For the story "Stick it to the man" by @kaythegay2022 which MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!
[ID: a digital drawing of a poster featuring Virgil half lifted off over a poster featuring Remus, both posters have crumpled paper backgrounds with letters that say battle of the bands but Remus' upside from Virgil's. Remus is wearing a neon green crop top, a mesh glove, an octopus necklace and some piercings. Virgil is wearing his canon typical jacket but with a belt added and piercings and a choker, he is pictured as a dark olive skin man]
I had the honour of working with @asoftervirge for this year's @sandersidesbigbang
I am a total sucker for masquerade scenes♡♡ you can read her lovely fic "Even a Snake Cares for a Prince" on ao3☆
[ID] (drawing is split into two panels. In the first panel, Roman is smiling with a gloved hand over his chest, surrounded by subjects from the Imagination. The subjects are void of individual characteristics save for their smiles. Roman himself is wearing a fancy outfit comprised of white puffy sleeves, a red vest with gold trimming, a white jabot collar and a red lace masquerade mask. The words "Seething shadows, breathing lies" are written beneath the panel.)
(In the second panel, Janus is wandering through a crowd of the smiling, void subjects. He holds a glass of red wine in a gloved hand. He is also dressed in all black; a large yellow bow tied about his high collar and a yellow rose adorning his hat. He is wearing a black volto mask; the left side decorated in yellow patterns, the mouth also yellow is curled into a permanent smirk. The words "You can fool any friend who ever knew you" is written beneath the panel.)
I had the incredible honor of collaborating with @wistful-wish in this year’s @sandersidesbigbang ! You know I can’t resist a good Prinxiety fic. And set in a fantasy AU with half the cast as fae? Virgil as an all-powerful fae prince? Roman as the himbo human prince that Virgil can’t help but fall for? The choice literally made itself for me lol
Go check out Tessa’s fic! She worked SO hard on it and it’s AMAZING!!! Also, go check out the incredible art @briandthemoon did for the fic! It was so cool working alongside such a talented artist, and their art for the fic is absolutely gorgeous!
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[Image 1 ID] [The first image shows Roman and Virgil. Roman is placing a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. Roman’s expression is concerned, while Virgil looks surprised. Roman has tan skin, curly auburn hair, and green eyes. He is wearing a fancier version of his canon outfit, as well as a golden circlet with red gems imbedded. Virgil has pale, light pink skin with pointy ears that are slightly curled at the end. His eyes have black sclerae and purple irises that glow slightly. He is wearing a purple and grey shirt underneath a long, dark-purple cloak with a silver clasp shaped like a star. Virgil’s cloak and Roman’s sash are billowing to canvas right. Roman and Virgil are both standing on a circle of grass against a blue background, and tiny motes of light float around the canvas. The words “Anxiety… It will be alright.” are on the right side of the canvas, italicized and slightly glowing.]
[Image 2 ID] [The second image is formatted like a comic page with six panels, the majority of the page taken up by two panels split diagonally, with four smaller triangle-shaped panels along the bottom. Black action lines spread behind the bottom four panels. The top two panels are shaded in more detail, while the bottom four panels are cel-shaded.
The top-left panel shows a headshot of Roman, who is sweating slightly and looks scared. His hand is shown recoiling. His outfit and appearance is the same as the first image. The background of this panel is a gradient of black to grey from top to bottom with vertical white lines lining the top and fading.
The top-right panel shows a headshot of Virgil, who is blushing and looks surprised/awe-struck. His blush is purple. His outfit and appearance is the same as the first image. The background of this panel is pink with light motes and sparkles surrounding Virgil.
The bottom far-left panel shows a headshot of Logan, who is clutching his head with both hands and looks incredibly distressed. He has light skin and black hair that is pushed to the side, and he is wearing rectangular glasses. His eyes are hidden by the reflection of his glasses, although his eyebrows slightly overlay the glasses. He is wearing a dark-blue suit with white cuffs over a white shirt, as well as a white cravat. The background of this panel is light indigo with white action lines shooting diagonally from bottom-left to top-right.
The bottom middle-left panel shows a headshot of Dearheart, a young girl with tan skin, long blonde hair, and brown eyes. Her hair is pulled back partially. Her eyes are simplified to dot-eyes, and her expression is confused. She is wearing a sleeveless blue dress. The background of this panel is light blue with a pattern of dark blue question marks.
The middle-right panel shows a headshot of Janus. He has long, brown hair tied in a side-ponytail, pale yellowish skin with golden scales along the left side of his face, and pointed ears pierced with hooped golden earrings. He is wearing a black cloak and a crown of yellow flowers on his head. His eyes are hidden by shadow, except for his right eye, which is simplified to a glowing yellow circle. His expression is angry, with his teeth gnarled to show one fang. The background is a gradient of black to yellow from top to bottom.
The far-right panel shows a headshot of Remus. His hair and skin-tone are identical to Roman’s, although his skin is lightly-tinged green and his ears are pointed. His right eye is a bright, radioactive-green, and his left eye is bright red and smaller than the right one. Both eyes are glowing slightly. He is wearing his canon outfit, although the eyes are absent from his sleeves. He is holding a morning star. His expression looks crazed and blood-thirsty. The background of this panel is light green with white action lines spreading outward from behind Remus.]
I’m a little bit late!!! But shhhh, the second chapter of Stick It to the Man is out and we oughta be celebrating!!! @sandersidesbigbang
Title: Stick It to the Man
Author: @kaythegay2022
Characters: Roman (left), Remus (center), Virgil (right)
Rating: Teen
[ID] [Remus on the center bottom foreground of the picture is watching Roman and Virgil who are in the background, singing together and staring into each other eyes, in hurt surprise while squeezing on a can with a heavy purple pink lighting on Roman but especially on Virgil.]
all the silver stolen (will one day turn to gold) 1
Summary: Janus is an exceptionally good thief, if he does say so himself. Sure, his life of petty crime alongside Virgil and Remus isn’t ideal, exactly, but it’s good enough—until he tries to pickpocket the wrong person and learns three life-changing things: One, mages are terrifyingly real, go by the name of Logan, and do not appreciate being stolen from. Two, Remus has a twin brother. And three, Remus is actually the crown prince of the neighboring country, forced to start a new life after being framed for treason and left for dead in a brutal coup.
Whisked off to a new nation with Remus and Virgil, Janus struggles to adjust to high society and a life of court politics and intrigue, his inherent distrust of magic and his rocky—to put it lightly—relationship with Logan only complicating matters further. Trouble soon begins brewing in the kingdom as well, bringing with it whispers of old threats to the newly reunited princes, and when things go horribly wrong, Janus is forced to confront two questions with extraordinary consequences: How selfish is he, exactly? And just what is he prepared to sacrifice for those he loves?
Relationships: Romantic Loceit, background romantic Prinxiety, found family all around
Warnings for this chapter: Injury to a main character (for a full list of major warnings, check the tags on Ao3)
Word Count: 7316
Notes: My fic for the Thomas Sanders Big Bang 2022 (@sandersidesbigbang)! This is by far the longest fic I've ever written, and although it is responsible for me spending countless hours staring blankly at a google doc, it has definitely been a labor of love. I'm so excited to share it, and I hope you enjoy! Updates weekly!
A huge thank you to my wonderful beta readers Peregrin (@iclaimedtobethebetterbard) and Saphira (@dragonsaphirareads) for all their help wrangling the plot into something coherent and for all their feedback, as well as for not once complaining despite this beast of a fic more than doubling in length from its original estimated word count. They are truly amazing, and this story wouldn't be the same without them!
Also be sure to check out the absolutely stunning art from the two incredible artists I got to work with, Crow (@thecrowslullaby) and Hedgey (@hedgeyart)! I will link to Crow's work in the respective chapters, but in the meantime you can both dazzle your eyes and get a spoiler-free teaser of the later part of the fic by heading over to Hedgey's piece right here.
Read on Ao3
Masterpost
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Janus is an exceptionally good thief, if he does say so himself. Such a claim isn’t even bragging, not when he has the proof to back it up; he knows how to slip unnoticed through empty and crowded marketplaces alike, knows how to steal coin purses and jewelry and watches right off of any unsuspecting person and leave them none the wiser of his actions, knows how to sell what he’s acquired for a fair price on the black market. He’s had to learn such things just to survive, especially given how he’d first found himself on the streets, young and frightened and overwhelmed, a life of crime the only thing standing between himself and a long, slow death of starvation.
But more than being a talented thief, Janus is a smart thief. He knows how to select the best mark while avoiding the plainclothes guards just waiting to catch an unwary pickpocket, knows how to take advantage of a distraction or create one himself, knows how to judge which risks are worth taking and which are better left unchanced. His quick fingers may be what has granted him enough food and money to keep himself alive, but it’s his even quicker mind that has allowed him to evade the common thief’s fate of a short drop and a sudden stop for so many years.
Unfortunately, Janus is also currently a desperate thief, and desperate thieves are apt to do extraordinarily dangerous things, which is how he finds himself fumbling his lockpicks into his freezing hands as he crouches outside a fancy stone building in the middle of the night, no backup in sight and only the barest bones of a plan rattling around inside his skull. Breaking into any building, let alone an apothecary, is high-risk enough that he would normally never even consider such a thing, loath to put himself in such a perilous situation when he’s perfectly content weaving through crowds as his fingers dance in and out of pockets. But Virgil had taken a nasty fall by the run-down blacksmith’s forge a few days prior, gashing his leg open on a jagged piece of metal sticking out of a scrap pile, and the wound was now clearly infected, angrily inflamed and leaking foul-smelling pus as Virgil grew clammy and delirious.
If it were anyone else, Janus would have simply told them to hope for the best but make peace with whatever gods they believed in in the likely event of the worst, but Virgil is nothing if not an exception to all of Janus’ rules. Janus had practically raised the other man despite being only a handful of years older than him, had taken him in and tried his best to keep him clothed and fed while he’d taught him how to steal, nevermind that he’d barely been able to support himself, let alone anyone else. It had taken a lot from both of them to build trust, and even more for their wary alliance to slowly bloom into genuine friendship, but somehow, impossibly, it had, the venom in their sarcastic comments and snarky remarks mellowed save for the occasional argument.
Remus had come along a few years later and fallen in easily to make their duo a trio, more because of his uncanny ability to always be around and his refusal to leave rather than because of any official invitation to join. There had been something odd about him from the very beginning, something in the hint of an accent that sometimes slipped out and the foreign cut of his clothes and the shimmering gold necklace that he always wore against his chest and refused to take off, the sum of it all enough to give Janus pause, but he’d proven himself early by getting Janus out of a bind with some guards and his eyes had lit up with unrestrained glee when Janus had begun to plot crimes with him, so into the group he’d come. Given his own undisclosed past, Janus has never pressed Remus to lay bare his secrets, content just to take any observations he makes and tuck them away to mull over when he has a spare moment, trying to tease Remus’ life story from the scraps of details he’s collected and never getting too far because really, he has better things to worry about, like where he’ll get food for the day or how to get Virgil new boots in the middle of winter.
It’s comfortingly familiar by now, the way they work together, two of them operating in tandem to distract and pickpocket their mark while the third keeps a lookout, years of practice making the three of them a formidable team. Occasionally they’ll split up to cover more ground or one of them will find an odd job and jump at the opportunity for a few guaranteed coins, but for the most part they stick together, finding safety in numbers and taking comfort in knowing that someone they trust is watching their backs.
Tonight, though, with Virgil down for the count and Remus watching over him, it’s just Janus. The pressure of potentially having Virgil’s life in his hands is doing wonders for his nerves, truly. That churning sensation in his stomach is adding a delightful bit of excitement to what would otherwise clearly be a dreadfully boring situation.
Despite the severity of Virgil’s injury, taking him to a healer had been soundly out of the question; physicians’ rates were much too high for the three of them to afford even if they cashed out their meager savings, and even if they could have somehow found the money, they couldn’t risk a doctor getting suspicious about how a trio of obvious street urchins had managed to afford his services.
So breaking into the apothecary it is.
Virgil had always been the best lockpick out of the three of them, but Janus manages to wiggle the tiny tools into the lock, biting back a string of curses that would make even Remus blush as he struggles to to maneuver the instruments properly.
Rude of people to actually lock their doors and protect their valuables. Completely uncalled for.
Finally, after entirely too many minutes of fiddling with the picks with bated breath, there’s the tiniest of clicks and the knob turns easily under his hand when he tests it. Success, and it had only taken him three times as long as it would have Virgil. Surely stealing a bit of medicine will be child’s play in comparison.
He eases the door open, wary of any squealing hinges and ready to flee at the first sign of movement, but everything is silent and still as he slips inside. There’s enough moonlight filtering in through the windows to illuminate the space in a silvery glow, and he pauses for a moment, taking stock. Off to his right, in the back of a shop, stands a tall cabinet with a multitude of small drawers, doubtless housing fresh and dried ingredients of all sorts, but although Janus is tempted, he edges past it. He knows enough basic first aid to be able to make common ointments for minor injuries and ailments, but the drawers look like they’re liable to squeak if he so much as looks at them wrong, and he doesn’t want to risk mixing up ingredients in the dark and killing Virgil with some kind of poison on accident. The other man might be just a tad upset with him if he did that.
What he’s really after are the medicines that have already been prepared, which he assumes are significantly less likely to make him an accidental murderer, and as he creeps further into the shop on silent feet he discovers there’s a whole display of them near the front windows, colorful glass jars a washed-out rainbow in the moonbeams.
Perfect. One little snatch and he’ll be gone before anyone even knew he was here, in and out in less time than it takes to brew a proper cup of tea, his extraordinary talents once again having saved the day, except—
Except the jars are labeled with small slips of paper adorned with writing instead of pictures like the cheap medicines he’s used to, and Janus—
Janus can’t read.
Shit. Of all the times for his lack of a formal education to come back and bite him, of course it would be when Virgil’s life hung in the balance. What a lovely sense of humor the universe had.
He resists the urge to swear aloud and glares at the jars instead on the off chance doing so will magically solve his problem. The jars themselves should offer some clues, but he’s not familiar with this particular apothecary, doesn’t know how their medicines are color-coded. Is the little crimson container for burns, since red was associated with fire? Or is it to stop bleeding? Or is it neither of those, representing something else entirely? Janus doesn’t know.
Time to improvise, then. He hasn’t gotten this far only to be foiled by some inky squiggles.
Casting another wary glance around the quiet shop, he shifts closer to the display and the row of jars lined up neatly atop the shelves. Samples of some kind, perhaps, but their purpose is less important than the fact that they look infinitely easier to handle without clinking together than the jars clustered together on the shelves. He goes down the line one by one, carefully unscrewing each little container’s lid and sniffing the contents, trying to recognize the scent of any ingredients that might treat infected wounds.
Not the red, definitely not the orange, maybe the yellow?
He’s getting antsy, nerves crawling along his skin and skittering down his spine, his instincts screaming at him that he needs to get out, this is taking too long, he’s already been here for more time than he’d planned. But unless he’s suddenly been granted the ability to produce medicine out of thin air, he doesn’t have any other option than to go through the jars as quickly as possible. Taking a pot of each color and figuring out their uses later is a last resort, not only because he doesn’t have anything to wrap them in so they don’t clink together in his bag but also because he doesn’t want this to be a high-profile theft. Taking copious amounts of medicine is bound to put the guards on high alert, which is the last thing he needs when their trio is already running perilously low on food and supplies and will need to be out and about stealing to replenish them.
No, if he can only find the damn jar he wants, he’ll just take that and be gone and with any luck the apothecary owner will think they’ve simply misplaced it somewhere and not even realize they’ve been robbed.
Not the light or dark green jars, but the blue smells familiar—
A shriek splits the air, so shrill and unexpected that Janus’ whole body goes white with razor-sharp panic in an instant, his knife in his grip before he can even parse where the sound has come from or what’s happening, the purple jar he’d been holding slipping out of his hand and shattering into an incriminating pile of shards at his feet, the heady scent of lavender filling the air. No. No no no, there hadn’t been anyone else here, he was sure of it, how—who—
There’s a figure on the other side of the shop, standing in the doorway of what Janus had assumed to be nothing more than a storage closet and which he now realizes, entirely too late, is in fact a stairway to the second floor, which must serve as the healer’s residence and not an extension of the shop as he’d thought.
Apparently he needed to add ‘making correct assumptions’ to his list of innumerable talents.
He’s moving on instinct before he can even take a breath, lunging to grab the little blue jar—stars, he doesn’t even know for sure if it’s the right medicine—before he’s bolting for the exit, fear snapping in his veins, the only thought in his head run run RUN.
“No, wait! Stop!”
Right, of course he’s going to pause for the person who has just caught him stealing red-handed, just wait around to be hauled off to jail for his crimes. Why doesn’t he strike up some small talk while he’s at it?
He’s across the shop and out the back door in a heartbeat, pure adrenaline propelling him forwards as he tucks the precious jar into the safety of his bag, his footsteps echoing dully against the hard-packed dirt in the still night air as he attempts to wrangle rational thought back into his head. Getting caught by the shopkeeper was hardly ideal, but a glance over his shoulder proves they’re not coming after him, and as long as no one else has heard their shriek he should be able to make a clean getaway—
“Hey!”
His heart is pounding so hard in his own ears that he hardly hears the gruff shout, barely sees a form suddenly loom in his peripheral vision, but he certainly feels the hand that snags his cloak for a moment before he manages to wrench free. The healer, trying to cut him off? How the fuck had he managed to outpace Janus?
But when he glances backward he’s met not with the sight of pastel pajamas and blonde curls but of a dark uniform and a sword flashing as it’s drawn from its sheath.
One of the Guard. Stars, couldn’t a man just steal some medicine in peace anymore?
He forces himself to go faster, hurtling headlong down the empty street as he tries to think. He isn’t familiar with this area, doesn’t know its ins and outs like he does his own neighborhood, but if he can just find a side street he should be able to lose the guard in the labyrinth of alleys lacing the city. He veers down the first promising opening he sees, the deeper shadows welcoming him in—
—and promptly finds himself met with a dead end.
Fuck.
He whirls, his only option to backtrack to the main road before he’s cornered, only to find a broad figure already blocking his only way out, sword in hand. Janus is trapped.
Fuck.
“Come on, don’t make this hard on yourself, boy,” the guard growls, advancing forward a step, and Janus can’t help but skitter back in turn, eyes fixed on the glinting blade in the other man’s hand. He can’t get caught now, not when he still has the medicine in his bag, not when Virgil is doubtless still caught in the deadly grip of fever and infection. Janus getting thrown in jail would be nothing less than a death sentence for both of them.
And yet here he finds himself, nothing but high stone walls around him and a larger, stronger opponent he surely can’t best in a fight in front of him.
Not a physical fight, at least, but a mind game or two, a few dirty tricks thrown in to round things off? That Janus is willing to gamble on.
“Okay,” he concedes, letting his voice tremble slightly as the guard takes another stride into the alley. “Okay, just please don’t hurt me, sir.”
The man visibly preens at the honorific, sword tip lowering slightly, and Janus resists the urge to roll his eyes even as his pulse still hammers entirely too quickly in his ears. Honestly. These brutes made playing their ego entirely too easy.
“Put the knife down,” the man orders, and Janus obligingly crouches, the ground freezing even on his half-numb hands as he lays his palms flat on the dirt.
“I’m sorry, sir, please don’t hurt me,” he whimpers as he curls in on himself, the very picture of contrition.
“That’s right, you just cooperate and no one’s going to get hurt here.”
“Of course, sir,” Janus snivels as a pair of black boots come into view of his downcast gaze, followed a moment later by a sword tip. “Anything you say—”
He surges upwards, knife sweeping in front of him as he lunges past the guard, and for the barest fraction of a moment he thinks he’s made it, that his plan has actually worked, that brains have triumphed over brawn—
Pain explodes in his side, a white-hot line of fire that makes black stars burst across his vision and wrenches a strangled cry from his lips, but he has to keep moving, has to go, has to get away while he still has even a sliver of a chance, and he can’t stop, he can’t stop, he can’t stop even if it feels like he’s just been torn right in half.
He doesn’t even know how he manages to make it to the end of the alley and back onto the main road, given how blank his mind has gone with panic and adrenaline; he’s just there, in between one wave of black stars and the next, lurching for the first side street he sees and praying to all the gods he doesn’t even believe in that it’s not another dead end. If he can just make it into the twisting maze of alleyways, he should be able to lose the guard, provided he doesn’t bleed out in the process.
“Get back here, you little shit!”
The furious voice and its accompanying footfalls are far closer than Janus would like, but he doesn’t dare look behind him. If he’s going to get a sword through the spine, the last thing he wants is to see it coming.
“Guard!” Another voice splitting the air behind him. The healer? “Hey, guard!”
The guard’s steps falter, the other man clearly debating whether it’s worth it to continue pursuing a petty thief at the risk of failing to help a wealthy noble in need, and his hesitation is all the opportunity Janus needs to fling himself around a corner into another alley.
Stars above, please don’t be another dead end, please please please—
There must be some higher power after all, some deity who finally takes pity on him, or perhaps fate has simply decided to give him a fighting chance, because the narrow street tees into two at the end. He picks a direction at random, hope leaping treacherously in his chest that he’s at last found a way out of this mess, only to be dashed at the sound of footfalls picking up again behind him, the guard apparently having decided Janus is somehow more important than the healer.
Janus would be flattered if it didn’t mean he was about to either be sliced into ribbons or thrown into jail and sentenced to hang. As it is, he’s less than enthused.
Fear is biting at his heels, urging him faster, but he’s already lagging, lungs burning as he gasps for air, black and red spots encroaching on any spare sliver of vision, searing pain ripping through his body with every step as he jostles his new injury. He can’t keep going like this, not without collapsing within the next minute, and even though the guard behind him may be all brute force and no brain, Janus is pretty sure even he would notice Janus’ body sprawled in the middle of the street.
He scans around him as he flees further up the alley, searching for any place to take cover, but there’s nothing but unscalable walls around him. Nothing, nothing, nothing, until suddenly—there. A tiny gap between two buildings, cloaked in impenetrable shadows. He stumbles to a halt, blowing out whatever tiny bit of air he has left in his lungs in order to make himself as small as possible as he desperately wedges himself into the space. Even then, and despite Janus’ slim stature from years of malnutrition, it’s a tight fit, and he’s barely managed to squeeze himself all the way in before there’s heavy footsteps drawing closer, slowing to a jog and then a walk as the guard clearly tries to deduce where his victim has disappeared to.
Too late does Janus realize that if the other man had any intelligence at all, he would just go find a torch or lantern and track Janus using the bloodtrail he’s undoubtedly left in his wake, but there’s precisely nothing he can do about that now. He crams a handful of cloak into his mouth, both to muffle his pants of pain and to hide the cloud of his breath in the frigid air, turning his head away from the alleyway lest the glint of light off of his eyes give him away.
Given how his wonderful luck is going, he can only brace himself for a blade to come spearing into his ribs, easy as stabbing fish in a barrel, but the footsteps move right past him without a hitch, continuing down the street until they escape Janus’ earshot altogether. But Janus doesn’t move a muscle, despite the fact that his right foot is sinking into something squishy he does not ever want to identify and the smell of rotting food and dead animal is so heavy and cloying in his nose that he has to fight down bile.
Patience. If he can survive a sword almost making his insides be on the outside, he can survive sharing a claustrophobically small space with a few dead rats.
Sure enough, the footfalls return a few minutes later, slower this time as the guard backtracks his steps. Janus hardly dares breathe, sure his luck won’t hold a second time, but once again the other man continues past his hiding place without pause, apparently none the wiser to his quarry literally being within arm’s reach.
A flawless escape if Janus does say so himself, nevermind the fact that he’s taken a sword blade to the ribs in the process. That little detail was wholly inconsequential.
Still, it’s a long while that he bides his time, waiting until he’s satisfied the guard isn’t going to come back a third time, and even then he forces himself to wait some more, just in case. By the time he finally edges out of his little nook and back into the alley proper, his feet and hands have long since gone numb and the black spots in his vision have returned in full force, any movement that pulls at his side even the slightest bit sending ripples of agony through his ribs now that the numbing effects of his adrenaline rush have worn off.
A shame he’s neither brave enough nor stupid enough to try retuning to the apothecary, considering he could really use some painkillers right now.
He keeps his arm firmly pressed against the wound, desperate to keep as much pressure as he can stand on the injury even as a fresh line of warmth trickling down his waist informs him he hasn’t managed to stop the bleeding. He should probably check on it, he knows, try to fashion some kind of bandage from his shirt, but his stomach is already queasy enough that he doesn’t trust he’d be able to witness whatever damage has been wrought upon him without passing out, so his arm will have to suffice.
Out of sight, out of mind, he tells himself. It was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine. If he just repeats it enough times, maybe he’ll begin to believe it, despite the fact that the world tilts alarmingly when he dares a tiny step forward. He hasn’t keeled over and died yet, so the injury can’t be that bad, can it?
It doesn’t matter. Janus just needs to suck it up and get home to deliver the medicine to Virgil before the other man kicks the bucket and all of this has been in vain.
It’s a risk to return to their hideout when there’s a chance the guard chasing him might lie in wait for him to reappear and follow him back home, but it seems an equal risk to spend too much time on the streets when the other man, if not the whole of the night guard by now, is looking for him. He compromises by opting to take the long way back to the impoverished underbelly of the city, secreting himself away in the shadows of back alleys as he muffles his pants of pain into his cloak, biting down so hard on the fabric shoved into his mouth that he’s surprised he doesn’t put holes in it.
It takes him several times longer than it should to return to familiar surroundings, given that he has to pause every few steps either to listen for any guards or to wait for the world to stop spinning around him, but he never dares stop for too long, not as it grows increasingly unlikely that he’ll be able to haul himself back up if he collapses on the ground like his body is begging him to.
It’s nearly dawn by the time he finally deems he isn’t being followed and crosses the final few streets to their little hovel, and he allows himself a single moment to grimace against the pain biting into every single inch of his body, gritting his teeth against the overwhelming sensation. And then he’s pulling himself upright, schooling his features into an expressionless mask as he raps their familiar passcode rhythm on the door and pushes inside.
Virgil is just where he’d left him, still unconscious on the mattress pulled up close to the fireplace, shifting restlessly in his sleep and babbling something nonsensical under his breath, and Janus can’t help a silent sigh of relief that the other man hasn’t expired in his absence.
“Did you get it?” Remus asks immediately from where he’s trying to coax some water down Virgil’s throat, and Janus digs in his bag to hold up the little jar of medicine, careful to keep his other arm pressed securely to his side to hide his injury. He knew having a cloak dark enough to hide bloodstains would come in handy one day. “Good, cause this wound is getting nastier by the second and as fun as it would be to try out a bone saw, I don’t think little Virgie would appreciate only having one leg.”
Janus wrinkles his nose at the mental image of Remus and the havoc he could wreak with such an instrument, just the thought of such carnage turning his stomach. He’s already lost enough blood tonight for the three of them. He doesn’t even want to contemplate one of them losing any more via amputation.
“Good thing he’s unconscious; he would tear you to pieces for calling him Virgie.”
“I’d like to see him try,” Remus retorts, but his face is lined with worry as he brushes a stray lock of hair off Virgil’s forehead. Shit. Things must be going from bad to worse if even Remus is this concerned.
Janus hurries to rinse his hands off in the bowl of water on the table, making a mental note to discard the now crimson liquid before Remus can see it, unceremoniously drying his hands on his pants as he crouches next to the other man. The movement pulls sharply at his wound, sending yet another wave of black spots dancing across his vision, and he has to bite back a hiss of pain as he wavers slightly. Don’t pass out now, not now, not before helping Virgil—
Remus casts him a sidelong glance, seeming to notice something is wrong.
“You okay, Janny?”
No, Janus is about to say, not unless you want to go find a guard with a sword so we can all have matching wounds.
But then he unscrews the lid off the little jar of salve and dips a finger in to find—
Nothing.
Cold panic snaps up his spine, shot nerves surging protestingly back to life. No, there’s no way he could have stolen an empty jar. He was a thoroughly accomplished thief, and thoroughly accomplished thieves simply did not make mistakes like accidentally grabbing the wrong pot of medicine.
Unless, perhaps, they were the tiniest bit distracted by the dark and the healer screaming at the sight of them and the fear turning their mind blank.
He braces himself for the worst, to have to return to the apothecary and try to steal something else, but when he tilts the jar to peer in he’s met with the sight of a cream ointment, albeit barely enough to coat the bottom of the glass. He swears viciously as he tips the container towards Remus for him to see, and the other man wrinkles his face up in annoyance at the lack of medicine.
“That sucks,” he pronounces. “Would have been nice to have had some extra in case someone gets a hand bitten off by a pack of stray dogs or something.”
“Fuck. Fuck.” Tears of frustration are suddenly pricking at the back of Janus’ eyes and he forces them back through sheer willpower, absolutely refusing to cry in front of Remus. Just because he’s exhausted and injured and absolutely nothing has gone right tonight doesn’t mean he’s going to make it anyone else’s problem. Virgil is the one who needs attention. Janus needs to pull himself together and start being useful.
“Hey, it’s fine,” Remus says, peering into the jar again. “There’s enough here for Virgil.”
But not for me, Janus thinks, but he can’t say it, can’t reveal his own injury, not when the jar is so tiny and there’s so little ointment left and all he can remember is Virgil looking up at him that morning, dark gaze so pained and vulnerable even as he’d tried to hide it as Janus had promised that he’d find him some medicine.
No. Janus is selfish about many things, has had to be just in order to survive, but he’s never been able to be selfish when it comes to Virgil and Remus. He can’t be selfish about this.
Besides, there’s a chance he won’t even need the medicine; he’s suffered plenty of injuries before that have healed on their own, nevermind that little voice in the back of his head whispering that none of those wounds had been nearly as bad as this one.
So he dips his fingers back into the jar and carefully spreads the salve on Virgil’s wound, not stopping until the container is empty of even a speck of ointment and the medicine has been rubbed gently into every inch of angry red skin. Remus fusses over rebandaging the injury and tucking Virgil back in while Janus slips the empty jar into a basket of various other small, stolen items. They won’t be able to sell it, not right away, not with the Guard looking for anything connected to the apothecary break-in, but they might be able to trade it for something down the line.
“Did you run into any trouble while you were out?” Remus asks as he slumps back onto the floor by the fireplace, fiddling with the edge of the blankets.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Janus replies smoothly, and it’s not even a lie—he had handled it, had managed to evade being caught and had made it home all (or mostly, he supposes) in one piece. What did it matter that he’d met with the business end of a sword while he was out? Give it a few months and the injury would be just another scar on Janus’ skin, one more unspoken story of a bind he’d gotten himself out of with his superior wit and talent.
Either that or he would be dead of blood loss or infection and it wouldn’t be his problem anymore. One or the other.
Remus gives him a sidelong look like he doesn’t quite believe Janus’ lie, eyes narrowing and mouth opening to no doubt ask more prying questions, and Janus hurriedly cuts in before he can get the chance.
“Will you go see what you can find for breakfast? I know Ms. Fordham at the bakery has a soft spot for Virgil, but she might give you some day-old bread for a good price if you’re there early and offer to haul in the flour deliveries.”
Remus still has that look in his eye like he’s going to push the issue, a heavy silence falling between the two of them as he locks Janus into a staring contest, an unspoken battle of wills that Janus doubts he’s going to win in his current state. The only people more stubborn than him were his own gods-damned family.
Time to play dirty, then.
“I wouldn’t want Virgil to wake up hungry with nothing to eat,” he presses.
Remus stares at him for another long moment, those clever eyes searching Janus’ for any hint of something amiss, and Janus forces himself to hold his gaze with an impassive expression. Nothing’s wrong, he tries to communicate telepathically. Nothing’s wrong, just go get breakfast and everything will be okay. I absolutely am not about to pass out from blood loss and join Virgil on the floor.
He doubts he’s giving a convincing performance of being fine, but it must be just enough, because Remus finally huffs and gives in, heaving himself up off the ground and muttering something Janus sincerely doubts is flattering as he swipes his cloak off the hook by the door.
“Don’t use the bone saw without me,” he orders, which Janus interprets as make sure Virgil doesn’t take a turn for the worse.
“Pinky promise,” Janus swears, holding out his hand, and Remus takes a moment to latch his finger around Janus’ before disappearing out the door into the dull, pre-dawn light.
Janus counts to ten, then fifty, a hundred, making sure Remus is well and truly gone, before he allows himself to double over with a strangled groan, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his nails into his thigh as the full extent of his injury finally hits him.
Fuck, this hurt. If he wanted to know what it felt like to have tongues of fire licking at his ribs, he would have just asked Remus if he wanted to practice his arson skills.
He draws in a deep breath on instinct, trying to breathe through the pain if nothing else, and the agony surges, spearing through his chest into his muscles and tendons and veins and coiling around his heart until he can barely breathe, wrenching a sound suspiciously close to a whimper from his throat, and it’s all he can do to just exist in the pain for a moment.
Okay. No deep breaths, then.
Exhaustion is dragging at him even through the pain, weighing down his eyelids and leadening his bones now that the adrenaline of being chased and tending to Virgil is wearing off, and he wants nothing more than to collapse right here on the ground next to Virgil and just sleep, slipping into sweet unconsciousness where he doesn’t have to worry about whether Virgil will get better or whether his own injury will become infected or whether the Guard will come crashing through the door at any moment to arrest all three of them.
But if he doesn’t tend to his wound before he falls into bed, he’s just going to end up in Virgil’s position in a few days when it gets infected, not to mention he’ll have to explain the bloodstains he’s leaving on the floor to Remus.
Actually, knowing Remus, he would be beyond delighted at the latter and eagerly demand to know where the blood was from, but Janus doesn’t trust his mental capacities at the moment to come up with any halfway believable lie.
“Lucky bastard,” he hisses at Virgil, who is still slumbering away pain-free and blissfully unaware of Janus’ predicament. He begins to inch himself across the floor to the table, taking tiny sips of air to try to calm the fire still battering his ribs. The world spins alarmingly around him as he uses the piece of furniture to claw himself upright, and he sways unsteadily on his feet once he gets there.
“Come on,” he mutters, some distant part of his mind whispering that he should really be alarmed that he’s devolved into talking to himself. “It’s just a little blood loss. How bad can it be?”
He keeps one hand on the wall for support as he makes his way past the curtain dividing the main living space from what serves as their bedroom. The main mattress has been moved into the other room next to the fireplace so they don’t freeze in their sleep in the colder months, but there’s a smaller bed here, salvaged off the street and put back together by Remus, and Janus eases himself onto it.
It’s a slow, agonizing process to get his shirt off, any movement or stretch pulling at his injury, and he has to stop more than once for the stars that dance in his vision, but he finally works his way free of the garment. A sharp breath hisses between his teeth as he cranes his neck down to examine the injury, nausea turning his stomach. It’s not a pretty sight, the dried blood flaking down his side disturbed by trails of fresh crimson still leaking from the wound, and Janus spits out a swear, then another, and another. If he’d known this was how things were going to go, he would have stolen everything he could carry from the apothecary instead of trying to keep a low profile by only taking one paltry jar of salve.
Next time—if he lives to see a next time—he’s taking the whole damn shelf of medicine, clinking jars be damned.
There’s a pitcher of water on the nightstand and he uses it and a rag to clean the injury as best he can, agony sparking up his spine whenever a drop of freezing water or the edge of the fabric gets too close to the jagged gash, but he forces himself to hurry, knowing Remus won’t be gone long. The bed is an absolute mess by the time he’s done, scarlet water settling into stains on the sheets, but that’s a problem for future Janus. He has bigger worries at the moment than laundry.
Between the ice-cold water and the chill in the air he’s shivering now, and he’s quick to dry off as best he can before moving on to bandaging. Their stockpile of nice bandages is almost depleted and Janus isn’t willing to take the few remaining in case Virgil needs them, so he opts for their homemade bandages instead, which is a generous term for it, considering that they’re fashioned from scraps of fabric too worn out to function as clothes anymore, but Janus isn’t in any position to be picky. As long as it stops the bleeding, it’ll do.
The pain is at least becoming familiar, if not exactly pleasant, as he winds the long, spiraling strips tightly around his ribs, even as his stomach churns at the thought that so much blood that is supposed to be inside his body is very much not. Just beet juice, he tells himself, not above lying to himself if it means not passing out on the bedroom floor. Just beet juice on your hands and the bandages and the bed, nothing more.
Almost done. He shoves his torn and bloodstained shirt under the mattress out of sight of curious eyes and forces himself up to grab another one from the pile in the corner, very nearly finding himself on the ground from the way the world tilts violently around him as he staggers upright. He’s panting with pain and exertion by the time he finally manages to get the blasted thing on, but the sense of relief that washes over him once he does is immediate. His secret is safe for now, at least. No one else needed to worry about him.
The bed is almost irresistibly tempting, but he stumbles his way back into the main room, collapsing heavily on the floor next to Virgil to sit as a guard until Remus gets back.
“You heard nothing,” he tells the other man as he scuffs at the half-dried bloodstains on the floorboards with his boot, smearing them into less incriminating streaks. “Everything is fine.”
Virgil doesn’t deign to respond beyond drooling onto his own arm, and Janus groans, tipping his head back against the wall as his eyelids drag closed of their own volition. He can’t sleep, not yet, not until Remus returns, but maybe he’ll just rest his eyes for a moment, just a few seconds…
He wakes with a heavy groan in his chest, the pain in his ribs fiercely unrelenting, and he curls in on himself instinctively, the phantom feel of a sword biting into his ribs entirely too real. Fuck, he’d really been hoping that whole apothecary debacle had been nothing more than a strikingly vivid nightmare. Apparently not.
“Nice guard job you’re doing there, Jan.”
He squints one eye open, glaring at Remus where he’s sprawled on the floor on the other side of Virgil.
“Good thing I wasn’t planning on doing anything nefarious. I could have killed both of you and you were so out of it you would’ve just floated right into the light.”
Janus scowls at him, nowhere near the mood to joke about anyone dying. The possibility hit just a little too close to home for comfort at the moment.
“Here,” Remus says, entirely unaffected by Janus’ look, offering him a slice of bread. “You were right about Ms. Fordham.”
Of course he was. Janus is always right.
He nibbles through the bread while Remus rambles on about a mishap with one of the flour bags, his stomach still roiling even though he’s ravenous. He realizes halfway through that Virgil is frighteningly still, but when he scrambles to check he realizes it’s because the other man is sleeping peacefully for the first time in days.
Last night had been worth it, then, no matter that Janus can’t breathe too deeply or move too suddenly without feeling like a knife is being twisted into his side. Janus was more than willing to be collateral damage if it meant Virgil healing.
Remus leaves before long, off in search of any other odd jobs he can do for a few coins to keep them fed, and Janus spends the afternoon on the floor, dozing on and off and trying to coax some broth down Virgil’s throat. The other wakes that evening, in pain but coherent, and Janus helps him slowly eat a real meal while Remus carefully washes and rebandages his leg.
“How kind of you to finally rejoin the waking world,” Janus tells the younger man as he checks Remus’ progress for the third time in as many minutes, making sure he’s not winding the bandages too tightly. “I’ve so enjoyed pulling your weight around here while you indulged in a little nap, you know.”
“You could use a nap,” Virgil mutters snippily. “Although I doubt any amount of beauty sleep could fix your face.”
It’s hardly a devastating response, especially given that Janus’ face is undeniably flawless if he does say so himself, but a coil of tension unwinds in his gut at the retort. If Virgil can roll his eyes and keep up a bit of banter, he must be on the mend.
That’s the important thing, nevermind that Janus’ own injury is only getting more painful, the untreated wound a recipe for disaster. Virgil is okay, and that’s all that matters. As for himself, all he can do is wait and hope things get better.
---
Fancy starting the taglist for this fic? Let me know!
ID: [a digital drawing featuring Logan standing in front of a cemetery fence at night with a lot of fog, he's wearing a black turtle neck with a black greyish coat, he's standing straight looking over the gravestones below him like he's looking for something.]
Summary: Pictures and the occasional story from his mother. That's all Logan had ever had of his father. Just one little photo album, and painful memories confessed to him in the dark, it wasn't much, but it meant everything to him.
His father hadn't wanted Logan. His mother had said that he took one look at Logan and left. Had there really been something so off putting about him that one glance was all it took to drive his father away?
Logan hadn't even done anything. All it took to make his father leave was just him existing apparently.
So, why the hell was he standing outside Sanders' house? Was he seriously going to ask his father why he didn't want Logan? Was he trying to prove himself to Patton, that he really was good enough and that Patton had missed out? Or maybe prove to himself that his father was shitty and that's why he didn't want Logan…
In any matter, Logan wasn't going to turn back now. This was it.
Knock knock
Warnings: cursing, past alcoholism, like five f-words (probably a new record for the minimum in my fics /j)
Universe: a human au
Perspective/main character: Logan
Side/secondary characters: Patton, Janus
Appear: Remus, Roman, Virgil, female oc (Logan's mother), Thomas
Mentioned: Emile Picani
Romantic relationship: established Moceit
Platonic relationships: Logan & everyone
Word Count: 9,277
Link to my collection of TSS fanworks
This is for the @sandersidesbigbang's event
Find the adorable artwork by @badkatart here and the really cute art by @thecrowslullaby here!
Thanks @aplacesofaraway for beta reading!
-
Logan knew he didn't want him, he'd known since he was a little child when he'd asked his mother why he didn't have a father like most of the other children. Logan had been devastated to find out that his father hadn't wanted him, but the question of why… that had haunted him.
Why didn't he want Logan? His mother had said that he took one look at Logan and left. Had there really been something so off putting about him that one glance was all it took to drive his father away?
Had it been Logan's blue eyes? Doubtful since he'd gotten those from his father. Was it his dark hair? It's true that neither of his parents had hair as dark as his, instead, he got his dark locks from his maternal grandmother, but surely it couldn't have been because of such a superficial reason as that.
Logan hadn't even done anything. All it took to make his father leave was just him existing, apparently.
But why? What were his exact thoughts when he left?
There was only one way Logan would be able to know, and that was to ask his father himself.
Logan sighed, mentally shaking himself as he looked up to the house he was now standing in front of.
It was a rather nice house, Logan couldn't help but think, with its blue panel siding and white trim. It was on the large side, had two stories, and yellow shutters. The multicoloured flowers were well tended to and the spacious yard was surrounded by a white picket fence. It looked like the perfect family home.
Logan took a deep breath and opened the wide gate. Closing it behind himself, he walked up the path to the white door.
He clutched the small photo album closer to his chest with his left hand and, curling his right, he raised his fist to knock. It just floated above the wood. He took another deep breath but still hesitated.
Was this it?
Logan quickly knocked twice before he could figuratively get cold feet.
Was he actually about to meet his—
The door swung open before Logan could finish the thought. A man dressed in mostly black, and a bit overdressed for a gentle spring day such as this one with his bowler hat, yellow gloves, and caplet, answered the door.
"Yes?"
Logan opened his mouth to answer but shut it again when no sound came out.
The tall man stared at Logan expectedly, dark brown and light brown —almost yellow— eyes seeming to look into Logan's very core. Which was ridiculous, that wasn't even scientifically possible.
The man looked at Logan for another moment before raising an eyebrow.
"Well? You've been staring at my house for a few minutes now. Can I help you with something, child?"
Logan blinked a few times before his brain finally caught up. "Ah, yes, actually, I believe you can." He pushed his glasses farther up his nose. "I'm looking for… Patton Sanders?"
The man's eyebrow only raised farther at that. "And may I ask why you are looking for him?"
Logan was now hugging the album with both arms. "Ah, so you do know him, which means I have the correct address. Excellent. And yes, you may ask that."
The man continued to stare at Logan —was this going to be a recurring thing?— before sighing softly. "Why are you looking for Patton?"
"Well… I have some… information I would like to—"
Another man, whose face Logan had all but memorized from the album, appeared behind the first man's shoulder.
"Who's at the door, honey?" Patton asked the first man.
"I don't know, the kid's looking for you though."
Patton turned to Logan. "Oh, hello! Can I help you with something, kiddo?"
"Um…" Logan cleared his throat. "I hope so. I have some informa—"
"Papa!" A boy about seven ran up to Patton before announcing, "Remus bit me!"
The first man sighed. "I'll take care of it," He said to Patton before calling into the house, "Remus? Why'd you bite your brother?" He led the boy back into the house where Logan could hear Remus arguing farther into the house.
"Sorry about that. Now, what were you saying, kiddo?"
"Well, my mother is Cindy M—"
A teenager came up behind Patton, his purple hair almost completely covering his eyes. "Yo, Pat, why's the Wi-fi not working?" He tapped something on his phone and frowned.
Patton sent an apologetic look to Logan as he told the teen, "I don't know. Ask your dad, sweetie."
"Okay." He looked up from his phone. "Oh, shit, did I interrupt? Sorry."
"Virgil, lang—"
The teen, Virgil, raised an eyebrow and Logan could really see the resemblance between him and the first man who'd answered the door.
Patton sighed. "I know, I know. I— you're alright, maybe see if your dad needs help with the twins though?"
Virgil glanced at Logan again before nodding. "Yeah, alright. I can ask him about the Wi-fi after we get the twins to stop fighting then." He gave a two-fingered salute before disappearing back into the house.
"I'm so sorry about that, but that's everyone so hopefully we won't get interrupted again. What was that about your mom?"
He didn't belong here. There was no way Logan belonged here with this warm, emotional family. They were obviously tight-knit and it's not like Logan was particularly special or useful. And what did he even expect to find? For this man, his… his… for Patton to welcome Logan with open arms?
If he didn't want Logan as a baby, then why would he ever want him now? Especially after seeing how boring, awkward, and socially inept he was.
What a fool Logan had been.
"Uh… kiddo? Are you selling something? ...You don't have to be nervous. Just tell me your spiel… Do kids these days even know what a spiel is?"
Logan went to take a breath but realised he couldn't, which only made it harder to breathe as he panicked.
"Woah, it's alright! Just take a deep breath. You're okay, just take your time."
Logan did his best to do what Patton instructed, even if only to not waste any more of his time.
"Apologies for the inconvenience, I shall be on my— um, my way now."
"You don't have to leave! You haven't even told me your name or why you were looking for me."
"Er, well… my name is Logan."
"Aww, Logan, what a nice name. That's what I would've named a kid if I'd have gotten to name one."
"I— wait, really?"
"Yes, really!" Patton smiled softly. "So, what was that about your mom… I think you said her name was Cin…dy. Um, s— Cindy who?"
"Cindy Ann Miller."
"Oh… and your name is…"
"Logan Sanders-Miller."
"Oh. Oh, geez."
Logan took a few steps back as Patton stepped out onto the porch. Patton shut the door behind himself and sat down on a white bench.
"So you're… Cindy's your mom?"
"She is my biological mother, yes."
"Wow, I— I almost can't believe she even remembered what my favourite baby name was. It's been… wait, how old are you?"
"Twelve, sir."
"You don't need to call me sir. I mean, you're my… my…” He paused. "Why now though? Why didn't she just— why now?"
Logan blinked in surprise. "Did she not tell you of my existence?"
"No, she didn't. I— I would've been in your life if she had. I promise, Logan."
"Oh, I didn't know that she never… she'd said that you… that you didn't want me."
Tears welled up in Patton's eyes, making guilt stab at Logan's chest.
"That couldn't be further from the truth, Logan. It's true that I most likely wasn't ready for parenthood at that time, but I would've learned. I would've learned from, but also for you. I would've been there for you."
"I… I see. That's…"
Patton wiped his eyes and Logan was once again reminded of how out-of-place he was.
"Should I go?"
Patton looked up in surprise. "What? I— no! I mean, if you have anywhere you need to be, then of course. But…" Patton let out a weird laugh. "Sorry, I'm sure I look a mess right now. It's just… a lot to process. Um… oh, does Cindy know you're here?"
"Yes, she found and gave me your address."
"Okay… yeah, okay. That's good." Patton wiped away the last few tears. "Well, that wasn't a very polite welcome on my part!" Patton attempted to joke. He didn't succeed.
"It was adequate in my opinion. You have been far kinder than necessary and asked why I —seemingly randomly— showed up on your doorstep. You could have told me to leave at any point but you didn't, instead, you listened to everything I had to say."
"Aw, thanks, Logan, but that's really the least I could do. I've… geez, I've missed so much. I really do want to be there for you though, I want to get to know you. As long as that's alright with you and your mom of course."
"I… I believe so. She did give me your address and said I could visit if I wanted to."
"I'm not really sure how to put this, but… do you still want to?" Patton looked at Logan with hesitation and… hope?
"Yes, I still want to."
The reaction was immediate, Patton's face figuratively lighting up. "That's great. I… I really am gonna try, Logan. I promise."
"...You want to try?"
"Yes, I do."
"Oh… well… then I shall try as well."
Patton smiled gently at Logan. "Alright. Sounds good— better than good, in fact!"
"Better than good," Logan echoed.
"Hey, it's a Saturday so I know you won't have school, would you like to come inside and meet everyone?"
"Oh…"
"You don't have to, of course! I don't wanna overwhelm you after all. Just giving you the option."
"Ah, well, if it's alright, perhaps some other time? …If there is another time."
"That's just fine! And of course there'll be another ti— I mean, if you want there to be another time. Sorry, I guess I didn't even consider that you might not… I mean, I completely understand if you resent me and decide at any point that you'd rather not see me anymore."
"Oh, that's… when I said 'if there is another time', I meant if you still wanted to meet again after today."
"Oh, I do as long as you do! Why wouldn't I?"
"Well, technically I can think of a few reasons, but mostly I just didn't want to assume. Not everyone wants a random child in their life."
"Yeah, I suppose, but that's not me." Patton huffed lightly. "If anything I love random children in my life, you're the fourth one so far! My husband, Janus, had a son long before we met, and we both adopted the twins a few years ago."
"Ah, I see. What's one more, then?"
"Exactly! …That didn't quite sound right. I'd still want you in my life even if I didn't have Virgil and my sons. I was just trying to say that I'm not new to children rather suddenly appearing."
"Oh…" Logan's chest twisted with some emotion that he couldn't quite place.
"And besides," Patton continued, "You're not just a random child, you're my random child!"
"But that doesn't— wait, was that a Kung Fu Panda reference?"
Logan couldn't help but feel amazed at how quickly Patton had accepted him. Sure, it might not last long if Logan messed it up —as he did with most things—, but still, Patton hadn't even known Logan for thirty minutes, and was already calling Logan his child.
"Sure was! The twins really like that movie so I know quite a lot of the dialogue."
"Ah, I see."
There was a small lull in the conversation before Patton changed the subject with, "So… would you want to go to the park?"
"...I'm twelve."
"Uh, okay… I don't see what— Oh, I didn't mean on the playground necessarily! There's a nice walking trail, plenty of benches, and even an ice cream stand."
"Mm, that sounds pleasant… I'm allergic to dairy though."
"Oh, sorry, kiddo. 'Fraid you get that from me."
Logan stared at Patton incredulously. "You were going to take me to an ice cream stand, despite being allergic to dairy yourself?"
"...Yes. I— I don't always make the best decisions when it comes to dairy, okay? I mean, my favourite food is mac 'n' cheese."
"You… that's unfortunate."
"Oh, definitely. I don't let it stop me though."
"I have only heard legends of people who eat the food they're allergic to."
"Legends?"
"I… thought it sounded cool. Apologies, I shall refrain from—"
"No, you're fine, Logan! I was just wondering what legends had people eating their allergy in it, that's all."
"Ah, none to my knowledge. The closest I can think of would be the Norse myth in which Balder had a dream that he was going to die, so his mother Frigg made all the plants, trees, and animals promise to never hurt Balder, but she forgot to ask mistletoe. The gods assumed that Balder was invincible and often used him as a target for knife-throwing and archery. One day they were all playing darts, and Loki, having learned from Frigg that Balder wasn't immune to mistletoe, made a dart from the plant and pretended to help guide the blind god Höd's hand. But under Loki's supposed assistance, Höd struck his brother, Balder, piercing his heart and killing him.
"Although Balder wasn't allergic to mistletoe in that case, it was just the only plant that could hurt him, and then Loki was being mischievous, which makes sense as he's the god of mischief." Logan paused, realising that he'd rambled on for longer than he'd intended. "Ah, apologies, that was a rather long story with very little relevance."
"You're fine! I enjoyed listening! It's been quite a while since I heard that story anyway, and I can see how your mind made the connection."
"Oh, okay… well, thank you for listening."
"Of course, Logan. Anytime."
Logan frowned a bit. "We got quite off topic."
Patton laughed. "So we did. But we can continue to get off topic together as we walk the park's walking trail if you want. The trail start is only a few blocks away."
"Alright… have you ever heard about the story where Thor dressed as Freyja to get Mjölnir back?"
"Ooh, that sounds vaguely familiar, but I don't remember most of it. Wanna tell it to me?"
Logan felt himself get even more excited. "Yes, I'd like that."
-
The day had gone so much better than Logan had expected, more than he'd ever dared to hope. Not only did Patton not hate him, but they'd spent most of the afternoon talking. Their conversation had been a bit awkward at times —as Logan's conversations with people other than his mother often were, albeit usually more awkward than it had been with Patton; at least Patton and Logan had some things in common—, but Logan was quite pleased with how the day had gone.
Logan had rather expected to be going home in tears, rather than a small smile he'd found on his face.
After he got home, Logan heated some leftovers for supper and finished the last of his math homework, quite glad that there weren't any bottles from the prior night to clean up —just a beer can that was already in the recycling—, and that his mother hadn't been too hungover to go and work.
Feeling a bit unsure what to do until his mother got home from her evening job, he watched some TV, his conversations with Patton still in the back of his mind.
He especially couldn't stop thinking about when Patton had said that he hadn't known that Logan existed, how his mother had said, on multiple occasions, that his father had taken one look at Logan and left, that he didn't want him.
But Patton did want Logan —or at least thought he did at the moment, he easily might not after getting to know Logan and seeing how worthless he was— and he hadn't known of Logan's existence… and since Logan was quite certain that Patton was telling the truth, that could only mean one thing: his mother had lied.
It meant that his mother had been lying to him for a frighteningly long amount of time.
What felt like both too soon and not soon enough, Logan's mother came home, looking tired as always.
After she grabbed something small to eat, she laid down on the couch, Logan hovering near one of the couch's arms.
"...I saw him today," Logan finally said.
His mother looked up at him. "Saw who? …Your father?"
"Yes, I met him, his husband, Janus, and briefly two out of three of their children. Although the eldest, Virgil, was Janus' son, I assume from a previous relationship, who didn't seem to consider Patton his father."
"Huh, I see. Did it go well?"
"It went… a lot better than expected." Logan felt himself begin to get a little mad. "Especially considering the fact that Patton didn't know of my existence and was actually really nice."
His mother winced. "Oh."
More anger rose in Logan. "Yes. 'Oh'. I— Why didn't you tell Patton that I existed? And why did you tell me that he knew and just didn't want me!?"
"I… don't know."
"Why didn't you just tell me?" Logan was aware that tears were streaming down his cheeks but he couldn't find it in him to wipe them away.
"Logan, sometimes people just… make mistakes. And sometimes they don't realise until it's too late to fix them, at least directly, so they just leave the mistake to fester and it just gets worse over time but they certainly don't want to deal with it now." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "It just got worse, and the longer I waited, the worse I knew it would make everyone feel. So, I just never said anything… not till I finally, finally just bit the bullet and found his address."
She finally stopped staring at the ceiling and looked over at Logan. "I fucked up. I know I did, and I know I should've done it a long time ago, but at least you have your dad now. I know it's my fault that you didn't for so, so long, but you do now. I'm… Logan, I'm really sick, and it took… it took almost dying to realise that I was just trying to keep you to myself, and that's really not fair to you. I'm… I'm so sorry I didn't let you two meet sooner, and it's okay if you don't forgive me for a while, or ever, but I'm trying to fix it now. I'm trying, Logan."
"I—" Logan scrubbed underneath his eyes. "I know, Mom. I know you're trying. It— it really hurt, it hurt not to have him, but you… you did the right thing, and now I do have him. Him and you. That's all I ever wanted…” He paused. "I don't think I can forgive you today… but soon. I just need some time."
Logan's mother smiled softly. "I know, and I understand."
"I'm… I'm glad to have you back, Mom. Yo— you weren't really there for quite a while."
"Yeah, I know, and I am so, so sorry. But I promise that I'm not going to drink again. Your… your dad found me on Facebook earlier while I was at work and we messaged each other, and God bless him, he's actually paying for me to go to therapy with his cousin, Dr. Picani. I'm…" She paused to dab at her eyes with her handkerchief. "I'm gonna get better. I'm gonna get out of this depressive funk and I'm going to fucking stop this stupid alcoholism.
"It's not going to be easy, or linear, but I'm going to do it. I will."
"I know you will. If anyone could do it, it'd be you."
"Thank you for always having my back, little Lo. I don't know what I'd do without you. I— come here, baby." She raised her frail arms up and Logan quickly ducked between them, the both of them wrapping their arms around the other.
After a few moments they pulled away, Logan still kneeling beside his mother. "I… he invited me to come back soon."
"I know."
"I… I want to see him again. I'd like to get to know Patton and his family more."
"Okay, you know I support you either way, baby, so if you want to see him— all of them, then you should spend more time with them."
Logan wasn't sure what to say, so he just asked, "Do you want to watch a movie?"
His mother smiled. "Only if we pop some popcorn."
-
Logan sighed as he looked at Patton and Janus' white door. The parallel between now and the first time that he'd met Patton was making him hesitate, which was only making the moment feel even more familiar.
Logan startled slightly as Janus opened the door.
Janus raised an eyebrow. "Well, now isn't this déjà vu?" He rhetorically asked, the sarcastic tone that his voice usually took ever-present, despite the statement itself holding no actual sarcasm.
"Ah, apologies, I was just…"
"Gathering yourself for a moment?"
"Yes."
"Hmm… well, come in."
"Thank you." Logan went inside and Janus shut the door behind them.
"Logan's here, love," Janus called across the living room and Patton looked up from what he was fixing in the kitchen to across the kitchen bar.
"Hi! You made it!" Patton waved.
A golden retriever mutt came up to Logan, sniffed his pant leg, and began wagging their tail at him, so he patted the dog on the head a few times.
"I did." Logan remembered what his mother had said years ago about how people liked to have their house complimented. "Um, I like how your house's common area is an open plan. It's very… spacious."
"Aww, thanks, Logan. I really like that about our house too." His eyebrows furrowed a bit. "Where's your mom?"
"Ah, yes, she sends her regards and apologies for being absent, but she had to cover for a co-worker at work. It was rather sudden so we didn't have proper time to forewarn you."
"Oh, okay. Well, that's fine! That's too bad that she couldn't come, but I'm glad you're here anyway."
Patton was very generous with his compliments, Logan noted, a bit unsure as to why Patton's praise made him feel so happy. Well, Logan had been idolizing him since he was young, so perhaps it was a bit more obvious than he'd originally thought. He'd been wishing for a father figure since he was little after all.
"And I am glad to be here."
"If you'll excuse me for a moment," Janus said, "I'll go let everyone know you're here."
Janus went upstairs and since Logan wasn't sure what to do, he petted the dog some more.
"Oh! That's Biscuit, by the way!"
"Ah, they're a very good dog."
"Isn't she!"
Janus came down the stairs only a minute later, the twins in tow.
"Oh! It's the Boy Scout!" The twin dressed in a prince costume exclaimed.
"No! He's a zombie," The other twin —his name was Remus, if Logan recalled correctly— tried to correct, pointing his finger at Logan, the black and green sparkly cuff bouncing as he did so.
Janus clicked his tongue. "Remus, what did I tell you about pointing at people?"
Remus sighed deeply. "Not to because it's rude."
"And what do you say, dear?"
"Sorry, Logan."
"It's alright."
"Oh, also maybe don't call people zombies," Janus added.
Logan couldn't help but think what an odd family they were.
"...Are you a zombie?" Remus asked.
"No, I'm not a zombie, or a Boy Scout for that matter."
"Aww," The little prince whined. "Then who are you?"
"Logan."
He snorted. "Okay, smart—"
"Ass!" Remus finished.
"Boys," Patton scolded. "Roman, don't let Remus take the fall for your curse word, and Remus, we don't curse in this house!"
"You said 'fuck' just yesterday, Papa. You know, when you accidentally spilled milk everywhere?"
Patton sighed. "Okay yes, I did. But I shouldn't've said that."
"Also you're an adult, which means that if you wanted to curse, you could," Janus added.
"Yeah," Remus agreed. "Like Virgil, although he's not an adult… wait, why is Virgil allowed to cuss and we're not? We're only like… nine years younger."
"Well, my age minimum for children cursing is lower than your Papa's, so we compromised, and if you don't swear loudly in public, you can curse when you turn fifteen."
"Aww, but that's so far away!"
"Yes, it is."
"Oh, speaking of Virgil, where is he?" Patton asked.
"Still upstairs. He said that he'd be down in a minute."
"Oh, okay!"
"...So who are you really?" Roman asked.
"And don't say 'Logan' again!" Remus added.
"...Logan Sanders-Miller."
"Aww. You did it again."
Janus sighed. "Don't you remember when I told you last night that Patton had a son who was coming over for dinner today?"
The twins shook their heads.
"Did you tell them while they were watching TV?" Patton asked.
"Yes— oh, I see what happened. I always forget that they won't hear me if the TV's on."
"Are you really Papa's son?" Remus asked Logan.
"Um, yes, I am his biological son."
Roman ran into the kitchen where Patton was still cooking. "Papa?"
"Yeah, Ro?"
"Why'd you hide Logan from us?"
"Oh, sweetie, I didn't hide Logan from y'all! His mother had never told me that he'd been born so I had no idea he existed."
"Oh, that's sad… so kinda like how you and Dad didn't know that me and Remus existed until you found us at the adoption place? Well, except that Logan's your bioluh… biological son and me and Remus aren't."
"Yeah, that's exactly right!"
"Remus and I," Janus corrected. "I am trying to teach our sons some semblance of proper grammar after all."
…
Supper went fairly well, it was a bit awkward at times and Logan had a strong feeling that Virgil didn't like him, but the twins' lively conversation soon easily broke up any awkwardness.
"I can help clean up," Logan offered after they'd finished eating.
"Aw, that's okay! I've got it. Besides, you're our guest!"
"Oh, alright…"
"Um, but if you want, you could go watch the twins in the living room. They'll probably get out some toys which is fine, just make sure they don't physically hurt each other. Oh, but if that's too much pressure, I can come watch them, I'm just helping Janus clean up right now."
"That's alright, I can watch them." Logan walked deeper into the living room and around the couch, noticing Virgil scowling at him from the dining table as he went.
Seriously, why did Virgil dislike him so much?
"Logan!" Remus exclaimed as he knocked his plastic dinosaur into Roman's.
"Come play with us!" Roman whacked his pteranodon into Remus' triceratops, which fell out of Remus' hand, causing Roman to cheer.
"Aw, man!" Remus pouted. "Now how am I supposed to defeat the dino rebels!"
Logan sat down on the floor next to the twins. "Hmm, perhaps the Ankylosaurus could help?"
"Oh, yeah! But I'm dead, so you'll have to play him, okay?"
"Alright, I can do that."
"Oh no!" Roman cried dramatically. "Another leader of the Dinosaur Imperial Magistrate —DIM for short— has arisen!"
Logan played with the twins, using the plastic dinosaurs to fight for a minute or two when Virgil came into the living room and sat on the couch, gesturing for Logan to come sit next to him.
After Logan excused himself from the battle, Remus and Roman continuing on in his absence, he got up and perched himself on the edge of the couch.
"Yes?"
"You don't have to play with them, you know,"
"Oh, I know, but I actually enjoy playing with people younger than me."
"I just— I can take care of them by myself." Virgil huffed. "I know that Patton doesn't think that, but I can! I can be responsible!"
"Alright. I've never said otherwise—"
"You can't just come in here and suddenly be a part of this family."
"O… kay? I didn't—"
"I don't know what you think you're doing, just waltzing in here like you've always been here but you haven't! You can't just uproot our family because suddenly you want a dad."
"I understand that I haven't always been here but I really am not trying to uproot anything. I'm not trying to tear your family apart, I just want to earn my place in it."
"And what makes you think you will?!" Virgil exclaimed, his voice dangerously low, but still quiet so as not to let the twins playing on the other side of the living room or the adults in the kitchen overhear.
"I… I don't know," Logan admitted. "When I first met Patton, I didn't even originally come to try and join the family he'd built for himself. I just wanted to know why he hadn't wanted me as a baby, only to find out that my mother had lied and he had no idea I existed. I'm only here trying to earn a place in Patton's life because he's invited me into it."
"I—" Virgil's breaths were shorter than they should have been. "W— well stop trying! Who said you deserve to try! You shouldn't expect so much so soon!" Virgil's voice was steadily rising, so much so that the twins looked up from where they were playing.
"Are you okay, Virgie?" Roman asked.
"Yeah, you seem mad," Remus agreed.
"Everything's fine," Virgil gritted out, "I'm just talking to Logan."
"Okay, just remember Papa's saying: 'you say things bad when you're mad' !"
"Whatever, just go play."
The twins both frowned.
"Um, okay," Remus said, worry still evident in his tone. He looked at Virgil for a moment longer before he hesitantly went back to what seemed to be an odd game that involved both chess and checker pieces.
Logan took a deep breath. Virgil's words struck a little too close to home. "I apologize if it seems like I've been trying to barge in where I do not belong, but if I could ju—"
"Just stop it already. I don't wanna talk about this anymore."
"I— alright."
"I just…" Virgil took some more heavy breaths. "I just don't understand how you can come in here and act like you belong and like everyone's totally chill with that! Patton just met you the other day, there's no way that he could like you already! He's just being polite! And you're too naïve to fuckin' see that.
"No one even wants you here!" Virgil stopped, looking quite surprised at his outburst… at least he did until Logan's vision blurred with unshed tears. Logan couldn't see Virgil's face well enough to tell after that.
Logan stood up. "Well then, I apologize for overstaying my welcome. I can see that I'm not wanted so… so I'll be going then. Goodbye."
"Wait, I didn't mean t—"
"Didn't you though?" Logan snapped as he made his way around the couch and to the front door.
Patton came out of the kitchen, Janus right behind him, and asked, "Oh, Logan, are you leaving so soon?"
Logan opened the door.
"Wait, Logan—"
Logan shut the door behind himself with a bit more force than necessary, just able to hear Virgil faintly say, "Shit, I think I made him cry."
Tears streamed down Logan's face the entire walk home.
-
Logan had never been one to outwardly display his emotions, but he also tried not to just push them down. Which was why he'd felt so utterly embarrassed when he couldn't stop crying the day prior.
It was one thing for Logan to cry in the privacy of his own room, and another thing entirely to cry in front of Patton and his family. Sure, someone might've seen him cry as he was walking home, but that was nothing in comparison to how shameful he felt that Patton had to have seen him like that.
So much for trying to prove that he was good enough. He'd certainly messed that up beyond repair as there was no way that Patton would want him now.
Logan sighed, and forcing himself to get out of bed, he walked to the living room.
Logan's mother looked up from the TV and frowned, using the remote to turn it off.
"Hey, baby. What's wrong? Did something happen last night?"
"...I made a complete fool of myself."
She frowned. "Hmm, well come here. Let's talk it out."
Logan sat next to her. "Okay."
"So? What happened?"
"Well, Virgil said that no one wanted me there, among other things, and I kind of panicked, so I left… but everyone saw that I was crying before I could leave. It… Newton, I was so embarrassed. Still am, actually."
"Oh, honey! I'm so sorry."
Logan sniffed. "He was right though. I did kind of just barge in there and act like I was entitled to Patton and his family."
"Really?" His mother asked skeptically. "Because that doesn't sound like you at all."
"I— well… Virgil informed me that Patton didn't actually want me there, that he was just being polite and I was too naïve to see that," Logan spat as tears began to well up in his eyes.
"Hmm, okay. I don't know what Virgil's problem is, but I just really don't think any of that's true. I've been messaging your dad a bit ever since you met him. He seemed nothing but excited that you were in his life… well, and guilty for not being there for you sooner, but I've already told him that it's not his fault. I was the one to keep it from him after all…
"Anyway, point is, your dad absolutely wants you there. I think you'd know if he was just being nice. If there's two things I remember about him from college, it's how kind he was and how his passive aggression was not super veiled. I really do think that he cares about you, and while I don't know why Virgil said all those things, I think you should talk to the both them about it. Maybe it's not as bad as you think."
A few tears rolled down Logan's cheeks. "...Are you sure?"
His mother patted his shoulder. "Quite sure."
"Okay… when do you think I sh—"
There were a few light knocks on the front door, making Logan startle as he quickly tried to wipe away the few fallen tears.
Logan's mother got up and answered the door. "Hello, what can I do for you two?"
Logan couldn't hear what the other people had said, but his mother quickly ushered Patton and Virgil in with a, "Please, come in. I'm sure there's much to talk about."
Logan was just about to stand up and hide in his room when Patton said, "Wait, Logan. This'll only take a minute, but there's something that Virgil wanted to say."
Logan hesitated and almost left anyway, but Virgil seemed so genuinely worried that Logan stayed.
"Alright. Just for a minute."
"Okay…" Virgil nodded, still looking extremely nervous but almost a bit relieved. He stood in front of the couch, still keeping some distance so as to not crowd Logan.
Patton and Logan's mother went into the kitchen, most likely to make some tea, and Patton gave Logan a brief reassuring smile.
"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for snapping at you yesterday," Virgil began. "I didn't mean anything I said, especially that no one wanted you there… you don't have to earn your place in this family by the way. This doesn't make it right, but I was jealous because I thought that Patton liked you more than me. But that's not true, he doesn't play favourites like that."
"...Oh. I see."
"I'm afraid that I was kinda projecting my feelings of inadequacy onto you, like, everything I said to you was what I was feeling towards Pat. Um, but he and I had an entire conversation about it and I'm doing a lot better now, but still, I'm really sorry you had to get caught up in all that shit. In all of my shit."
"I… did not enjoy it, that's for sure, but as long as you learn from your mistake and try your best not to do it again…"
"I promise. From now on if I have a problem with someone, I'll talk to them about it instead of snapping at someone else."
"Good. In that case, I forgive you."
Virgil's shoulders slumped in relief. "Okay, thanks, Logan."
"You're welcome, Virgil. And thank you for apologising."
"No problem, it's the least I could do after I was so mean to you." Virgil shifted on his feet. There was a pause before he asked, "Hey, wanna go see what our parents are talking about in the kitchen?"
"Sure."
Logan's mother laughed at something Patton had said as Logan and Virgil walked into the kitchen.
"Oh, hey, kids. You get everything sorted out?" Patton asked, a bit pointedly at Virgil.
"Yeah, I apologized and he forgave me."
"Good, I'm glad."
"Um, hey… Pops?" Virgil seemed a bit hesitant with the nickname, and Logan deduced that he must have just started using the fatherly nickname after his emotional conversation with Patton.
Patton seemed to be holding back a beaming smile as he answered, "Yes, Virge?"
"Can we take Logan and his mom out to get burgers for lunch?"
"Oh, that's a great idea! Er, if they're not busy, that is."
Logan's mother hummed. "Well, I don't have work until three, and it's a Saturday, so it's not like Logan has school."
"Great! Do y'all like Sonic?"
Logan felt himself get excited. "Sonic's burgers are superior, especially when you consider the facts that you can get tater tots with it and that they have cherry limeades, as well as root beer. Which are my two favourite drink options."
"You're absolutely right," Virgil agreed. "They really are superior."
"Did you know that the first location opened near Shawnee, Oklahoma and was originally called the Top Hat Drive-In? In 1959 when Troy Smith and his business partner, Charlie Pappe looked into getting it copyrighted, but they discovered that it already was copyrighted. So they named the franchise Sonic, with the slogan 'Service With the Speed of Sound' ."
"Oh, yeah," Virgil agreed. "I think I read an article about that. They named it Sonic because the jets at Tinker Air Force Base in Oklahoma city were breaking the sound barrier, right?"
"Yes, that's correct." Logan couldn't help but give Virgil a small smile, who returned it easily.
Logan had never met someone who liked Sonic anywhere near as much as him, and looked forward to sharing more facts with Virgil.
In the end, Logan had never had so much fun doing something so normal as getting hamburgers. Although he was beginning to suspect that nothing was normal around the Sanders' family… and he was right.
-
Logan loved the science fair, it was one of his favourite things about school, and even if his mother usually had to work a lot, she always made time for Logan's science fair, and this year was no different.
…At least in that aspect, it was no different, it was, however, definitely different in another way, namely, Patton and his whole family came.
Janus and Virgil were each holding the hand of one of the twins who were trying to pull every which way to see everything, bringing up the rear was someone that Logan didn't know, but looked rather like Patton —a brother or cousin, maybe?— in a floral print shirt, and leading the whole procession was Patton, a large tote bag on one shoulder, and a big water bottle in his other hand.
Patton waved, the tote bag almost slipping, but he managed to catch it just in time, laughing at himself a bit. "Hey, Logan! I brought snacks!"
"...To a science fair?"
"Yeah! I thought we might get hungry after."
"Ah, that's true. I hadn't thought of that. Good idea."
"Thank you!" Patton beamed. "Oh! This is my brother, Thomas." Patton gestured with his lips at the person Logan didn't recognize.
"What's up?" Thomas greeted.
"I'm at the science fair."
Thomas snorted. "That's fair."
Logan squinted suspiciously. "Was that a pun?"
"Sure was!"
"...I can certainly see the relation."
Thomas and Patton laughed.
Janus turned to Logan from where he'd been talking to his children. "Ah, before I forget, good luck with your presentation."
"Thank you, Janus."
"You're going to do awesome!" Roman assured.
"Or fall flat on your face," Remus gleefully added.
Logan pursed his lips. "Well, I certainly hope I don't fall on my face."
"Nah," Virgil said. "You won't… probably."
"Confident as ever," Janus teased sarcastically. "Well, we should probably go take our seats, but we wanted to wish you luck first."
"Thank you, I appreciate that."
Janus took the bag and water bottle from Patton.
"It was nice meeting you," Thomas said.
"Nice to meet you as well."
"Break a leg!" Remus said sweetly as they walked towards the seats, and somehow, Logan knew that he only half meant it in the 'perform well' way.
"So, where's your mom?" Patton asked.
"Here! I'm here." Logan's mother smiled nervously as she tried to catch her breath. "Patton, it's, um…"
"Good to see you again, Cindy."
Her shoulders sagged slightly in relief. "Yes. It is."
Patton was about to say something in reply but a woman with a dyed blonde bob haircut walked up to them, an overly fake smile on her face. "Hi! I'm Sheryl."
"Hi, Sheryl, I'm Patton!" Patton shook her hand. "And this is my son, Logan, and his mom, Cindy."
"Aww, don't you two make a cute couple."
Logan sighed a little louder than he meant to.
Patton's smile quickly turned awkward as he explained, "Oh, we're not a couple anymore, but my husband and our other children are here."
"Oh." Sheryl just awkwardly walked off and spotted someone she knew. "Susan! How's the kids?"
Logan mentally groaned. "Apologies. That entire interaction was my fault."
"What?" Patton asked. "Nonsense!"
"You wouldn't even be here if I didn't have a science fair, or had met you… or even existed."
"Oh, hey, no. Logan, that wasn't your fault. And I'm really glad you exist, especially because I got to meet you. She was just being a bit of a jerk—
"But it's nothing I couldn't handle, and absolutely not your fault."
"...Okay."
"Okay."
"If she says anything else, let me know." Logan's mother pursed her lips. "I'm on the board, and I can assure you that we don't take too kindly to homophobia. Veiled or not."
"Thanks, I appreciate that. I'll certainly let you know."
Logan's mother checked her watch before she looked between Patton and Logan and nodded to herself. "Well, I'm gonna sit down. It starts in ten minutes but you two should have time."
"Should have time for what?" Patton asked.
"Logan wants to ask you something." She smiled knowingly and walked away.
Logan sighed.
His mother was a bit too perceptive at times.
"What was it you wanted to ask me about?"
"Oh… well, I was just wondering why… why you introduced me as your son. I mean, obviously I'm your biological son but…"
"Oh! I introduced you as my son because you are my son. Ah, but if that makes you uncomforta—"
"No! Er, no. I'm not uncomfortable. I just… am not clear what yo—" Logan cringed at himself. "Nevermind."
"No! Go ahead. What is it?"
"I… I'm not really sure how to explain."
"Oh, hmm, that's tough… maybe I can guess? I kinda think I know where this is going. Oh, but I can totally just give you time if you wanna think it out for yourself."
"No, that's… I'd— I mean, it would probably be easiest if you just said what you thought I'm trying to say."
"Okay. So, what I think you're maybe wondering is what… oh wow, this is hard. Okay, you're my biological son, but you're also just… my son, okay?"
"Oh, I— okay."
"Is that okay?"
"Definitely. I… yes."
"Okay. And um, well, you definitely don't have to… but I'm okay with you know, fatherly nicknames, but again, only if you want! Not trying to rush anything of course, or make you feel like you have to ever even. So… um, so yeah."
Tears began to prick at the corner of Logan's eyes.
He really hadn't expected this to happen when he'd woken up today. He'd of course known that Patton was kind and caring, but to know that he already thought of Logan as his son… that it was okay for Logan to call him father… it was all too much, albeit in a good way.
"Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry! You don't have to—"
"No, no. It's alright. These, uh, these are happy tears… Father." Despite Patton having just said it was okay, Logan still warily looked at him to see his reaction.
Patton broke out in a big grin. "Awww! Oh my goodness, abjfshdjsjsjdh!"
"Wh— what?"
"Aah, sorry. I'm just, shvshshsh."
"...Are you having a stroke? The signs are—"
"No, it's okay. I'm not having a stroke. Just so happy I'm at a loss for words!"
"Oh, I see."
"...Can I hug you?"
"Yeah, I'd like that."
Patton wrapped his arms around Logan. "Thank you for being my son."
Logan buried his face into Patton's shoulder before mumbling, "And thank you for being my father."
Logan was almost late for his presentation due to his happy tears, but he found that it was very, very worth it.
-
Logan hadn't quite been sure what to think when Patton invited him to come along with the other Sanders to the beach. For one, he hated swimming, but also, if there was anything Logan hated more than swimming, it was sand. And that was without even mentioning the ride home in wet swim clothes.
So no, Logan wasn't looking forward to going... but Patton had invited him, and he did enjoy the Sanders' company.
When Patton's sky-blue minivan pulled up, Logan got up from the window seat, grabbed his bag, and, after locking the apartment door behind himself, walked down the stairs and to the van.
Patton rolled down the passenger window and leaned around Janus to say, "Hey, Logan! You got everything you need?"
"Yes, I have sunscreen, a pair of clothes, goggles, a towel, and the key to get back into my apartment."
"Great! Hop in!" Patton pressed a button and the side door slid open.
…
The drive there mostly consisted of the twins asking 'are we there yet' just to annoy everyone; bickering with each other; Virgil, Logan, and Janus trying to stop them from said bickering; and Patton jamming out to oldies as he drove.
Due to the twins' bickering and the fact that Logan had never been out this way to the ocean before, the drive felt longer than it actually was, but soon enough they were all unloading from the van and heading down to the beach.
It was a rather warm June day, and the sun sparkled across the water brightly as it was unhindered by any clouds.
Logan could feel the apprehension building in himself the closer they got to the water, but took a deep breath to try and get it to settle. Patton wanted him to go swimming, so swimming he would go.
After setting up their stuff and putting on sunscreen, they all got in the water. Remus and Roman instantly began racing, Virgil acting as the referee, while Patton and Janus got in the water at a more sedate pace, already wading in up to their knees.
Logan was still standing quite firmly in the sand.
Patton turned around to look at Logan and furrowed his eyebrows. "Logan? What's wrong?"
"I just… am not particularly fond of swimming, that's all." Logan hesitantly walked to where the water lapped at his ankles, feeling a bit silly as Patton was already in to his waist.
"Aww, I'm sorry. We would've picked a different activity if we'd known that."
"No, that's alright. If I really don't want to swim, I can sit in a beach chair."
"Still. We wanna do stuff that you'll like too. How about next time you can pick where we go?"
"Really?"
"Sure! Just name the place and we'll go soon."
"Hm… how about the planetarium?"
"Sounds great!"
Logan nodded and mentally braced himself as he walked farther into the water. It wasn't quite as cold as he'd thought, but was still pleasantly cool in the heat of the day.
Logan paused with a small frown once he'd gotten in past his bellybutton and sniffed the air. Since this was the ocean and not a pool, there was no chlorine to bother Logan. He got in to his shoulders and pushed his feet off the sand, swimming in place to stay afloat, finally level with Patton instead of trailing behind.
"This isn't as bad as I'd thought."
"Awe, I'm glad! I personally love swimming."
"Mm, I'd… well, not forgotten that there wasn't any chlorine, of course, but it's not that bad. And sure, it smells a bit like salt, but considering it's the ocean, that makes sense." The water began to lap at Logan's chin. "I really had expected it to be so much wors—" The water brushed past his lips and he wrinkled his nose as he spat out the few drops of water that'd made it into his mouth. "Eurgh! Why does it taste so salty?!"
Patton laughed gently. "You knew the ocean was salty, Lo!"
"Well, of course I did, Father, but I didn't know it was going to be this salty! Ugh, it's horrendous."
Patton giggled. "Aww, sorry, kiddo."
…
The saltwater had tasted terrible, but all in all, swimming had gone much better than Logan had expected. The lack of chlorine had really made a big difference.
After they had gotten out of the water for lunch, almost everyone made sand castles while Janus and Logan sat on a blanket under the shade of a big umbrella.
"So, how are you enjoying the family so far?" Janus asked, startling a small laugh out of Logan.
"What?"
"Well, it's been a few months. Surely you have formed some sort of opinion by now."
"Oh, I have. I just wasn't expecting the question." Logan paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. "I really like it here… not the beach— well, it is nice here, but what I meant was that I really like being with everyone."
"Good, I'm glad. Everyone likes that you're here too."
"...Everyone?"
Janus smiled like he was in on a joke. Perhaps he was. "Everyone."
"...I'm not intruding?"
"Not at all. I daresay that there would be many protests if you tried to cut us off. Patton is quite the protective papa bear. Actually, if you want to be specific, I believe there'd be five protests. Six if you count your mother."
"Oh… six?"
"Yes, six. Did you really think I'm completely apathetic towards you?"
"Well, I didn't know, and… well, I didn't want to assume."
Janus hummed. "Now you don't have to."
"True." Logan paused, a bit of anxiety building in his gut as he tried to think of how to word what he wanted to say. "Thank you for letting me into your family," Logan rushed out. "You didn't have to do that, but you did anyway, and I— I really appreciate it."
"I'm… not even quite sure what to say to that. I don't feel as though it was letting you as in 'I gave you permission', but more like you just naturally became a part of our family."
Logan hummed. "I see. Well, regardless, I'm still grateful for all of you."
"And us you," Janus said, voice full of sincerity.
They sat there in peaceful silence for several minutes until Patton came up.
"Janus! The kids say it's your turn to play with them."
Janus sighed faux-dramatically. "Well, if they insist…" He got up and went to where the others were throwing sand around.
"Hi!" Patton exclaimed as he sat down next to Logan.
"Hello, Father. How was the sand?"
"Sandy dandy!"
Logan exhaled through his nose, if only to keep himself from laughing. "That's… a very you response."
Patton laughed. "You betcha!" He looked out at the ocean for a few moments before saying, "Hey, Logan?"
"Yes?"
Patton looked back at Logan. "I'm glad you came to find me a few months ago."
"Mm, me too."
"I… I know I said this at your science fair last month, but you're family." Patton laughed a little. "I mean, of course you're family, but I just… I wanted to say it again. And that… that I really care about you, Logan."
"I really care about you too… Papa?" Logan hadn't meant it to sound like a question but he was a little unsure if Patton would think it was okay so it did anyway.
"Awwwww, c'mere!"
Patton scooted closer, Logan copying him, and Patton put an arm around Logan's shoulders, who immediately rested his head on Patton's shoulder.
"Love you… Lo-son."
"...Was that a pun in front of my emotional conversation?"
Patton laughed again, much louder this time. "I can tell you've been hanging out with Virgil a lot."
Logan smiled. "Maybe a bit."
"Hey!" Remus exclaimed from a bit farther down the beach. "Come look at what we made!"
Patton and Logan exchanged glances as Logan sat up properly again before they got up and went to where the twins and Virgil were gathered.
"Where's Jan—" Logan cut himself off with a startled laugh as he could only see Janus' head, his body under the sand which had been shaped to look like a snake.
"See!" Roman beamed. "He's a sea snake."
"You good under there, dear?" Patton asked amusedly, obviously trying not to giggle.
Janus pouted a bit, but still said, "Yes, I'm fine, just covered in sand."
"I like the details in the scales! Very fancy."
"Yeah," Virgil agreed. "Re and Ro did most of them."
Logan tilted his head to the side. "What species were you modeling this after?"
Roman thought about it for a moment. "Uh… sea snake?"
Virgil snorted. "We didn't have one in mind. Just used our imagination."
"Ah, I see."
"Come build sandcastles with us, Logan!" Roman exclaimed more than asked as he smiled up at Logan.
Logan couldn't help but smile back. "Alright. What time period and place were you thinking of?"
"Ooh," Remus cut in, "Which ones have the most gore?"
"Well…"
Everything was so very different from only a few months prior, but it'd only changed for the better.
Logan had always had his mother, but his family grew bigger than he'd ever thought possible.
Home really wasn't about the house, but rather about the people; and between Logan's mother, Patton, Janus, Virgil, Remus, and Roman, Logan had an abundance of home.
And there truly was no place like home.
~The End~
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