-shattering as that would have to be visible. It was an earthquake, or a hurricane, or a hallucination. People hallucinate from sleep deprivation. He’s had, what? A combined total of six hours this week? That's as good as three days, right? Right?
That’s all it was: a trick of the mind. Nothing a dreamless sleep can’t fix. He’s safe, he’s alive, and most importantly, he’s alone.
Logan shakes himself, shuffling backwards. The sack is someone else’s. It’d be wrong to take it in, even if the mere thought of reaching forward didn’t turn his stomach to ice. Perhaps a traveler left it, figuring it would be safe in the yard of a rotting house. Perhaps one of the locals dropped it, fishing for a debt to hold against him.
Perhaps it’s a gift, an aid someone gave him in good will.
He turns away and marches back to his house.
He doesn’t need it. There’s always a price to these things, and this time, Logan’s not going to be foolish enough to ignore it. He’ll figure—something out. His stomach may be burning a whole though his flesh but he’ll be fine. Fine.
All these months, and Logan knows his curse is to keep living.
~
Five days later, Logan’s storage grows bare, and his patience is running even thinner.
The bag stayed where he abandoned it, frozen in the early January snows. No one’s come to claim it—the thought that there’s no one to makes Logan’s stomach lurch—and it appears no one will. It sits, a dim grey against the snow around it. A hope of survival in a field of cold.
The snow piles up to his knees. Once, he stepped outside in an attempt to forage, and almost collapsed with exhaustion. He can only spend his days indoors, chugging his last bit of bone broth, huddling under every blanket in the house in an attempt to keep warm.
Logan’s out of options.
Some part of Logan’s mind finds it funny he could think he ever had any to begin.
The bag slams against his back as he heaves it over his shoulder, the last of his strength dwindling away with every trudge back to his house. He can already feel his gut churning with hot, blazing, want. But...Logan stops, ignoring the roar his stomach lets out in protest, and turns to the woods.
He stands there, alone in the cold winter snow, and stifles the urge to throw the sack behind him and sprint somewhere safe.
“Thank you,” he says, voice reverberating through the clearing.
No one answers, and Logan shoves down the relief that threatens to clog his throat.
His legs carry him back inside. His hands find his stash of firewood. His arms bring the food out and onto the fire.
He eats.
Cranberry sauce and venison, vegetables and cheeses, stale bread that melts in his mouth. His self-control flies out the window the second his hands are on the platter. All these months, and he could never quite convince himself that good food was going to stay on the table the moment he turned his back.
Self-control seems like a funny concept, now, considering Logan crawled back from the brink of death, considering he doesn’t even know if he’ll see the morning sun.
A taste of adrenaline, one he hasn’t felt since his wounds were fresh, threatens to cloud his mind.
He lets it.
He scours the house, finding the sturdiest cloth he owns and tying it in a bundle. He gathers good fabrics, thick rope, old leather, soft wool, and a pair of shears. He heaves it all to the edge of the clearing, before setting it onto the ground, and facing the unknown.
“Thank you,” he says, and this time, it almost feels like someone’s listening. “I...believe you have just saved my life.”
Logan’s mysterious benefactor, whether it be a generous human, conniving Good Neighbor, or—Logan shudders at the memory of the forest groaning—that living earthquake, would hopefully be pleased with his offering. Gifts were always paid for, and though he didn’t have much, Logan would be a fool to ignore what people expected of good will.
At least after this, things might go back to normal, and Logan could continue his life the correct way: unbothered, uninvolved, and alone.
He turns his back to the forest, oblivious to the glowing violet gaze that watches him retreat, and hopes his payment will be accepted.
~
Of course, nothing in Logan’s demeaning existence could ever be easy.
He awakes the next morning to the offered bundle gone, and figures that’s the end of it. He replaces the pantries, triple-checking to make sure his rations are sealed, and freezes the perishables. All the while, he relishes in the warmth seeping through him, comfort enveloping his body from head to toe.
Life goes on.
With his new-found energy, he continues his work, stitching up the re-opened holes in his heart and furniture. All the while, the forest stays silent. It’s when he’s shoveling the snow from the dirt path that leads up to his house that he notices anything different.
Another bundle, this time wrapped up in a battered blue tarp, rests in the same spot as the last.
Logan walks over to it, feeling a familiar curiosity prickle his mind. He’s already explored one of these gifts, and despite the damage to his nerves, he’s still alive.
He peers inside.
It’s not a divination, or a bind, or any magical curse that reaches up and grips him, but the waft of fresh, juicy meat.
Logan blinks.
The display here is similar to the first, the only difference being the unfrozen meat and a few spices. Unlike the haphazard arrangement of the other gift—which Logan hadn’t noticed until after his first can of beans and few nights of good rest, anyways—every object here is organized, set in a way that feels almost...tender?
Beneath him, the bag begins to rustle. It takes Logan a moment to realize his hands are shaking.
There’s no heaving of the earth, trees cracking like thunder and the ground rumbling like the rolling of clouds. The only thing in the clearing is him, the bag, and the pounding of his own heart.
He doesn’t need more food. His rations are planned out to avoid making the same mistake. He’d be a little hungry, sure, and some days he might not have the energy to work, but he’d be fine.
He’s more than prepared to spend the rest of winter cold, hungry, and alone. Logan wouldn’t live, per say, but he’d survive. Isn’t that enough?
But...it’d be nice to have a back-up supply, just in case things another incident occurred and he found himself a few stumbles away from death. It’d be more than relieving to know he wouldn’t have to starve himself to make ends meet.
Logan tries to imagine leaving the bundle to rot, and his stomach churns.
It’s just a polite gesture, a courtesy he could decline at any time. He’d repay his debt again when the spring comes, and the need for a transaction will have passed.
And if his mysterious benefactor leaves a gift after this, wrapped up and waiting for Logan’s to offer his own then...He wouldn’t mind. Neighbors should be kind to another, shouldn’t they?
And if what lies deep within the forest, the rumbling that Logan grows more and more convinced wasn’t a hallucination, comes and reveals its true form with a howl and a tremor, then...
Well, he’d supposed he’d have an answer to the question keeping him up at night.
Maybe he should feel more than this, fear or anger or mortal terror at the thought of being so close to an end.
He twists the loose flaps of the tarp shut, heaving the bundle over his shoulder.
Nothing he hasn’t felt before.
It was good for the living storm to intervene when it did. Otherwise, Logan might’ve found some other way to make his own demise.
At least now, a Croft grave won’t come from an uncaring wind.
Logan carries the gift inside, and feeling a strange sort of peace wash over him.
Angst Prompt - "Of all the times to tell me, why now?" - Any pairing
From @crazydemigod666 on Tumblr
@crazydemigod666 Psst you sent this ask to my main but I don’t really post my writing there, so I’m posting it here. Hope you don’t mind ;) Also, though very different in tone, this actually reminded me of your own Jolly Sailor Bold as I was writing it in a lot of ways lol so I hope you enjoy!
---
Description: Feeling unwanted, Patton climbs up to the deck of their ship to get some fresh air when the voice of a siren comes calling.
Also, there's a song in this one. I modified the lyrics, but the song is "Lullaby of Woe" - Ashley Serena and you can listen to it here if you'd like.
Word Count: 2104
Pairings: Logicality
Characters: Patton, Logan
Warnings: Major Character Death (Ambiguous, honestly its entirely up to how you interpret it), Angst with an ambiguous ending, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of neglect, Mentions of cheating, Past toxic relationship, Mentions of food insecurity, Touch starvation, Hypnosis-like trance, Brief Suicidal ideation, Crying, (Let me know if I need to add anything!)
---
Patton had a problem.
The crew hadn't been able to look him in the eye for over a fortnight, even though he could feel the pity in his stares as he milled about the deck without purpose. At any other point in his life, he would have been deeply ashamed, but he was nearly too tired to care now. The captain had notified him that his rations had been cut. He'd been told it was a temporary measure, but Patton knew better. The captain was starving him off the ship.
The wind nipped at his arms as Patton nimbly topped the ladder to the upper deck. Moonlight pooled on the polished wood, lighting his way as he strode through the darkness. He moved confidently, though he felt himself nearly stumbling and losing his footing with the sharp rocking of the ship. The weakness was getting to him. He knew he shouldn’t be up in the open air as the boat rocked in the wind. One swift wind could blow him overboard and he'd be gone forever, but he couldn’t bear another minute of listening to the crew's whispers.
His heart was broken enough already. He'd thought the captain loved him. When they met, Patton’s body and soul had felt like fire. In a flurry of passion, Patton had dropped his comfortable life to follow the man he'd loved across the sea and it had been the thrilling journey of his life. Flowing from adventure to adventure, the pure excitement and adrenaline had lit up his world and blinded him to the fire that had begun to eat him up inside.
Only now, as Patton staggered to the bow of ship, did he realize how much he'd withered away to make way for the man who claimer to love him. Mere embers of the previous flame remained in Patton’s heart as the captain drifted into the arms of new lovers, his loyalty already fickle and fading before Patton was even gone.
Patton sucked in a sob as he lurched forward, nearly tumbling over the ship's railing as a sudden wave jarred the ship. His white knuckles gripped the wood on instinct as he sunk to his knees. A soundless cry escaped him as he collapsed to the floor and tears flowed freely down his face in silent grief.
The pain in his chest was nearly unbearable as Patton lost himself staring into the black water of the sea below, mesmerized by the swirling vortexes as he desperately pushed away darker thoughts. He had no idea how long he sat there, silently sobbing as the moon moved across the sky, but it seemed like only moments before an unnerving melody floated through the air.
Fishes asleep among the weeds,
Patton’s head shot up at the sound the unfamiliar voice echoing eerily across the open deck. His knees curled to his chest as his eyes darted through the darkness, searching for the source of the voice.
Waves all a swaying in the breeze,
“Who’s there?”
Patton shivered as he raised his head to get a better view of the deck below. Unable to spot anyone, he cautiously reached up to the railing to pull himself upright and listen to the voice continue.
But one soul lies anxious, wide awake,
Fearing no manner of ghouls nor wraiths.
Patton jumped, spinning on his toes as the last line finished directly behind his ear. His shoulders spun clumsily as he stumbled away from the bow of the ship, landing on the ground with a thud as he turned to stare at the beast balancing on the bowsprit of the ship.
The creature stood on two feet and Patton could nearly have mistaken him for a man a man, if not for the pallid color of his skin and haunting blue glow of his eyes. The specter glided forward with an unearthly grace, balancing on the narrow bow of the ship as it rocked chaotically in the wind.
“Do not scream.” The man purred as he dropped silently on the deck. “Lest you condemn the rest of your friends to share your fate.”
A grimace curled on Patton’s lips at the statement and he resigned himself to quietly edging closer the railing behind him.
“Oh, not friends then.”
The beast cooed under his breath as he leaned forward to loom over Patton. Adrenaline rushed through his veins as the creature slowly kneeled in front of him and raised a hand to his face. Patton flinched as cold fingers brushed along his jaw and guided his chin up until he was staring into the ice-cold eyes of the man above him.
“Relax.”
Patton felt the tension in his body disappear as the dulcet tones of the man's voice lulled him into complacency. His vision blurred as he tried to stay focused on the man’s face, but as he was pulled to his feet, only one thought rang out in his mind.
He's…pretty.
The beast's calming voice continued to fill the air with a lilting melody as he smiled crowded Patton against the railing.
Don’t dare let him tremble,
For the witcher, heartless and cold,
Paid in coin of gold,
He comes and goes and he'll leave not behind,
Subtle chills tingled across Patton’s skin at the man's power. He knew fear should be gripping his heart, but he couldn’t help but his starstruck smile as the man lips curled into a sharp-toothed grin.
but heartache and woe,
Deep, deep woe.
Patton’s breath caught in his throat as his waist caught the railing. His balance wavered as the momentum nearly sent him tumbling into the dark water below, but an iron grip caught his collar.
Deep, deep woe.
The man’s deep voice resonated against Patton’s chest and he finished its last note, drawing Patton’s attention back to his mesmerizing eyes.
“Are you afraid?”
Patton sucked on his lip as he stared into the icy look of the man’s eyes. His heart slowed as the air shifted blinked his shock up at the man in front of him.
“Please, I'll do anythi—”
“Young one, be at peace. Fearing me is a waste of your energy.”
A raspy breath escaped Patton’s parted lips as the beast's hand passed over his jaw to curl around the back of his neck. Instinctively, he started to flinch away, but the monster caught him.
“Why do you allow yourself to wither, human?”
Patton sucked on his lip as his skin tingled like wildfire from the man’s icy touch. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but it'd been a long time since he'd been touched with such gentleness. The sense of danger radiating off the man in front of him should have made him quiver with fear, but instead he felt himself leaning into the unfamiliar comfort with a quiet sob.
“Hush now. You no longer need to suffer.”
Scaled fingers slipped through Patton’s hair as the pale beast comforted him. The walls which he’d built around his heart came crashing down and his feelings escaped him in a subdued mourning.
“That’s all you really wanted. Isn’t it? To be needed?”
Patton’s grip tightened on the man's flowing silk shirt as a soft whisper escaped him. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“I've been watching you since your ship left the port nearly a full moon ago. The effort you extend to for the benefit of the others aboard this vessel is nothing less than commendable.” The beast’s breath passed through Patton’s hair like a soft wind as his fingertips brushed Patton’s cheek. “You are not simply a weight to the man who scorns your love.”
The man’s soothing voice resonated from his chest as Patton timidly tipped his head up to him.
“W-who are you?”
“My name is of no consequence,” The man’s whispered, though he seemed to immediately correct himself as he noted Patton’s disappointment. “Though you may call me Logan, if your heart desires.”
“Logan—” Patton breathed as he lifted his head. “—you've been watching me?”
“With deep interest, my dearest. You are too delectable to be wasted on someone who does not appreciate you.” Logan’s sharp-toothed grin grew wider as his thumb brushed Patton’s cheek. “Your scent is absolutely dizzying.”
“T-that can't be true.”
“Oh?” The siren's pale fingers trailed down Patton’s jaw, letting out a melodic chuckle as Patton sighed at the touch. “And why is that, my lovely?”
Patton’s face twisted in disgust and he started to pull away. “I'm—I'm not—”
Logan’s hands caught Patton’s waist, eliciting a gasp as he effortlessly lifted Patton and placed him on the railing of the rocking ship. He moved forward, standing between Patton’s legs as his piercing, blue eyes locked onto Patton.
“Not what, darling?”
“N-not special.” Patton whispered quietly, suddenly entranced by the mesmerizing glimmer in Logan’s eyes.
“It truly is a crime that any man was able to convince you of that.”
Patton blinked in disbelief as the siren curled a finger under his chin, lifting his gaze. “What?”
“Your soul leaves a sweet scent in the air that only a fool would neglect to savor.” Logan whispered, sending pleasant chills down Patton’s spine as his other hand slipped around Patton’s waist. “My dearest, you are a gift to this world that has kept my eye for thrice the time it's taken for the dark moon to turn bright in the sky.”
“If—If you've been watching me—” Patton started after a moment of silence, shaking as he reached up to grip Logan’s wrist. “Then, of all times to tell me, why now?”
The siren was silent as his piercing eyes bore into Patton, sending a heated wave of adrenaline through him as another wave crashed against the side of the ship. Logan’s grip tightened on Patton’s waist as sea's mist filled the air.
“I think you know why I have approached you.”
“Y-you're a siren.” Patton whispered as he nervously clung to the railing.
“Come away with me, darling.”
“They—” Patton swallowed the lump in his throat as he turned his head away from the dangerous look in Logan’s eyes. “The sailors say that those who are taken away by sirens are never heard from again.”
Logan remained quiet for a moment before raising a hand to wipe the tears from Patton’s cheek. “You will not be missed by the men on this ship.”
Patton sucked in a breath as though he'd been struck in the stomach. “I—I know, but—”
“Hush, now. Do not be afraid.” Logan whispered as tears brimmed in Patton’s eyes. “Do you have loved ones on the land?”
“No,” Patton breathed as an emptiness filled his chest. “I am alone.”
“Then what do you live for, dearest?”
Patton started to shake as tears streamed down his face. “I—I don’t know anymore.”
“Then tell me, my love.” Logan whispered as he curled a finger around Patton’s chin to lift his head up. “What risk is there in leaving with me?”
“I'm not ready to die."
Logan's sharp teeth glistened in the moonlight as he leaned into Patton’s ear. “Who said anything about dying?”
Patton blinked, still in disbelief as he sputtered out a response. “Are you going to hurt me?”
“Will you take the risk to find out?”
Patton sucked in a breath as he stared into Logan’s blue eyes. His heart pounded in his chest as he balanced on the railing of the ship, teetering above the dark waters above.
“O-okay.”
Logan leaned in closer with a knowing grin. “You have to tell me what you want, love.”
“Take me away, p-please.”
Logan's unearthly grin widened as Patton curled into his chest. “As you wish, darling.”
A hum started deep in Logan's chest, soothing Patton’s uneven breathing as he continued his song.
The waves are silent for the night,
All matter turned in as daylight dies,
But one soul lies anxious wide awake,
My dear darling Patton, shut your eyes,
Lie still, lie silent, utter no cries.
The world around Patton seemed became blurry as the siren’s song lulled him into a deep trance. His skin tingled with a pleasant vibration as the soft sound of Logan’s voice filled his ears. Deep in a stupor, he barely noticed as they dropped into the dark waters below. The moonlight faded as they disappeared beneath the surface, but Logan’s voice still echoed beautifully in his mind.
Thinking about a Moceit AU with siren!Janus and human!Patton that's enemies to lovers.
Janus is both scaled and injured.
He's got scars all down his left side that were caused by humans.
Humans and Sirens have been killing each other for centuries. They both view the other as incredibly dangerous.
Virgil is Janus's kid. He's half Siren.
Basically, Virgil goes against his mom's (I'm thinking Virgil refers to Janus as mom because, at least in this universe, Sirens are just very different gender and sex-wise from Humans) wishes and makes some friends with humans on shore (Roman and Logan). When Janus tries to cut him off from them, he runs away.
Patton basically becomes Virgil's adopted dad.
Janus is freaking out because all humans have done is hurt him, so he goes to get Virgil back, sees him and Patton together, and immediately assumes the worst and tries to drown Patton.
Virgil tells Janus to stop using his Siren voice on his actual parent, causing Janus to feel absolutely shattered and betrayed, but he agrees with the condition that Virgil has to come back and stay with him every other day.
Then Janus goes back to his cove and totally doesn't cry and wonder where he failed at being a parent
Cue the enemies montage where both Janus and Patton hate each other's guts for a while (Patton believes Sirens are inherently evil, but because Virgil is half Siren, that he has a choice: to be good and Human, or to be evil and Siren. Janus hates humans, but his mentality isn't as black and white)
After that I'm not really sure, but they eventually get to know each other and realize that the other is a person, not a monster or caricature, and that there can be reconciliation between themselves and their species.
(And then we've got a Prinxiety and Intrulogical subplot going on in the background contributing to this)
Anyway, just an idea I had. I really want to write it, but I don't know if I'll get around to it, so if anyone is particularly attached to this idea, feel free to use it as long as you credit me :)
here’s my part of the trade with the lovely @gentlegiantdreamer !!! i honestly love the concept of forest giant!virgil and doctor!patton, i’m still uwuing over it haha. hope u enjoy!❤️
here’s my g/t secret santa for @mistakes-were-made1 ! i used the shipwrecked prompt, and my mind immediately just went to shipwrecked pirates whoops— i decided to make a small comic of patton, romans and logans first meeting! the rest is to your imagination☺️ @secret-sanders-sized
Summary: When Virgil, a Shifter, is wrongly imprisoned for something he didn’t do, he has to pay the consequences of another’s actions. Except for the fact that he’s sick and tired of the whole charade and is ready to do just about anything to get out.
Warnings: Virgil’s a bit morally grey (I wouldn’t go so far as to say unsympathetic, but correct me if I’m wrong!), swearing, minor injuries, main character wrongly imprisoned, non-consensual drug use, slight manipulation (gets quickly resolved), panic attack, brief mention of death, fear, threatening language, brief mention of eating someone, mention of violent behaviour.
Characters: Virgil, Logan, Patton, Janus (mentioned but not present.)
Word Count: 6912 words.
——————————
The chains around his wrists were beginning to chafe. The sensitive skin beneath them was turning a brilliant red and Virgil was tempted to just throw his head back against the stone wall (again) and knock himself out. However, doing that would only lower his chance of actually escaping this dump more. He had already managed to shatter the chains around his ankles once before those were reinforced, so there had to be another way out.
There had to be.
Staying here, locked up for the rest of his life—imprisoned for something he didn’t even damn well do—was not a comforting nor attractive idea.
Not to mention, if the damned cuffs weren’t enchanted, he would have been able to shift right out of this mess. Unfortunately, he wasn’t that lucky.
When was he ever that lucky?
The sound of a metal door clanging open drew Virgil’s attention up to where a small platform sat suspended about twenty feet above where he was currently stuck sitting. It was where people talked at him—well, talked was being generous. It was usually some pretentious asshole in a white lab coat and thick black glasses lecturing him, explaining that as soon as he admitted his wrongdoing and was deemed “safe,” he would be released from this prison.
As soon as he realized it was exactly who he thought it was, his lip curled up into a sneer. A mocking smile, if you will. “Well, if it isn’t the head fucker’s lapdog. Come to tell me how awful a living creature I am? ‘Cause I’m already well aware of that.”
“Your name calling is childish,” the scientist said, pushing his glasses up with the end of his pen, scribbling something on his clipboard. “So, I will ignore it and we can continue this like the civilized people we are.”
“Please,” Virgil snorted, his eyes moving to scan the chains connected to his shackles. They looked as if they were melded into the ceiling. However, he knew they were attached to a pulley and lever system. So, if he got too rowdy or too close to grabbing one of their own, they could flip the switch and his range of motion would be instantly limited.
Basically, if he was anything but cooperative with their degrading words and tests and was vocal about it, he got his chains tightened and moving was far harder than it should be.
Virgil assumed that their next step was a muzzle. He snorted humourlessly at the visual that created.
The scientist seemed to be preoccupied with whatever he was doing, so Virgil gave another test tug on the chains. Seeing if they creaked the same way the had done before. It was what had given him the idea that he could break them in the first place. The way that if he pulled hard enough, there would be the sound of something squealing and creaking and snapping above him. That had made the place go into lock down.
Lights flashing, sirens blaring, ringing harshly through the metal and cement room uncomfortably.
People shouting orders, barking sentences over intercoms. Scampering behind the thick glass that protected them. It was a viewing area out of his reach, but very much in his line of sight.
He’d never seen these fuckers so frightened for their safety.
And rightfully so. Virgil wasn’t thrilled to be here. He hadn’t done anything wrong!Gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd maybe, but nothing that should have warranted this as his punishment.
God, Janus was gonna kill him.
“We just want answers,” the man said, coming a bit closer to the hand railing, peering down at Virgil as though he wasn’t a threat. That made something stiffen within him.
He was very much a threat when he wanted to be.
“Then get the right fucking guy,” Virgil snarled back instead, tugging at the chains again, this time with a bit more force behind it. He was certainly testing the waters, see how far he could push this man before he broke and left through the same door he entered from.
They had seen each other a handful of times. This one was the seventh person to try and get a statement out of him.
The others had broken within hours. A single pull on the chains, a kick against the wall that shook them to their core, hissing, baring his teeth. The list went on. It was his main source of entertainment at this point. The faster he broke someone’s resolve or spirit, the more likely he would be able to find a way out of this hellhole.
Virgil was just biding his time at this point.
He had a plan, he just needed to find a way to act it out.
Though, there were a few different options he had in mind.
There was this one scientist that came in to talk to him. A young man named Patton Foster.
Bright, shining blue eyes, circular glasses and a trustfully bleeding heart. He was kindly and understanding and everything that he shouldn’t be in a place like this, or dealing with a person like Virgil. Patton had also been kind enough to tell him that he and another scientist, named Logan Collins, were good friends.
A crucial detail that should not have been shared.
Virgil had also nailed down when exactly his friend came around. It was usually when he was acting despondent. Not eating, not talking, not hydrating. Whoever ran this place obviously thought that he needed to be socialized for this whole experiment and confessional to work.
Thus, they had settled on a naive and easily manipulated young man.
Probably not their wisest choice.
If he could just get both Patton and Logan out here at the same time and be on his best enough behaviour (to ensure that his chains were as loose as they would go) he could make a grab for one of them and use them as collateral over the other.
It wasn’t exactly sitting well with his morality, but a guy had to do what a guy had to do.
Besides, it wasn’t like he was going to hurt him.
“We have all the necessary evidence that pits everything against you,” the scientist said, so nonchalantly it made Virgil’s blood boil. How he couldn’t be bothered to even listen to him.
“You only heard his side of the story,” the Shifter spat, dark eyes blazing with heat, almost daring the other to say something against him. “You never asked for mine.”
“On the contrary,” he insisted. “We have been asking ever since you came here.”
“Oh, fuck you.” Virgil scrunched his nose in obvious displeasure, his hands clenched enough he could feel his nails biting into his palms. “You fucking humans think you know everything about me and what happened. You know jack shit.”
“Once again, I feel the need to remind you of all the evidence we have managed to collect on this subject,” he said, tapping his pen against the clipboard, as if he was pointing to something too small for Virgil to read. “Not to mention everyone that testifies against you.”
“Ever heard of bribing?” He snipped, rolling his eyes and settling against the stone wall at his back. “Framing someone for something they didn’t damn well do?”
The scientist let out a resigned sigh. “Seems we’ve reached the end of our session then since you continue to be uncooperative. And yet again, we are no closer to you admitting that you are very much in the wrong.”
“I’ll admit I’m in the wrong when I’m dead,” Virgil tilted his head the other way, glaring at the slate grey that surrounded him. “Eat shit, lapdog.”
He had been more than tempted to kick the stone wall and send the scientist to his knees, where he belonged, but just barely refrained.
It would only put him higher on the facility’s shit list.
The sound of footsteps clicking away from him proved that the scientist was indeed leaving. As soon as he heard the door slide shut and he was left with his thoughts, Virgil relaxed completely.
He let his head rest against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut. The longer he sat in wait, the longer this whole thing would take.
It was time to pull at some heartstrings and use that weakness to his advantage.
—
It took a couple days.
Of course, when people say “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” they really meant it.
If Virgil had tried to rush through the process, it was far more possible to gain yet another failure.
Patience was a virtue.
(Even if his patience was wearing very, very thin.)
((You try being constantly degraded and treated like a villain every single day and not lose your temper once or twice.))
The chains connected to his wrists were the loosest they were ever going to be and that put the little platform directly in reach. They hadn’t thought that part out very well, but since he had never made a grab for anyone before, it hadn’t needed to be a concern.
He had also stopped eating, responding, doing anything remotely interesting, truthfully. Didn’t snark back, swear, kick the wall hoping to knock the scientists on their asses to elicit a fleeting moment of pleasure. He was completely complacent by their standards. Which was exactly what he needed them to think.
Even though his stomach was beginning to cramp on him, incredibly unhappy about this development, he needed to ignore it. Besides, starving himself was better than trying to choke down whatever mush they gave him.
The sound of a door sliding open made Virgil’s eyes flutter open, flickering up toward the platform.
There was a rush of relief when Patton stood at the railing, leaning over it as he glanced down at the Shifter. There was a worried look painted across the small features. “What’s gotten into you lately, bud?”
Bud. Virgil nearly snorted at the nickname. They weren’t friends. Maybe the term of endearment made Patton feel better when interacting with a being so much bigger than himself. Not mention had the power to change his size at will when not being held captive.
Virgil was still unsure if anyone in this facility knew he was a Shifter. Or if they had just enchanted the shackles around his wrists and ankles to keep them from shattering like glass again.
Though, if Virgil needed to play the victim to pull at the exact heartstrings he needed, then fine. He could play the victim. He dropped his eyes to the slate grey floor. “…it’s stupid.”
Acting so weak was a tad frustrating though, he would admit that.
“It’s not stupid,” Patton chimed in softly. “You’re starving yourself. Obviously something is wrong and it’s not stupid.”
“It’s just…hard,” the Shifter finally said, intertwining his hands and letting them rest in his lap. As long as no one saw his hands as a threat, this should work without a hitch. Being completely incapacitated was hard enough, especially when Professional Asshole made his daily rounds.
“What is?”
“Being villainized, every single day.” Virgil kept his attention anywhere other than Patton. “I honestly didn’t do anything. And being told over and over again that I’m guilty for a crime I didn’t even commit? It stings. In places I didn’t even know could sting that badly.”
Patton made a soft cooing noise, showing that he was actively listening. And probably buying it too.
Virgil wasn’t lying about most of it, believe it or not. Being seen as the bad guy did hurt more than he expected to. Though, what made it worse was being told to his face that he had done something he hadn’t fucking done.
It was annoying and repetitive and drove his blood pressure up.
“Poked, prodded, experimented on,” Virgil continued, before meeting the scientist’s eyes with the most pleading look he could. “I’m going to have these scars for the rest of my life. Reminding me of how I was tortured for someone else’s wrongdoing. All because everyone think’s I’m bad.”
Adding a bit more of an over dramatic flare to it, he let out a sigh before slumping down against the wall again, keeping his attention to the side and closing his eyes.
Plus, the whole experimentation part was true, too. The most they had done was take his blood, use certain medicines to put him to sleep when he was being defiant. Truth be told, it wasn’t exactly torture in the traditional sense, but being here and constantly under supervision and surveillance was torture.
“I don’t think you’re bad!”
That…honestly surprised him a moment. Shaking off the shock and schooling the expression instantly, he turned his head just enough to show that he had heard and was listening. “You don’t?”
“Well, I know the evidence paints you in a pretty bad light,” Patton continued, sounding like he was fiddling with something. “But you really just seem like someone that got mixed in with the wrong crowd, you know? And that wrong crowd left you to be the one that got in trouble.”
Virgil couldn’t hide that surprised look. Whether he knew it or not, Patton had nailed it practically on the head. Ignoring the fact that Virgil’s groupies had done all of this on purpose and framed him for it when he had been at home with his family.
He left the hidden village for one day of gathering resources and all of a sudden he’s drugged and dragged back to this facility. Woke up in a cold stone room, wrists and ankles shackled with people standing above him as he blinked his way back into the waking world. Eyes blurred and head spinning, while scraping noises assaulted his hearing right to the brink of a pounding headache.
Then, being interrogated over and over again, trying to break his spirit and get him to admit that he was guilty.
To be honest, Virgil hadn’t even known what the “crime” he was being accused of was until they had told him in that condescending tone he was used to by now.
Humans were so full of themselves.
No, he wasn’t saying that Shifters were necessarily less full of themselves, but unlike humans—who were boring, useless (for the most part) and unbelievably helpless—Shifters had a reason to be. Being able to shift your size at will? Uh, yeah, absolutely a reason to brag about.
At least, it had been once upon a time.
Though, that didn’t take away from the shock he felt at Patton nearly nailing what had happened to him. “How did you…?”
“It happens more often then you might think it does,” he replied after a moment, his voice softer than before. More earnest. “Teenagers get swept up into the wrong crowd when they’re young and impressionable and end up making bad choices that can ruin their life later on.”
Virgil blinked, shaking his head in disbelief.
“It’s not all doom and gloom and horrible, though!” Patton continued, offering a more comforting smile down at the young man below. “They can make better choices and do better for themselves. Sometimes lessons are just…hard to learn.”
There was a long pause being shared between them. Virgil was genuinely confused on a lot of this, but there was one thing that stood out to him the most.
One thing that none of the others here had ever been to him. And he didn’t get it.
“…why are you being so nice?”
Patton frowned slightly. “What?”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Virgil clarified as if that statement made this whole conversation make more sense. “Everyone else in this damn building sees me as some kind of criminal mastermind that’s just itching to get back out there and ruin lives. Like I’m going to shatter these chains again and get my revenge. Hell, they won’t even look me in the eye. But you- you treat me like some sort of equal and I don’t understand it.”
That heartbroken look that fluttered across Patton’s features hit somewhere deep in Virgil and he was belatedly reminded of a friend of his making that same expression. “Because you’re not bad,” he repeated, wanting to reinforce that he truly believed it. “You’ve just made some bad choices.”
Okay, sudden realization, Virgil was going to feel pretty damn bad when the time came to use this kindness to his advantage.
Patton didn’t deserve it, but Virgil needed out of here. Patton just happened to be his key out.
Virgil’s eyes widened a little at that, feeling at a loss for words.
No. Stop it. Stop getting attached. It’s just going to make this whole thing harder. Remember what you have to do.
But that made a sour taste raise in the back of his throat and he shook his head. He dropped his gaze from the human standing on the platform and clenched his hands, nails digging into his palms as he tried to ground himself and remind himself that this was not the right time for his morals to come and play. This was the worst possible time for it.
Patton had to have some motive behind everything he was saying.
No one was nice for the sake of being nice. Especially not in a place like this. There had to be an explanation.
“What’s your ulterior motive?” The shifter said instead, keeping his eyes downward. He didn’t need Patton seeing this sort of weakness, it would only bring those puppy eyes out harder.
“My ulterior motive?” Patton repeated in a surprised tone.
“Yes,” Virgil barked. The sudden sharpness of his voice made Patton take a step back—he could hear the small clicking noises on the metal, he didn’t need to look up. But it made something loosen in his chest. He hadn’t meant to frighten him.
Fuck. You fucking idiot. Listen to yourself. He’s a human and he’s your only way out of here, stop letting your damned feelings get in the way.
Virgil grit his teeth. “No one is nice just for the sake of being nice. Especially in a hellhole like this and to someone like me. So what is it?”
It was Patton’s turn to be at a loss for words it seemed. Virgil side-glanced the human and his hands were fluttering, almost like he didn’t exactly know what to do with them.
“Please,” he finally seemed to have found his voice, looking more earnest this time. “You have to believe me. I really don’t have an ulterior motive. Why else would I try and get you to eat something? To take care of yourself?”
“Because a dead lab rat is of no fucking use,” Virgil spat the words out as if they were poison. “In a world like this, Patton Foster, your kindness will be the death of you.”
If Virgil took one quick glance up toward the viewing window, he would see that the people behind it were starting to get antsy. Leaning forward in their seats, just waiting to see what their pet would do. They weren’t going to let him go when he admitted he was guilty. Why would they? No one had to know what they were doing if Virgil never got out.
So, before any of them could press any fancy buttons or Patton could backtrack toward the door behind him, Virgil surged up and wrapped his fingers around the human’s thin form. The scientist was yanked back down into the cell with him after he had secured his grasp.
He really didn’t want Patton getting hurt, he truly didn’t deserve it.
The cry he had earned himself though hit something far too close to home, and it made his stomach drop.
Actually, in his haste, Virgil had almost forgotten what exactly he was doing. The human was so light. Truth be told, when he was this size, he avoided people for this very reason. Shifters were rare enough as they were, and thought to be dangerous because of their ability and their history. So, when going into town, he stayed human sized, blended in with the crowd.
This was the first time he had held a real person and it was…what was it? Terrifying. He was holding an entire life and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted.
He shook the thought off though, that was not what this was about. What this was about, was getting the hell out of here once and for all.
However, he couldn’t focus on the terrified, squirming human in his fist.
Virgil’s attention moved to lock on the viewing glass. His eyes were hard, cold and steely, knowing full well that they could hear him clear as a bell. “I want to speak with Logan Collins immediately or Dr. Foster here gets it.”
There were orders being shouted, muffled behind thick glass but Virgil could hear it. They were terrified. Rightfully so. He had finally managed to get his hands on one of their own and they had no idea what he was going to do. It kind of gave him a bit of a rush, actually. Though, shaking that off, his attention turned down to the door on the platform. He was awaiting the one person that could grant him his freedom if this all went according to plan.
His attention shifted though, to the fluttering heartbeat he could feel pattering gently against his fingertips. The deep breaths being taking in, before wheezing out. He was hyperventilating.
Virgil had the urge to say something to calm him down, to find a way to reassure Patton that he wasn’t in danger—but there was no way he was going to be able to do that without the entire building hearing him. Showing that he had gotten attached would only make this worse than it already was.
“…why are you doing this?”
The soft voice cut through the thoughts in his head and Virgil’s eyes followed his mind. He was looking back down to the human staring right back up at him, glasses askew and trembling.
Because I have to. I have no other choice. This isn’t because I don’t like you.
You’re not going to get hurt.
I’m not going to hurt you.
On purpose, another side of him spoke up, you won’t hurt him “on purpose.”
“I had no other choice,” he said instead, wanting to keep his voice level and reveal nothing more than that. “You’re my only ticket out of here.”
Before either could say anything more, the door on the platform was sliding back open. He looked back up, wanting to give this man his full attention.
“You,” Virgil hissed, upon realizing who it was. The one person he didn’t want to see was currently standing above him, peering down at him through those thick black glasses. “You’re Logan Collins?’
“Indeed,” the scientist said. “Now, we would greatly appreciate if you returned my associate to his station and we can move on from this whole ridiculous endeavor.”
“No.” Virgil’s voice was cold, and his eyes darkened. “I want out of here. You’re not getting him back until I get out.”
“That’s highly improbable,” Logan retorted, trying to appear stoic. Virgil could see the way his eyes kept darting to Patton anxiously.
Logan wasn’t as brave as he said he was.
Virgil knew it was hard to break him normally, but now, since everything Patton had told him seemed to be true, he had a leg up on the guy. Holding his friend captive was already fraying his stressed nerves and Virgil would just have to push a little harder to get what he wanted.
“Fine.” The shifter shrugged nonchalantly.
He then clicked his tongue, eyes flickering down to the terrified human in his hold, Patton’s wide teary eyes seemed to peer into his soul and fuck, don’t look at him too long.
It was far easier to glare at Logan then it was to hold Patton’s helpless gaze. Speaking of, he could hardly feel the weak struggles. They were certainly there, but there was certainly not enough strength behind the motions to budge Virgil’s fingers, and he was hardly holding him tight.
Humans truly were helpless.
“Fine?” Logan mimicked, almost unsure of what he meant by the word.
“Uh-huh,” Virgil retorted, looking more mildly amused than agitated. He just needed to ham this all up. Good thing he had been raised around over-dramatic family his entire life. “I can do this all day, y’know. You drug me, Dr. Foster here plummets. Maybe not to his death, but it is a bone breaking fall. Unfortunate as that would be, of course. You tighten my chains too suddenly—” Virgil wiggled his wrists clattering the metal chains for emphasis, “—the same fate befalls him. Now, you wouldn’t want that to happen to your friend would you?”
Logan’s shoulders tightened and Virgil had his answer.
“Now, neither would I,” his eyes lazily wandered the same room he had been staring at for, what, months now? “Then I propose a deal. You let me go, I let Patton go. It’s that simple. A smart man like you, Logan, should know a good deal when he hears one.”
“That in no way, is a good deal,” Logan shot back, and Virgil could see his resolve flicker in that heated statement.
“Okay, well, this can now go one of two ways; you let me go and I put Patton back where he’s supposed to be,” he clicked his tongue again, baring his teeth, “or I have lunch.”
That very statement made the whole room tense. He could see Logan bristling, but there was also something underneath all of that. The human in his hand stilled completely. Patton had even stopped breathing, holding his breath as if waiting for something more to happen. For Virgil to follow through, probably.
Thing was, it was totally a bluff. The idea of bringing a human even close to his face was, well, revolting. It was worse than the mush they gave him for sustenance now.
Virgil may not be a huge fan of humans after this, but they were still living, breathing sentient things that had families and friends and people that would miss them terribly. Taking that life away just because he could was wrong and cruel and unfair.
Virgil was mean, yes, but he wasn’t malicious.
“You wouldn’t,” Logan’s voice was crackling slightly, but still tough.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Virgil responded casually. “After I’ve been stuck here, and either forced to choke down whatever disgusting bullshit you people have given me for the past few months or starve to death. Why wouldn’t I take the chance for something real?”
Logan had had his rebuttal at the ready and Virgil was just was ready to tear right into him as well, but both of them were shocked into silence.
“Because you’re not a monster!”
Patton’s voice was surprisingly loud for someone who was terrified out of his mind. It was possibly the adrenaline that was coursing him through him, initiating the fight or flight response.
But that sentence…
Not a monster.
“You’re nothing but bad person. What you did was unforgivable.”
“Just admit you’re guilty already! Stop pretending you don’t know what we’re talking about.”
“This just makes you look worse. Playing the victim in all of this? Please.”
“Shifters, hah, like they have any morals whatsoever,” a familiar voice spat and Virgil nearly winced. A voice he had buried so well, he had almost forgotten all of the shit they had put him through. “You’ll be better off dead anyway. Not like a weakling like yourself could survive five minutes out there.”
“Stop being so useless and actually use that power to your advantage. And if you don’t, I’m going to make sure you regret the day you were born.”
Virgil swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as unwanted emotions flooded forward like a damn had broken. “What?” The word was barely a whisper.
“You’re not a monster,” Patton repeated, his voice still wobbly with terror, but confident enough for the both of them. “You’ve made bad choices and hung around bad people, but you are not them.”
You’re a mistake.
The weak link.
No wonder your old family didn’t want you anymore. No wonder they did this to you, it was to get rid of you.
“Stop it,” he breathed, feeling his throat tightening.
“No. I refuse to let you believe this.” Patton finally managed to wriggle his shoulders and arms free before adjusting his glasses and using the sleeves of his jacket to wipe at his eyes. Virgil was all talk, he knew that now. Even after all of this, he hadn’t been hurt. He was sure there wouldn’t even be a bruise in the morning. “I told you before and I stand by it; you’re not bad. And even after…all of this, I still don’t think so.”
“I can’t—” Virgil sucked in a wheezing breath, his head spinning. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling light headed and the constant noise around him was too much and too loud and it was all just too much. “Out,” he whined, while pulling forward and putting as much body weight into leaning on the chains as possible, “I need out. I– air, please, it just—”
“Logan–” Patton began, but Logan seemed to be thinking about something else.
“I know what you are,” he said, causing Virgil to wince further, still trying to pull on the chains enough so they snapped and shattered again. He just needed to get the fuck out of here. “You’re a Shifter. Lives with a remote group of others in a hidden village. You and your people were created as a link of trust between giant and mankind.”
“I need out,” Virgil snarled back, emotions bubbling just under the surface. What made his feelings worse, was the fact that Logan knew what he was. Knew where he lived. His family was in danger and it was all his fault.
Logan stayed unperturbed. “If you can break the chains around your wrists, I’ll let you go.”
Virgil wheezed, his breathing shortening. “You’re– you’re fucking with me.”
“I most certainly am not.” Logan almost seemed offended at the prospect of being disbelieved. “You break those chains, I will see to it that you are released.”
“I can’t,” the Shifter snipped, “they’re.. fucking enchanted– if I could break them, don’t you think I– I would have.”
Logan rose a brow. “I think you’re stronger than you’re letting any of us see,” he said instead, pushing his glasses up. “Besides, you’re not going to get anywhere if you continue to succumb to your panic. What I want you to do is take a breath in for four seconds, hold for eight and release for seven.”
Even though Virgil’s head was buzzing with adrenaline and he could feel the aching in his joints to move, he did what he had to. He couldn’t think like this, and with Patton so close to him, he didn’t want anxiety induced jerky movements to end up hurting him.
It took a few minutes, but his chest loosened and his lungs weren’t as restricted. He took a deeper breath, before shaking it off, coming down from the high. He could still feel his blood rushing in his ears though and adrenaline still pumped through his veins. If Logan was serious about letting him go if he could break these chains, that sort of electricity would be helpful.
Virgil licked his dry lips, before swallowing thickly. “You were telling the truth about that whole thing?”
Logan quirked a brow, curious as to which part Virgil was referring to. “The Shifter part?”
“No,” Virgil rolled his eyes, “the part about me being able to leave if I can break the chains.”
“Oh.” The noise sounded honestly surprised, before Logan made a noise of agreement. “Fibbing certainly would not get me anywhere. If you can, indeed, get out of those chains, you will be free to go.”
“No strings attached?”
This time, Logan seemed genuinely confused. “I do not see why strings would be important?”
Virgil just resisted from smacking his head against the wall behind him. Did the idiot really take things like that literally? Wow. He barely glanced the human still within the confines of his hand as he reached up and settled Patton back onto the metal platform.
Virgil was almost positive that Patton would have bolted the minute he’d been released and Virgil’s hand was away from him, though the scientist remained stubborn and pushed himself up from his knees to lean over the railing.
Though, Virgil didn’t miss the way Patton and Logan shared a look. Were they convening on what would actually happen if Virgil broke the shackles? If they were truly enchanted, then this would all be for naught, but with the true desperation of release so close and the promise of freedom if he could do it…
“Tighten the chains.” The Shifter said, resilience blooming in his chest, even his body ached. He needed out and no amount of exhausted pain was going to keep him from doing exactly that.
There was a loud clank and Virgil felt the chains tighten soon after. His wrists were then almost pinned just above his head. He took in another breath, sending a look up toward the humans.
That was all the warning they needed it seemed and Virgil began to tug on the chains attached to his shackles again. The metal was biting into his already raw skin, but pain was nothing compared to the feeling of freedom. If it meant he got out of here without admitting he was wrong, or having the fear of being tested on again, then great. He could hear the creaking from somewhere above him, but that didn’t mean these suckers were going to snap yet.
He let out a pant, blinking his eyes open and blinking the wetness from them. He wasn’t upset—far from it really—but from the force he had had his eyes squeezed shut, the pressure had rose tears to his eyes.
Taking in another breath, Virgil shut his eyes again and pulled harder on the chains. The creaking from just above him worsened and before he could think to relax, the chain on his right wrist him loose. His eyes shot open as he heard some cement hit the ground. The shackle was still connected to him, but the chain was shattered in front of him. He’d done it.
Virgil could have almost laughed with the relief of it.
He was getting out. After however fucking long he’d been here, he got to leave scot-free.
His eyes shot up to Patton and Logan who both looked surprised and relieved, and surprised and awed.
Virgil’s attention flickered back up to his left wrist as it dangled uselessly above him. Turning around—as he could do that now!—he braced a foot on the cement wall, grabbed his left with and put his entire body weight into it. Using his new leverage point, his left wrist came loose far easier than the first one did and he fell back in surprise. He heard the two startled voices of Patton and Logan as the vibrations must have taken them to the ground too.
Virgil took a moment to register what had just happened. While his shackles were still on, the chains were broken. Virgil wasted no time in tearing through the shackles on his ankles before getting up onto his knees and turning to face the scientists.
However, he was well aware that Logan could have very easily been screwing with him, he leaned a little closer, just enough to loom as they both tried to get their bearings on the platform. “Just so you know, if you fucked with me about this getting out thing, I’m not above a bit of fun.”
“I told you already,” Logan grunted, fixing his glasses and lifting himself into a stand, bracing against the hand railing as he winced. “There is no point in telling you a falsehood. It would reflect badly on myself.”
“Then get me the fuck out of this hellhole.”
Virgil was done. He was tired and just wanted to sleep on something that wasn’t solid stone and something that wouldn’t break his back or give him back problems at twenty-one years old. He leaned a bit closer to the platform, making Logan step back a moment, but Patton stayed in place, confident in the fact that Virgil was more bark than bite at this point.
Though, when he began to get gradually smaller, he reached a hand up and grabbed onto the hand railing.
Size shifting had been easier when he practiced it almost every day, but this part of him hadn’t been active for what had to have been a month or two at this point and that was clearly showing with how it buzzed in his head. Virgil had to focus far more than usual to get down to human sized and even when he was there, the Shifter was left panting, holding onto the railing with a white knuckled grip.
Not his best choice, but hey, at least he wasn’t down there in that cell anymore.
Patton shook off his surprise remarkably quickly before stepping forward and grabbed Virgil by the upper arm. It was weird seeing the guy at normal height. He didn’t linger on the thought though, before pulling Virgil up and helping the Shifter over the railing and onto the platform itself.
Virgil wheezed in another breath, light-headed and off put by everything for the moment as vertigo came and went a couple times.
“Are you–?”
“Fine,” he breathed in response to Patton’s unasked question. “I… I just need a minute.”
His head was spinning, the world was spinning in general. His stomach lurched and he swallowed it back.
Virgil couldn’t just stay here. He couldn’t. Bringing himself up onto his knees even as he tipped backward slightly, he looked between the two forms of Patton and Logan, squinting to bring them both into focus. It took a moment, but Virgil struggled to his feet and braced himself against the railing behind him. “Alright, I’m good,” he said, even if it was a bit further from the truth.
“You certainly do not look ‘good’ in that aspect.” Logan stepped forward, and Virgil very nearly twitched away from him.
“I just need the hell out of here,” he insisted, “I can figure out how to make the world stop spinning after I’m out in the open.”
Patton seemed unsatisfied with that, but didn’t push. Instead, he only offered an arm out that Virgil did twitch away from. Patton smiled at him, calm and reassuring, even as the Shifter’s eyes blinked up to him, questioning and confused. “I don’t bite,” Patton told him.
Virgil pressed a hand to his forehead, blinking a couple times before the world came back into focus and the nausea began to finally pass. “You’re not, y’know, mad about everything that just happened?”
“Nope,” Patton said, popping the ‘p’ with extra emphasis to prove it. “I’ll just help you get your bearings, so you can walk on your own when you feel confident enough to.”
Virgil still hesitated, not wanting to take the human’s offered help, if only to satisfy his need to do everything on his own. But if taking a step ended up with him face planting then his pride was going to take a harder hit. “Fine,” he relented, looping his arm around Patton’s and stepping away from the railing. “But as soon as I can walk on my own, I’m going to.”
After nearly tripping and bringing Patton down with him, Logan came up on Virgil’s other side and offered his arm out too. Virgil felt red paint his face, this was so demeaning. Though he really didn’t want to end up dragging Patton down to the floor with him.
Needless to say, he looped his arm around Logan’s.
Navigating the facility would have been impossible without the scientists help, so when the doors to the building actually opened and real sunshine flooded over him, Virgil released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. The sun was warm and the grass was soft. The breeze was cool and fresh and he was out. Free.
No more questions, no more sleeping serum, no more scientists in his face trying to press him into admitting he was wrong.
Virgil had hardly noticed he’d taken his few steps forward without Patton or Logan’s support. Not until he heard Logan clear his throat behind him, and the Shifter turned to see them standing by the sliding door leading back into the facility.
“Before we let you go though, I would like to know,” Logan said, pushing his glasses up before tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Did you really not commit the crime?”
“Fuck no,” Virgil laughed incredulously, “I was framed. I swear to God, I can even give you the guys information that did it to me.”
Logan nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer.
