Summary: But for now, they are at peace. For now, Patton sits next to Virgil’s hospital bed and watches the rise and fall of the hospital-sheet covered chest, and reassure himself that his younger brother breathes on.
Warnings: Guns, knives, descriptions of blood, assumed character death, hospitals. This is angsty. Very angsty.
Relationships: Platonic LAMP
The sea is restless. Waves crash onto the shore unrelentingly, a dark storm gathering in the skies above; harsh winds tumble through the air, sending sprays of salt water into spaces already long-accustomed to the sea’s moodiness. Imagine: a scenic beach, the edge of a cliff and a storm brewing above; spelling out chaos and order existing in the same liminal space; harmony no stranger than the storm above.
For a moment, time is endless and eternal; stretching out in every direction, limitless to the mind’s eye. For a moment, time is nothing, non-existent; unable to be felt even as it brushes by, fingers caressing the world as if time was a gentle mother, and the world her dying child.
Now imagine: a boy, sitting at the edge of the cliff, long legs swinging through the air as if he was a small child. Imagine, the foreknowledge of grief in its rawest form, dangling in front of him like a string, ready to be cut if he so chose to. Imagine, a decision made easily, without thought to consequences; the launch off the side of the cliff, the ease of a dive made into turmoiled waters.
The sea pulls him in, inviting and enticing.
Picture, for a moment: two boys, not young and not old, with misery in their eyes. Picture two boys with their foreheads pressed together; one desperately apologetic and the other unimaginably sad. Picture the lighter of the two boys pierced with a knife through his heart; an unforgettable grief sending pangs of terror through him even as he knows that they still have time left, who closes his eyes and tries to press impossibly closer. Picture the darker of the boys - who traded away his life for the one of his brother; who does not close his eyes until he has no choice.
Hold it in your mind, the image. Make it one you cannot forget; the two boys, bound by laws in the land where very few laws exist; peace in the face of an oncoming storm. This is not a lasting image. Eventually, time’s illusion will shatter, a mother shrinking away from her child to let it become its own. Eventually, Virgil’s time will come, a void in a space already dark with loss. Eventually, Patton will have to stand by and watch Virgil as he slips away, a silent sailor on a ship made of the shackled strength of men who had no other choice.
But for now, they are at peace. For now, Patton sits next to Virgil’s hospital bed and watches the rise and fall of the hospital-sheet covered chest, and reassure himself that his younger brother breathes on.
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They’re walking home when it happens, when Patton disappears from Virgil’s side in a brief jerk of a movement. For a moment, Patton doesn’t understand the shift of setting, sudden darkness making his already weak eyes falter in sending information to his brain. As his eyes adjust, Patton is suddenly affronted with the wavering stance of a man in rags. There’s a feral look in his eyes, blown wide with desperation and fear. A shaking hand points a knife in Patton’s face.
The man gestures to Patton’s pockets, fiercely whispering for him to empty his pockets. Above the alleyway, lightning crackles as the sudden flood of Floridan rain begins its downpour. Somewhere in the distance, the low grunt-hiss of a vulture sounds, louder than it has any right to be. Somewhere between lost flashes of lightning, Virgil appears at the opening of the alleyway, bad lighting extending his shadow to cover Patton’s face.
Within a few strides, the boy is holding himself in front of Patton, arm raising to bat the robber’s knife away from them. Anger emulates from Virgil, terse movements defining him even as he shoves Patton gently behind him. Patton’s hands tremble as they grasp the back of Virgil’s jacket.
And then, suddenly, there’s a shuffled movement, a scuffle between Virgil and the man that Patton can’t fully see. Virgil’s pushing him back, pressing Patton into the shadows and then Patton’s eyes catch the glint of a small handgun in the flash of lightning that illuminates the alleyway.
Patton sees it - the moment where Virgil’s face tenses and his body curls inward as he stares down the barrel of the gun. His eyes widen, hands drawing up in a half-aborted motion Patton knows won’t change anything, but Virgil doesn’t back down.
He stares the robber in the eyes, body awaiting the inevitable deliverance of pain. Behind Virgil, Patton stands half-hidden in the shadows and by Virgil’s body - and if that doesn’t hurt, that Patton is absolutely powerless to move to help his friend, to protect him because Virgil refuses to let him - and is struck with the absolute knowledge that nothing will be the same after this moment.
Somewhere, a car backfires and Patton catches Virgil’s falling body, uncaring for the would-be robber that disappears into the alleyway.
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Virgil doesn’t know what to do; what words he can say to comfort his elder brother, who slips in and out of blurred vision as hot tears drip down onto Virgil’s face. He clings to what little consciousness he can manage. Awareness flickers in and out for him, brief flashes of moments, as unconjoined as they are confusing. Loud noises invade his mind, shrieking sirens and medical jargon that leaves Virgil in a confusing haze, wondering who exactly was hurt - after all, he doesn’t recognize the hoarse, guttural screams until his chest begs for air that Virgil lacks the strength to draw in.
Logan is there at some point, pale face staring at him even as a hand holds the door open, and the faint booming noise of what can only be Roman’s voice echoing in the hallways echoing in Virgil’s mind. Steady beeping echoes in his ears, beat slightly offset and too-fast for comfort flickering in and out of what Virgil can recognize.
Exhaustion and apathy pull at his eyelids. Some distant part of him wonders where Patton is before the next wave of darkness takes him over.
The moments fade into each other, lost in some fog that permeates Virgil’s mind as he waits for the next breath of clarity to reach him. Sometimes it’s brief - the small glimpse of a blood bag hanging near his head as it sways to an unheard beat, or the ever-present, slightly too-fast beeping near Virgil’s ear. Other times it’s voices, telling simple stories and happy memories that echo in Virgil’s mind with a sense of familiarity he can’t place. Sometimes it’s foreign voices discussing things Virgil doesn’t understand; it makes the beeps race, faster than what should be allowed until the deep baritone of Logan’s voice breaks forward, and Virgil lets himself relax.
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Logan struggles to reign in his emotions. Unnecessary and obstructive, they choke Logan, irritatingly pushing tears forward when he knows, logically, that Virgil should be fine. When he knows, by all means, the bullet had been lodged deep inside Virgil’s body - and not his own, that aches ridiculously as he gazes upon the sleeping form of his brother.
A quiet voice in Logan’s mind wants his to shake his brother’s frail body, to arouse the unconscious boy and see the flood of strength into a body that should not look as weak as it does between the thin sheets of the hospital bed. Logan has never noticed how worryingly thin his brother is, and his mind involuntarily casts into his memories, trying to determine if Virgil has always eaten what can be sufficient, or if Virgil’s eating patterns were just as malicious as Logan’s.
He doesn’t indulge his nonsensical urges, instead choosing to suppress a sigh and run a hand through Virgil’s hair. The boy’s head turns into his hand, unconsciously seeking comfort where it is offered, and Logan allows himself to smile. “Wake up soon, Virgil.”
From nearby, he hears Patton’s high pitched squeal, and with a twitch of his lips, allows stoicism to overtake his face once more.
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Roman is at work when he gets the call from Patton. He can’t decipher what the bespectacled man is trying to tell him, his words lost in nonsensical sobs and hysterical apologies. What little he can understand makes his world fall out from under his feet - for a moment, Roman can only think that Virgil has died, that he has lost his little brother before he could really see him grow into himself, that one of the people that matter more than the world has left him.
He’s running out of the theatre, phone pressed to his ear, costumed unchanged and people shouting after him, before his twin manages to wrestle the phone away from Patton. Logan’s voice is calming - though Roman doesn’t miss the quiet wavers of his brother’s voice as he explains, quietly, slowly, what’s happened.
Patton and Virgil were mugged, Logan explains, voice low. The mugger had a gun, and it went off. As if those words are enough to encompass the devastation Roman feels. And Roman - lost, wandering, waiting for a Lyft he doesn’t remember calling - knows that they’ll never be the same again.
Roman is alone when Virgil wakes up. Virgil doesn’t make a big deal out of waking up - there’s no dramatic gasp or bolting upright or panic, but moreso that between scrolling through Twitter on his phone, Roman looks up and finds Virgil quietly watching him.
Virgil huffs a little laugh when he notices Roman’s disgruntled look, though his face is quick to fall when he shifts his shoulder trying to sit up. Roman gives him a wry smirk, leaning across the boy to press the button that would raise his bed. He’s pleasantly surprised when he feels the sudden, soft pressure against his shoulder, a hand lifting to cradle Virgil’s head as he awkwardly settles on the bed.
He doesn’t say a word, just presses his little brother closer to him. If his shirt collar grows wet after a few moments, he doesn’t say a word, only curls his fingers into his brother’s purple-dyed hair.
When Logan and Patton enter the room a few minutes later, Virgil has wiped the tears off his face, a small smirk already settling into place. He doesn’t let go of Roman’s hand.
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Virgil knows there are going to be issues before he’s released from the hospital. He loves his brothers, he’s ready to sacrifice anything for them, but he’s well aware of their nature to be overbearing.
And overbearing they are. For the first few hours, it’s nice, having everything served to you hand and foot. He definitely enjoys the multiple chocolate chip cookies Patton readily provides and takes great joy in Roman’s face of horror when Virgil devours the oatmeal raisin cookie that Roman wanted to prank him with.
It’s fine for a few hours. Even amusing and silly.
It’s been a week now. Virgil hasn’t been allowed to do a single thing for himself - if he wants a snack, Roman is there with a tray of food high-stacked. If he wants something stimulating, something entertaining, Logan is there, with a book or a musical ready for Virgil.
They won’t even let Virgil go to the bathroom on his own. It’s like they’re afraid that if Virgil leaves their gaze for even a moment, he’ll disappear forever. And Virgil understands - he has his own anxiety whenever one of his brothers leaves the house without him, but he’s finding it hard to bear not even being allowed to go to the bathroom on his own.
Everytime he tries to broach the topic with one of his brothers, the conversation is almost exactly the same. Like the one he’s about to have with Logan, who has found Virgil on his way into the kitchen.
“Oh, hello, Virgil. If you’d required something, you should have simply called. There’s no need for you to rise.” Logan offers him a quiet smile, setting the book in his hands on the couch and approaching Virgil.
“I just didn’t want to bother any of you. It’s not like I can’t get a simple snack on my own, you know?” Virgil has a futile hope that maybe this will be the time one of his brothers allows him to act on his own.
Which is immediately dashed when Logan responds with a hand on Virgil’s uninjured shoulder, encouraging the boy to sit down.
Virgil sighs, and sits down.
It’s the same thing with Roman too. It’s as if Roman has some secret third sense for whenever Virgil is bored or wants food, because the younger twin is almost always there before Virgil can even begin the motion to get up. And these days, it’s hard to find Patton around the house. It’s almost as if Virgil’s older brother is avoiding Virgil - which is stupid and irrational to think because Patton wouldn’t do that.
So why does some small part of Virgil disagree? Why does some part of him refuse to listen when he knows, he knows - logically, emotionally, in every way Virgil understands possible - that there’s no way Patton could blame him for the sudden changes in their life? So why does guilt curl needlessly, insidiously, where it does not belong and convince Virgil of what can only be false?
But the truth has always been easier to misconstrue with baseless, useless lies. And Virgil’s always been good at magnifying things beyond recognition. After all, the signs are obvious to those who bother to look - Patton rarely approaches Virgil himself, always sending Logan or Roman in his stead; avoids looking Virgil in the eye when he does talk to him. It’s as if all of the great affection Patton holds for the youngest of his brothers has drained away, leaving only an unbreachable gap in between.
After all, it’s not as if Patton has his own misplaced guilt that curls its cold hands around his heart and squeezes; as if there’s not a feeling of ‘it should have been me’ every time he sees Logan changing Virgil’s bandage, or when Roman has to get Virgil his favourite snack from the top shelf because Virgil can’t raise his arm above his shoulder without fear of pain overcoming every sense Virgil has. It’s not as if Patton is afraid to face his brother, when he knows that it was his job, his place to protect the younger, and beyond all, beyond every fact that Logan can present against the contrary, Patton knows that he has failed Virgil.
Misunderstandings are the destruction of every family. Who’s to say the Sanders are any different?
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It’s a vacuum, a hole that sucks and pulls everything into it, leaving the bare minimum for the survivors to scrap together into something work looking it. It takes, and takes, and takes until there is nothing left except for a void where a heart should be, and the soft gasp hidden behind the backfiring of a car. It echoes, and echoes until it’s all Patton can hear, every moment left reliving that gasp, reliving the sudden weight he’s left holding, and the absolute terror that sits like a million pound weight in Patton’s heart.
It’s a shared experience that both parties remain unaware of, unknowledgeable to the similarity of the anguish that sits in both their minds. It’s the singular thought of displacement, and the guilt and blame they push onto their own shoulders because they think it will make themselves feel better; the multiple books Logan downloads onto his nook about care of wounds, and risks; it’s the overprotectiveness that burns in Roman’s stomach when he stops Virgil from taking the simplest of action. It’s the rage that sings in Logan’s eyes when he hears of further gun violence in Spectrum’s hourly news report, and the protests and raids that Roman makes an appearance at without fail. It’s the frustration that they both can see clear as day burning in their brother’s eyes, and their own inability to stop themselves from interfering, as if their presence now will make up for not being present when Virgil needed them the most.
It is Virgil, who carries guilt like a familiar burden on tired shoulders, and the dark circles he hides behind black eyeshadow. It’s the coolness of absence that hovers where a brother once did, and sleepless nights left staring at closed doors that were once open.
It’s the little things, small moments. But they’re more than enough to fray at their edges.
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Happy endings are rare and few; it is a quiet instance when a family truly has a happy ending. They’re sparse, a commodity hard-earned and unaffordable, granted after thousands of moments of pain that build onto each other like an emptiness filling itself with undesirable debris. In the end, there is very little that can prompt what most people call a happy ending; should they happen, they happen naturally and often without notice.
Patton and Virgil evade the conversation for as long as they are able, neither fully able to gather the courage they need to approach each other. Eventually, Logan tires of their antics, pulling his twin into a plan to get the two to converse. It is a long, elaborate plan, ridiculous in nature, but it is effective.
The conversation lasts hours, involves copious amounts of tissues and several bottles of water delivered to an otherwise-locked room, but when the two exit the room, there are shaky smiles adorning their faces and dried tears on their cheeks.
The conversation between Virgil and the twins takes longer to happen because it is a while before Virgil recognizes the guilt his brothers carry like 50-kg suitcases on their backs. It takes him almost tearing open his wound before Roman acquiesce that there was nothing he could have done to help the situation. Logan is more stubborn, simultaneously more practical and unforgiving in his world view. Virgil has to hide the family supply of Crofter’s before Logan agrees to listen. It takes the brothers another month before they allow Virgil to function for himself.
Things changed after Virgil got shot - Patton become more protective, Logan and Roman gained a tendency to hover, and for the longest time, neither Patton nor Virgil could truly listen to a car backfire without flinching. But eventually, things heal in their own way.
In the end, despite every odd, the Sanders’ story is a happy one.
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This is the longest thing I’ve ever written. Please give me feedback, I doubt this is very good but I wanted to post this anyway.
