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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 months

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How Romantic

what if a side did get forgotten? they got pushed to the side enough (maybe by the others being in a relationship, maybe by other conflicts) and the mindscape started to remove the "unnecessary" influence – doteddestroyer

Read on Ao3

Warnings: fading/ducking out, but he's fine

Pairings: none, so gen

Word Count: 4777

Romanticism emphasized the individual, the subjective, the irrational, the imaginative, the personal, the spontaneous, the emotional, the visionary, and the transcendental. When Roman is forgotten as a part of Creativity, well, what use does the Imagination have for a prince when it can simply put the Romantic into its work in other ways? Remus has a few things to say about that.

It shouldn’t be all that surprising, really, to think that if a Mind forgets something, it will no longer manifest. Or rather, to not think of it. Or, one could imagine the consequences of not imagining something.

Listen, Roman’s already mostly out the door, he doesn’t have enough cognitive function left to think his way in and out of all the contradictions that arise from the things he says.

The basic principle is this: if a thing is no longer relevant in the Mindscape, which is a consequence of people not thinking about it, then it ceases to exist. The Mindscape doesn’t put the energy into making it a thing. Think of it like a video game. The game only renders the part of the role that the player is currently in, there’s no use for it to render the secret dungeon buried in the third level of the side quest that hardly anyone knows about. It’s more efficient if it doesn’t and in the incredibly slim chance that the player does end up there, then the game can render it and it’ll be fine and it’ll de-load as soon as they leave to go back to the main game.

Got it?

Great.

So, that’s where Roman is right now. In his room, waiting to be de-loaded. He has his Prince costume on, because that’s the version of him that’s going to fade last, his room is all made up in his signature red: red curtains, red comforter, red pillowcases, red notebook laid on his desk. He’s even got his sword out for a final sharpening—no, that’s not a dirty joke, he’s not that Creativity, he’s literally just taking care of the katana—as he waits for the telltale shudder of the Mindscape forgetting something.

He hums absentmindedly to himself as the whetstone sings against the blade. Really, it’s surprising it’s taking this long. Well, not really. Forgetting things is a slow process, it’s not like you can snap your fingers and poof, something’s gone. At the very least, it has to be long enough that something else has taken its place in your mind, and then when you look, you can’t even tell that something was ever missing from it.

Remus has that handled. And Roman will fight anyone who says that’s just because he’s intrusive thoughts, or whatever, no, Remus is memorable all on his own, thank you very much. He’s far cleverer than they all give him credit. And Roman wishes he was half as quick as Remus.

Again, not an innuendo. That’s not his thing, remember?

And Remus isn’t bound by the same creative limits he is! He can run wild—literally, if they let him—and come up with the most incredible things that open up all sorts of new possibilities for what they could do, what they can talk about, what sorts of things they could explore. Isn’t that so much better than just regurgitating the same story idea, over and over and over, doesn’t that get exhausting? How can you imagine something new when all you’re able to do is ricochet around the same blank boring box?

His hand shudders a little as it moves back up the blade. He never liked creative blocks.

And how nice would it be to have a Creativity that wasn’t bound to the fragility of the Ego? How much better, how much easier would it be if you didn’t have to worry about getting bruised and hurt every single time you got feedback on something you made? Making things is hard, you know, it’s vulnerable and terrifying and mortifying especially when you’re showing the end product to someone—and even if you aren’t! Even if it sits on a shelf in your room or a folder on your computer and it never, ever sees the light of day, that’s still scary! You’ve made something, it exists now because of you, and now someone could look at it and see you through it and—and—

Well. You get the idea.

Roman sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He puts the katana away and places the whetstone back in its little box. As he goes to pick it up, it falls through his hands and hits the floor with a low thud.

Ah. So it is starting after all.

He leaves the box on the floor and goes back to the bed. He lies down, not sinking very much at all into his red covers. He folds his hands on his chest and stares up at the ceiling.

It makes sense, after all, that the parts of him the others don’t know about—or have already forgotten about—are going first. The whetstone. They know he has a sword. They probably don’t know how he takes care of it. His bed is red, and he’s the color red, so it’s still here. His room, his prince costume, his desk, all things he needs to be Creativity, or at least half of Creativity, so it will probably go last too.

He lets his head loll to the side, staring at his red notebook. bits of grey begin to enter his vision, the red notebook standing out like a sore thumb. He wonders if any of the things written on its pages would still be there if he looked.

He did love that notebook. It was his friend when no one else would be his friend. It was there for him when it wasn’t okay for him to have someone there for him, when he’d messed up too much to deserve comfort from anyone else, he would go to the notebook. Mainly because the notebook didn’t have a choice.

He’s written a small thing the other day about that, actually. He wonders if it’s still there. If he closes his eyes, maybe he can remember it.

Why don’t you talk to me?; you’re unkind to me; why don’t you talk to me?; I tried and you turned it into a lecture; why don’t you talk to me?; you make fun of me when I try to express how I’m feeling; why don’t you talk to me?; I tried to ask you for help and you turned it into a game of who could mock me the most until I ran away; why don’t you talk to me?; because you were still laughing when I ran away crying; why don’t you talk to me?; because you made me feel guilty for needing help; why don’t you talk to me?; because you made me feel ashamed for wanting support and comfort; why don’t you talk to me?; I don’t want to be in trouble; why don’t you talk to me?; I want to be hurt and upset and have that be okay because I got hurt by something; why don’t you talk to me?; the loneliest time in the world is right before you tell someone else what you did wrong because you know they won’t want to comfort you anymore; why don’t you talk to me?; it’s cold here; why don’t you talk to me?; I just want to be alone now; why don’t you talk to me?; I learned my lesson already; why don’t you talk to me?; what would I have to say?; why don’t you talk to me?; tell me the right words to use so you’ll actually care about me; why don’t you talk to me?; I don’t want to; why don’t you talk to me?; I don’t trust you anymore; why don’t you talk to me?; why would I talk to you?

Ah, that’s it.

His melodrama will probably be the last thing to go too.

He sighs, rubbing his cheek half-heartedly against the pillow in search of some meager comfort. He hasn’t been forgotten enough that the pain that lingers in his chest and hands has gone away, though he’s not sure how. He doesn’t think anyone knows about that—except maybe Remus.

Oh, Remus.

Roman’s chest burns and he gasps, sudden tears coming to the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t want to leave his brother, not after everything they’ve been through, not after all the work they’ve done to get back to the place they’re at now, after all this time, not when they’re finally brothers again. He sniffles, going to wipe his nose and his hands just start to ache. He curls up on the bed, around his pained hands, weeping for himself, for his brother, for Creativity.

Enough of his mind remains to put the pieces together and realize oh, of course. In forgetting everything else, I have been left with the things that I am at my core.

Pain in his chest and hands and an undying love for his brother.

A more complete Creativity might’ve called it Romantic.

***

Thomas sighs. To say that most of these meetings go well would be a lie, but this meeting is not going well.

“Look, all I’m saying is that—“

“Well, that’s your problem right there, you’ve been doing an awful lot of ‘saying’ and not a lot of ‘listening.’”

“Your sass, as delightful as it is, kiddo, is not helpful right now.”

“Oh, really? And here I thought it was the most pivotal thing at the moment.”

“No, it’s not, because it’s taking valuable time from—“

“Sarcasm, Patton. That was sarcasm.”

“And see! That’s another thing—“

“Oh, for the love of Archimedes…”

Yeah. not going well. Thomas pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out what this conversation started with and how exactly they ended up here.

Right, okay.

He’d gotten a text from a friend about a thing they wanted to go do. The problem was, the thing cost money to do and the friend hadn’t said anything about paying for Thomas to come. His finances weren’t awful but it wasn’t like he had the amount of money to just…spare. Logan had suggested they ask and confirm who would be paying the entrance fee, Virgil had worried that it was rude to ask something like that, Janus had proposed a number of ways they could ‘surreptitiously’ ask about it, and Patton had worried about going at all if they were going to be guilt-tripped into it or if the friend had just assumed Thomas would be fine paying for it.

It had…developed from there.

“Look,” Logan says, “there is a very simple way to ask whether or not Thomas is to pay for his own entrance fee. We simply text or call them back and ask.”

“But what if they freak out about it? That’s a weird thing to ask!”

“How is it a weird thing to ask?”

“They might think we’re trying to freeload, or that we’re going to ask them to pay us back, or what if they think that we’re broke?”

“Hey!” Patton puts his hands on his hips. “You are not broken, kiddo, and I won’t stand for you saying that you are!”

“…not what I meant, but thanks, I guess.”

Janus rolls his eyes. “Well, if we’re this stressed out about a simple invitation to something we want to go to anyway, perhaps we should reconsider whether we want to be friends with them at all.”

“Now that’s a bit of an overreaction.”

“Sarcastic! I was being sarcastic!’

Yeah. That’s about where they are now. Out of sheer desperation, if nothing else, he glances over at Remus. Remus’s arms are hanging over the TV, swinging his hands as he grins at the chaos unfolding. He catches Thomas’s gaze and tilts his head in a silent question. Thomas gestures weakly around and Remus shrugs.

“I voted we just go without paying, but apparently that’s illegal or something.”

“Yeah, buddy, that’s…we’re not gonna do that.”

Remus shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

“Alright, look,” Thomas says, raising his voice enough to speak over the current argument about—you know what, he’s not even gonna ask— “this isn’t going anywhere. If we’re going to figure out what we are actually going to do, we need to think about this differently.”

“It’s a simple issue, Thomas.”

“And yet, we’ve been talking for close to an hour and we’ve made zero progress.” Thomas rubs his forehead. “Look, where’s Roman?”

There’s a pause.

“Roman?” Patton frowns. "Why would we need Roman?”

“Well, you know, he’s…also Creativty? Maybe he can help us think of something we’re not thinking of?”

“Remus is also Creativity,” Logan says, indicating Remus who gives a cheery little wave. “His suggestions have been…well, we’ve ruled them out.”

“That’s because you guys are no fun.”

“Yeah, but Roman is a different Creativity. Doesn’t it make sense that what he’d come up with would be different.”

Logan adjusts his glasses. “I suppose so.”

“Why didn’t he show up today, does anyone know?”

“Perhaps he is working on another video idea.”

“Maybe he got lost in the Imagination? Happens to me all the time.”

“Maybe he slept in. God knows he harps on about his ‘beauty sleep’ enough.”

“Janus? Remus? What about you two?”

“Why would I bother to keep track of anything Roman does?” Thomas narrows his eyes at him and Janus sighs, rolling his eyes. “No, I don’t know where he is or why he didn’t bother to show up, nor do I much care.”

“Janus!”

“What?”

Patton puts his hands on his hips. “Don’t be so dismissive, how would you like it if someone said that about you?”

”I don’t know, Virgil, how would I like it?”

“Hey, leave me out of this, I don’t have anything to do with whatever the heck this is.”

Thomas just barely suppresses a deep sigh and looks over at Remus. Remus, however, is not relishing in the argument breaking out between the three of them. Instead, he’s staring off into the corner, frowning hard.

“Remus? You okay, buddy?”

“Why can’t I remember the last time I saw Roman?”

Thomas frowns. That manages to get the attention of the others—somehow—and a hush falls over the room as they all think about it.

“Well, it can’t have been that long ago,” Patton says, “we saw him for movie night on the, um…when we watched the…”

”No, it was more recent than that,” Logan says, “he had come down to breakfast to make us those muffins.”

“Right, right, that’s right. When, uh, when was that?”

“Well, it was…”

Logan trails off into silence. Remus looks around at all of them. “Think about it: when was the last time any of us actually saw Roman? Can any of us actually remember?”

Thomas watches with muted horror as all of them slowly shake their heads.

“Fuck.”

“Language, kiddo,” Patton scolds, “anyway, I’m sure this is just a big misunderstanding.”

“That’s right,” Logan says, “after all, it’s hardly the first time Roman has been absent.”

“Yeah, but he normally tells someone where he’s going,” Virgil mutters, “especially if it’s gonna be for a while.”

“Okay, the last time I definitely saw Ro was three weeks ago when we fed Ollie.”

“He helped me put up new cat posters in my room. I think it was…it was before we did that full moon thing, so that was a month ago?”

“He—jeez, I think I passed him in the hallway at, like, stupid o’clock around a week ago, but I was…pretty out of it.”

“We had a brief meeting about the upcoming script last week. That’s the last time I remember seeing him for certain.”

“Don’t look at me,” Thomas protests when all eyes turn in his direction, “I don’t see him outside of these meetings and the last time we had one of those was like, two months ago.”

“Janny? What about you?”

Janus sighs, idly examining one of the seams on the tip of his finger. “I think you’re all being overdramatic.”

“Roman is missing, Janus,” Logan says with a bit of bite to his words, “I don’t think ‘overdramatic’ is an accurate description.”

“Yeah, especially since none of us can remember the last time we saw him.”

“Oh, please,” he sighs, “it’s Roman. Do you really think something so horrible could happen to him that he’d disappear and he wouldn’t tell anyone about it?”

A beat.

“…shit.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Roman.”

”Alright,” Virgil says, getting up, “Thomas, don’t respond yet. They’ll think you’re working or something. Remus, go check the Imagination.”

“On it!”

“Logan, go see if he’s in the library, J, check the Dark Side’s living room.” The two of them nod and sink out. “Pat?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re gonna go to his room and see if he’s in there.”

“Okay.” Patton glances at Thomas. “Can you…can you feel anything?”

Thomas frowns, putting a hand on his chest. He moves it to the other side.

“Are you checking for your pulse or something?”

“No, normally when I think about Roman, like I’m gonna summon him or something, there’s this, like, warmth? It’s like something in my chest that just—it’s hard to explain.” He moves his hand back. “But I can’t…I can’t feel it right now.”

“Oh, that’s probably not good.”

”We should go.”

“Hey, if it ever feels like you can summon him again? Do it, then get the rest of us back.”

Thomas nods, watching as Virgil grabs Patton and they sink out. He sits slowly on the couch, staring into the middle distance as he keeps moving his hand around his chest. It’s strange; he normally doesn’t even have to put a hand to himself to feel where Roman is. He wasn’t lying before, it really is like this warmth that just lives in his chest, like a second heart almost, one that doesn’t really beat so much as just exist there. Like it’s reminding him that he’s, you know, a human with feelings and wants and desires and that’s okay.

Oh, Roman, buddy, where are you?

***

Remus steps into the Imagination and his knees almost buckle immediately.

Bluish-black storm clouds gather and bruise a dark grey sky overlooking a massive craggy cliff rising impossibly high. Vividly green grass and terribly purple flowers bloom deep inside the crevices of the rocks lining the path in front of him, the smell of fresh rain hanging so heavy that it seems it would fall any moment. In the distance he can see evergreens, smell them even though they must be miles away, and another mountain rising behind them with thin, wispy clouds stretching red fingers over its peak. The ground is warm under him, as though he were standing over an active volcano, but he can see and hear and smell the river that flows by just to the side of him, and the breeze that comes from it is cool and damp. His fingers twitch. So does his nose. He takes a deep, deep breath and takes a step forward.

With every step he takes, the more an uncertain feeling takes root at the base of his stomach. it’s too sweet to be panic, too frenzied to be melancholy, and too lonely to be wonder. He keeps walking. The Imagination is always impossibly vivid, impossibly beautiful, but something about this feels…different.

His chest feels tight.

As he moves past a larger collection of boulders, he rounds the corner as he spots a tree. A massive tree, one where the branches curl outwards and upwards like color diffusing into clear water. Some part of Remus—a part that sounds a lot like Logan, if he’s being honest—mutters how a tree like this couldn’t exist, not in these mountains, not with its roots in these rocks. And yet, here it grows all the same. He moves toward it, the tightness in his chest growing with every step.

At the base of the tree lies the hilt of a katana.

“R-Ro?” Remus collapses in front of the tree, shaking hands touching the trunk. The bark flakes away under his fingers and the smallest glimmers of gold shine up. “Roro…oh, Ro, what happened?”

“Remus? Remus!”

“Whoa, what the hell is this place?”

Remus can’t tear his eyes away from the tree long enough to see them but he can hear the others rush up behind him. He just paws weakly at the trunk and Logan’s muffled gasp is all he needs to hear before he starts sobbing.

“Oh, no,” Logan mumbles, “Roman’s…something’s happened to Roman. He’s—Remus, has he Faded? Or is this something else?”

“He’s been Forgotten,” Remus sobs, “the—the Imagination put him back where—where he wasn’t Roman anymore and he’s—he’s—“

Another sob leaves his throat.

“I want my brother back!”

“But we remember him,” Patton says, “we—we do, he’s Roman, we want him back, why—why is he here still?”

“I don’t think he knows we’re here,” Virgil says, glancing around, “I think he’s—I think he’s here sort of, but not in the Roman we know.”

“So what do we do? How do we get him back?”

Remus is still touching the tree. The clouds overhead start to rumble with distant thunder. He presses himself up against it, hugging it tightly.

“Come back, Ro-bro,” he mumbles into the bark, “came back, I want you to come back.”

“Logan? What do we do?”

“There has to be a reason he’s manifesting like this, doesn’t there?” Logan turns around, looking at the mountains, the sky, the river, the rocks, the tree. “Nature, the natural world, he’s become a tree so some kind of growth? Reincarnation? Transcendence?”

“Maybe it has more to do with Roman?” Janus’s against the bark near Remus’s head. “Creativity? Ego? Romance?”

“Romance…Romance…Romance, of course, Roman’s Romance!”

“What about this seems particularly romantic to you?”

“That’s it, it’s not romantic, it’s Romantic. The Romantic movement, the whole—oh, Roman,” Logan says softly, resting his hands on the trunk too, “I’m sorry that you didn’t feel like you could talk to us.”

“How in the hell are you getting all of that from Roman being a tree?”

”The Romantic period was in reaction to the balance and calm of the Classical. Heightened emotion, the irrational, the subjective, all of these became key themes. It was far more important to preserve the spirit and individuality of the artist rather than any sort of adherence to strict rules or traditional procedures.” Logan’s hand runs over the bark. “As well as a focus on the inner struggles of the exceptional figure.”

“And Princey’s the exceptional figure?”

”In a manner of speaking.” Logan presses his other hand to the tree too. “Roman? Are you here?”

A breeze ruffles through the leaves.

“Was that him?” Patton rushes forward and touches the tree. “Roman? Roman, kiddo, are you there?”

Another low boom of distant thunder and it starts to rain.

“Quick, everyone touch the tree.” Everyone puts their hands on it. ‘Roman? Roman, can you feel that? We’re all here, we’re all right here.”

The thunder grows louder. They wait there with bated breath as the tree rustles in the breeze, until Janus, who hadn’t clutched down with the rest of them, hears a crackle from up in the clouds.

“Get back!”

They all fling themselves away just as lightning strikes the tree, the very top of it catching fire as the trunk splits down the middle. Jagged bits of wood just into the open air like fractured ribs. And there, in the center of the splitting trunk—

—is Roman.

“Ro!” Remus howls and dives forward, wrenching his brother’s body out of the tree and dragging him to lie on the flat stone. “Ro, wake up, wake up, you have to be okay, you have to be!”

“…Re?”

Remus sobs again, throwing his arms around Roman who looks up at them with quiet confusion.

“What’s going on?”

“You left,” Janus spits, “you vanished and we didn’t know where you were so we had to come look for you.”

“J,” Virgil says lowly, before crouching down, “you went missing, Roman. We couldn’t find you. Why, uh, why were you in a tree?”

Roman frowns. “I don’t know. I…I was in my room, and you were forgetting me—“

“What do you mean, we were forgetting you?”

Roman blinks. “You were forgetting me. You were going to Remus. Remus is the Creativity that’s helping more. You weren’t thinking about me.”

“That’s not true,” Patton mumbles, horrified, even as Roman gestures around with a wordless if it wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here, “we…we love you, Roman.”

Roman just shrugs. “Maybe.”

“What do you mean, ‘maybe?’” Janus splutters. “That’s not a thing you get to say maybe about, Roman.”

Roman doesn’t even flinch, just turns slightly so he can rest his head against Remus’s.

“You don’t even have anything to say for yourself?”

“Janus,” Logan says sharply, “that’s enough.”

”Roman disappears, he turns into a tree, he says we’re forgetting him and that we don’t love him, and we’re just supposed to accept it?” Janus throws his hands up. “How are you three so calm about this?”

“I’m not calm, but I’m not going to make this about me right now!”

“Janus,” Roman says softly and they instantly fall quiet, “you’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know how I became a tree. I didn’t mean to imply you guys had forgotten me entirely. I shouldn’t have said you don’t love me.”

Janus’s eyebrows raise in surprise. He huffs a little awkwardly and folds his arms. “Well. Good.”

”Are…we done now?”

“What? No, Princey, we’re not done, we—“ Virgil runs a hand through his hair— “you turned into a tree. After you vanished. How the hell are we—what do we do now?”

Roman shrugs.

Remus, who has been lying on top of Roman for this whole thing, feels one of the hands under him begin to meld with the stone. He draws back, alarmed, only for Roman’s fingers to come free and lace with his. He squints at Roman’s face, noticing the barely-there tremble of his lip, and whips around to face the other three.

“You three. Fingers. Ears. Song. Now.”

‘What?”

“Do it!”

It takes them a second but they begrudgingly put their fingers in their ears and start mumbling things to avoid listening. Remus glares at them for a moment longer before turning back to Roman.

‘Hey,” he whispers, “what’s wrong?”

Roman’s lip trembles again. “They’re still here,” he whispers back, “I just—I just want to hurt.”

‘What do you mean?”

“They’ll be mad at me for whatever’s going on, they’ll—I don’t want them to explain or tell me how what I’m doing is bad, or anything like that. I don’t want their—I don’t want their comfort,” Roman whispers, his voice getting thick, “I just want to be hurt by myself and have that be okay.”

“Of course that’s okay, Ro.”

“Because they did forget me. It’s not your fault or anything but they did and it hurts, Re—“

“I know, I know, shh, shh, hey, hey,” he says, “let’s do this: we need to go tell good old Thomathy that we found you, so let’s you and me go do that and then we can have our own cat pile wherever you want, okay? Just you and me. The others can you suck a tree branch.”

“Won’t they be mad?”

“Tell you what: you go to Thomas right now, I’ll deal with them, and then I’ll come after.”

“…I’m sorry I left again, Re.”

“Pshh. Water under the Kraken.”

***

Thomas shoots up from the couch as Roman rises up in his normal place.

“Roman! You’re okay!” He yes the scratches as bruises from the tree. ‘Well, mostly.”

Roman rubs the back of his head. “Yeah. I’m…sorry.”

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay, buddy. As long as you’re okay.”

Roman blinks. “Wait, really?”

‘Yeah, bud. You, uh…it looks like you’ve been through some stuff.”

“…that’s one way to put it.”

“Do you, uh talk about it?”

“Not really.”

‘Okay.”

“Wait, you’re sure?”

‘Yeah. It’s your business. I, uh, I’ll be here if you do want to?”

“Thanks, Thomas.”

“Of course, buddy. You’re great.” Thomas scratches the back of his head too. ‘I know we, uh, haven’t always been the best at saying stuff out loud to each other, that’s normally what the others do, but…you know I’d never replace you for anything, right?”

Roman smiles. He really, truly smiles. And for just a moment, the entire Mindscape fades away, leaving just the two of them standing in this one little room. A man and his Ego, smiling at each other.

The setting sun peeks in through the blinds and the room glows with a rich, bright red.

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#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #fic #roman angst #roman sanders #roman sanders angst #logan sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #virgil sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 2 years

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Mine Now, Little Prince

Prompt: i had a sudden idea for the 'come now, little prince' universe (you do not have to do this if you do not want to :D) roman trades himself back to the heroes (if you can even call them that) to get someone (one of the other sides) back from their clutches. now janus and remus have to go get him back and whoop some ass while they're at it (along with the other sides help ofc) - anon

are you accepting prompts? (feel free to disregard this if you aren't!) your hurt/comfort is legendary and I am a huge fan of your writing. I absolutely ADORED A Thin Line. abandonment + "we never actually forgot about you, it was just really poor planning" hurt/comfort and familial dark sides are just *chef's kiss* would you ever consider writing more hurt/comfort about one of the sides feeling abandoned/alone? maybe one of them gets lost in the dark side or subconscious and thinks the others have left them behind, or an AU where some of them are in foster care and they got split up? - doteddestroyer

Read on Ao3 Part 1 (this is part 4, an alternate ending)

Warnings: implied/referenced torture, mind control/brainwashing, PTSD, agoraphobia

Pairings: roceit, implied DLAMPR

Word Count: 4937

Cities are full of bright lights and shadows alike. Those that live in the light, the heroes, the 'good guys.' Those that live in the shadows, their grisly work only illuminated when the sun deigns to show its face again. Sometimes the shadows are too deep. Sometimes the spotlights are too much.

The Prince, Roman Prince, is the Golden Boy of the city. The newsreels, the cameras, the public adore him. But they don't see the winces when the bulbs go off right in his face, or whispers to be better, do better, perform better from the people that pull him aside after every daring adventure.

No one knows the name Janus, but they know his work. They don't shout, they whisper. They huddle together in the dark, searching for the light so as not to get caught in his coils.

But sometimes, when spotlights are too bright and shadows too flat, a little prince will make its way into the snake's den.

I’m going to unmake you here.

Stay here with me.

I want to keep you.

Roman lies awake, staring at the ceiling.

The Serpent is asleep next to him, and isn’t that one of the most surreal things. He looks over, catching sight of his sleeping face in the half-dark, and swallows.

He can hear their voices in his head.

Kill him. That’s an order.

I can’t. He’s—he’s been nice to me, I can’t.

You are weak for anyone who shows you the slightest kindness. It is your undoing. Kill him.

No. No, I won’t kill him. I can’t.

You are capable of fulfilling this task.

Without his permission, his hands start to twitch and he bites his lip until it bleeds.

“I’m not there,” he mutters under his breath, “I’m not there, I’m not there, I’m not there.”

Perhaps you require excess persuasion.

His eyes snap open again and he just manages to catch himself before bolting upright.

The others. The others are still there. The longer he stays gone the more they’ll be hurt.

He risks one more look at the Serpent.

He aches.

The Serpent has been kind. The Serpent has been gentle. He—he saw Remus again, he promised that he could stay, that he wouldn’t be hurt anymore, that he could be safe.

The lure of safety is like tar, dragging him down into the pits of hope and sinking him deeper and deeper. The bed, still sleep-warm, calls to him, the covers unwilling to slide off his shoulders as he slowly sits up. The stitches tug in his chest, the slight pain a sweet reminder of how soft the Serpent has been with him.

“It’s alright, now, little prince,” he hears distantly, “let me look after you.”

He wants. He wants.

And that’s why he has to leave.

You are not to want, they drilled into him, you are here to carry out orders.

“My life is not my own,” Roman repeats in a strangled whisper, “keep my hands off of it.”

He looks down at his hands. They lie there limply in the low light, so innocuous despite the great violence they’re capable of. He swallows as his wrists begin to tingle.

He took so many precautions when he came here that night. He ditched his suit, ditched the trackers, even carved the one out of his leg to ensure they couldn’t look for him. He wasn’t too optimistic about his chances of surviving that night, but he knew where he was going.

But as his wrists tingle, dread rises in his throat.

There’s never just one contingency plan. There will be others. He’s—they told him it was just in the suit but what if it isn’t? What if it’s in him, what if they made him as much of a machine for them to control as the suit was? What if they’re just waiting, biding their time, drawing out this little fantasy until they can yank the carpet from under him again?

What if they make him kill Remus?

Roman grits his teeth and starts to move.

I’m sorry, he thinks as he carefully slips from the bedroom, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

But he is not a valuable prize to be won. He is not worth the effort it would take to piece this broken shell back together. He is not worthy to be anything other than a footnote of failure in the Serpent’s history.

He doesn’t deserve to call Remus his brother.

He disarms the security with practiced hands, not slick with blood this time, and rearms it as soon as he’s through. He spares one last look at the closed door before taking a deep breath and heading out into the dark city.

He makes it about halfway before the tears start rolling down his cheeks.

-------------

Janus’s first mistake was assuming Roman was in the bathroom.

When he’d woken up alone in the bed, part of him had worried that the little prince was hurt, hiding somewhere because he didn’t believe that Janus was truly helping him, caring for him. He’d glanced around the closet and the side of the bed, and when he’d found nothing, guessed that Roman had to use the bathroom.

His security was still on, after all.

His second mistake was not calling Remus as soon as he realized Roman wasn’t in the bathroom.

Instead, he wastes five minutes tearing the apartment to pieces, hoping that somehow the little prince had wedged himself into a horrible hiding place and he could soften, gently scold him for scaring him as he pulled him out and tended to the wound in his chest.

But Roman is gone.

How dare he, the snake hisses as he whips out his phone, was it all a lie? Some great plot?

But no. Even as the thought crosses his mind, Janus knows it’s not true. The little prince couldn’t tell a lie to save his life, he wouldn’t be capable of faking something like that. He may be an excellent actor—a better one than Janus gave him credit for—but he isn’t that.

No, the little prince had left sometime last night and Janus doesn’t know why.

Just like he doesn’t know why Remus isn’t picking up the phone.

It comes perilously close to ringing out before Remus finally picks up. Janus opens his mouth to tear him apart when he hears what can only be a muffled sob coming from Remus’s end.

“I don’t know,” Remus’s voice comes again Janus’s heart clenches, “I don’t know where he went. He—he must’ve left between 2:30 and 2:50, but I don’t—“

“Here,” Janus interrupts swiftly, “now.”

The line clicks and Janus takes a deep breath.

Not now, he thinks as he slowly puts the apartment back to rights and pours himself a cup of tea, not on Remus.

This isn’t Remus’s fault. Certainly it was his job to maintain Janus’s security, but he’s learned not to underestimate his little prince and if he really wanted to leave…

And it’s obvious Remus feels bad enough about it as it is.

No, he will save this anger, hone it. And when he finds out what made Roman leave, he will use every bit of it to ensure nothing ever harms his little prince again.

Remus stumbles through the door not ten minutes later, falling to his knees and bowing his head.

“I can’t find him,” he whispers in that horrible, horrible voice, “I checked every record but they were scrubbed clean. We’ve ruled out the city pass and the underground, so there’s no guarantee he made it across the water, but—“

Remus chokes off as Janus uses his staff to carefully tilt his chin up.

Remus is a wreck. His hair is even more crazed than normal, his nose a bright red and his mouth trembling. His hands are fidgeting on his legs and his eyes are swollen, rimmed red, and still threatening to leak tears.

“I’m sorry,” he manages against the staff by his throat, “I’m sorry.”

Janus’s fingers twitch on the staff, keeping his expression inscrutable. He can think of a thousand different punishments for Remus, ones that would leave him a broken shell for daring to let Roman slip through his fingers. He can think of all the times Remus himself has inflicted those punishments, can see the way Remus’s shoulders go limp that he’s imagining the same thing.

But Janus is not the people who hurt Remus, and he never will be.

And as he looks at Remus, begging on his knees, he fights the urge to smile as a thought flickers across his mind.

They really are twins.

Remus gasps as the staff disappears and Janus sinks to his knees in front of him. A gloved hand tangles in the hair at the nape of his neck and Janus pulls him close.

“We will find him,” he promises in a low voice, “we will get him back and he will never disappear from us again.”

Remus stares at him, eyes wide, and the poor thing looks so much like Roman that Janus hisses, letting their foreheads rest together for a moment before he feels the pit of panic in Remus’s stomach turn to rage.

“Good,” he murmurs, “stay there.”

He pulls back, fixing Remus with a look.

“You know your brother better than anyone else,” he says firmly, “where did he go and why?”

“I’ve not known him for years.”

“That doesn’t change a thing.” Janus stares at him. “Where did he go and why, Remus?”

Remus furrows his brow, thinking hard. “The others.”

“Others?”

“The ones I told you about. If he’s gone anywhere, he’s gone back to them.”

Janus’s eyes widen. “But that means…”

“Yeah.” Remus’s expression darkens. “That means he’s gone back to them too.”

Oh, this stupid, noble, selfless little prince…

Of course. Of course. If there were others in danger, especially if they were in danger because Roman was gone, he’d’ve gone back for them.

Janus snarls and stands up, only belatedly realizing he’s still gripping Remus’s hair when he yanks him up too. He smooths his hand over his neck as an apology before he stalks to the window.

“Their location,” he says, voice already back under control, “did you find it?”

Remus straightens. “Yes. But it’s a wall of security from here to Sunday, there’s no way we’ll be able to slip through.”

Janus glances down at his wrist. There’s still a little bit of blood on the very end. Roman’s blood.

“The others,” he asks, “will they get sent out the same way Roman was?”

“Probably. Though they’ll want to brag that they have Roman again before too long.”

“They’ll need to wait for him to heal.” He shifts. “Can’t have their Golden Boy looking anything less than perfect.”

“But that means it’ll take a while.”

The certainty in Remus’s voice makes him turn. Something dark flashes across his expression.

“They’ll punish him,” he says in a low, almost resigned voice, “for not coming back and receiving help.”

Oh, will they now?

“And they’ll have used the others,” Remus continues, only slightly aware of the rage brewing beneath Janus’s skin, “if…if Roman’s still who I remember, they’ll…”

He swallows with difficulty.

“If Roman isn’t cooperating, the others are the ones who’ll get hurt first.”

“Then we need to find them. Quickly.”

Janus turns back to the window as Remus leaves. His hands tighten.

Somewhere out there, his little prince is in danger.

Get him back, the snake hisses as he stalks about the den, get him back, get him safe, then make those who took him pay.

-------------

“The parameters of your assignment were clear.”

“I understand.”

“You were not supposed to kill anyone.”

“I understand.”

“You disobeyed orders.”

“I disobeyed orders.”

“And so Logic, Stormcloud, and Heartbeat shall be punished.”

“What? No, no, I’m the one who messed up, why—“

“You do not question.”

“But I’m the one who screwed up! They had nothing to do with it! Don’t hurt them!”

“You do not question.”

“Stop! Stop it! Stop it, you’re hurting them! You’re—stop!”

“Every time you question, the levels will increase.”

“Stop!”

“Level increased.”

“No, no, you’re hurting them, you’re hurting them, stop, stop, stop—!”

“Level increased.”

“You’ll kill them!”

“We are fully aware of their limitations. Level increased.”

“Stop, stop—look, I’ll do whatever you want, you can have me, you can do whatever you want to me, I came back—I came back, see?”

“Level—“

“Please!”

“—increased.”

“…please, please, I’ll do whatever you want, just let them go, let them go, please…”

“Will you comply?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll comply, just do whatever you want with me, just let them go, don’t hurt them anymore, let them go, please.”

“You will comply in exchange for their freedom.”

“…yes.”

“Repeat instructions.”

“I will…I will comply in exchange for their freedom.”

“Place your hands on the block.”

“…”

“Place your hands on the block or the levels will increase.”

“There, there, see? I did it.”

“The others will be released and you will proceed. Understood?”

“…understood.”

-------------

It doesn’t take long for the Serpent’s Web to start closing in on the compound. Janus is patient, watching the little threads dance this way and that, watching supply chains start to change, start to shift, start to reflect the inclusion of one more person within the solid walls. Remus is at his heels, growling and snapping at the things that wander too far into the shadows, chasing down the fleeting light of the little prince.

But Roman has always been too good at getting away from him.

Not this time, little prince.

So it only comes as a partial shock when Remus calls him and informs him that there are three guests waiting for him at the abandoned sweet factory downtown.

He arrives with caution, his men patrolling the outskirts as the driver pulls the car to a safe getaway location. He adjusts his gloves and his hat, letting the click of his staff precede him as he walks into the darkness.

He can see Remus’s silhouette under the light, a gun in his hand, three figures crouched in front of him. He can’t see the glint of shackles around their wrists, perhaps they’re the type to be subdued by simply the threat of a gun.

They flinch slightly as they hear him coming, a few of them glancing over their shoulders—or trying to before Remus reminds them that he’s the one they should be looking at.

“Well,” he purrs, drawing closer, “what have we here?”

“It’s them,” Remus says quietly, the gun hanging looser at his side, “the others.”

That’s enough for Janus to walk a little faster, quickly rounding the leftmost one to stand at Remus’s side. His eyes widen when he sees the three heroes on the ground, each looking like they’ve been fed through a bricklayer backward. They’re not restrained, he realizes, because they’re not going to be able to go much of anywhere anyway.

“Serpent,” Logic says, trying valiantly to keep the tremor out of his voice, “we aren’t here to fight.”

Janus hums. “Not that it would be much of one.”

He uses his staff to tilt up his chin, tutting as he takes in the injuries.

“You must’ve made someone angry.”

The three of them flinch and he moves the staff away. Even Remus tenses.

“You’re here because of Roman,” he says, cutting through the pretenses, “yes?”

Heartbeat nods. “He…he traded himself for us.”

“…’traded?’”

“He’s not supposed to stay out after assignments,” Stormcloud mutters, “especially when he’s disobeyed.”

“And he…disobeyed?”

“He wasn’t supposed to kill anyone,” Logic says, “and…”

“And the head of the beast died,” Remus finishes, “and they blamed Roman for it.”

Janus’s hands twitch on the staff. He raises his voice, calling out to the henchmen waiting in the shadows. “Chairs. And a kit.”

The three heroes watch warily as scuttles in the darkness fill the warehouse before snapping back as Janus carefully approaches Stormcloud.

“Let me see,” he says softly, holding out his hand, “your arm looks bad.”

Stormcloud eyes him warily. Janus sighs, carefully lowering himself and ignoring how fearful they look that he’s willing to get down on their level.

“Let me see,” he repeats, “please?”

It’s like coaxing a feral alley cat to him, watching Stormcloud slowly extend his arm. Janus runs his fingers carefully over the wound before grasping his hand and slowly pulling him up.

He moves to Logic, holding out his hand again. This one takes it a little quicker.

“Up you get now,” he coaxes, “the floor can’t be very comfortable.”

By the time he gets to Heartbeat, the chairs have arrived. He gestures for them to sit and tries not to roll his eyes at how much trepidation is still in their gazes.

“Look,” he says, sitting in his own chair, “see? Just sit.”

When they all scramble to sit down, he bites back a curse. These poor things just came from the same place Roman and Remus did, of course they’re wary of everything.

Be gentle, he reminds himself, these are the little prince’s protected.

Of course, he’s not thrilled that Roman went and traded himself for them, but if the way Remus relaxes just the slightest bit is any indication, they’re no more guilty than Roman is of what atrocities have been done to them.

“Do you need medical attention,” he asks, gentle, careful, always careful, “are any of them life-threatening?”

They shake their heads. Stormcloud rubs his shoulder. “They know our limits.”

And there’s a whole new terrifying set of implications. “You mentioned that Roman…traded himself for you?”

Heartbeat nods. He looks about two seconds from crying. “If one of us messes up, normally the others are, um…get the punishment.”

“A tactic to prevent us from forming alliances,” Logic continues, “or to weaponize what would be kindness against us.”

“And did it work?”

“No,” Stormcloud grits out, “because we’re all we have.”

“Roman took it the worst,” Heartbeat said, “he—he would always try and take it. Whatever it was, he’d—he’d say he’d do it.”

“They evaluated him as the strongest. They didn’t care what happened to him as long as he could still perform.”

“They’d send him out all the time, even when he—“

“They’d bench us for less and they knew it, so they let Roman—“

“They’d let him do it.”

Janus holds a hand up. “One at a time, my dears, I can’t understand you when you all talk at once.”

They all snap quiet, huddling in on themselves.

“I’m not angry,” he says, soothing the raging beast in his chest with low murmurs of soon, soon, “I just want to ensure I’m understanding you.”

He looks to Heartbeat. “Is that what was happening when Roman returned?”

The little one nods. “He…he was trying to make them stop.”

“And did they?”

“If…he said he’d comply and they…they let us go.”

Janus frowns. If it was that easy to make them stop, surely Roman would’ve done something like that before. “What does that entail, exactly?”

Stormcloud speaks next. “They, um…what did Roman tell you?”

“Not as much as he should have.”

“Don’t be mad at him,” Logic whispers, “he’s just—he wasn’t sure he could—he—“

“I’m not mad at him, sweetie, shh.”

Stormcloud swallows. “They…our suits have…controls in them.”

“Controls?”

“Mechanical enhancers,” Logic says, “a sort of remote control that attaches to muscle stimulators in the suits. They can…they’re supposed to ensure that if we get injured, the suits can help stabilize us until we can receive assistance.”

Remus growls low in his throat. Janus adjusts his grip on the staff. “And what do they actually do?”

Logic’s hands twitch. “They…they make us proceed.”

“Proceed?” Janus lets out a low soothing noise when all three of them flinch horribly. “Easy, my dears, what’s the matter?”

“Don’t—don’t say the word,” Stormcloud whispers, “it’s—it’s their word.”

He files that away. “Alright, I won’t. I won’t say it.”

Slowly, painfully slowly, the three of them relax, each eyeing Janus with a new glint of curiosity.

“You’re not like what they said you were,” Heartbeat mumbles, “they…”

“I hesitate to ask what they did say,” Janus murmurs, trying to lighten their spirits, “though I can’t imagine it was very complimentary.”

Remus snorts. “Your PR department might disagree.”

Stormcloud raises an eyebrow. “You have a PR department?”

“He’s got like three journalists that all run on Red Bull and spite.”

“…same though.”

Janus clears his throat. “I won’t say the word. Is there…anything else?”

Too much, he thinks as he watches the three of them curl back in on themselves. He switches tactics.

“So your suits?”

Logic nods, getting himself back together. “They…they can essentially puppet us to do what they command. But it’s only our bodies. They can’t—they can’t make us do it.”

I have a very bad feeling as to where this is heading.

“But Roman…”

He trails off.

Behind him, Remus muffles a curse. “That motherfucker did it?”

“He said he’d do it if they let us go, Remus, we—“

“We couldn’t stop him.”

“We didn’t ask for it, you gotta believe us—“

“Roro, you fucking idiot.”

“Did what,” Janus asks sharply, “what did Roman agree to?”

“A neurological alteration,” Logic says in a strangled whisper, “he…they change your brain chemicals. It’s a complete neurological override, they can—they can—“

“They can make you do anything,” Stormcloud says, “and make you believe that it was you who decided to do it.”

There is a ringing distant in his ears, he registers, something far, far away. His emotions are sealed behind a solid sheet of glass, as if they weren’t even a part of him.

He’s only experienced this kind of disconnect once before.

Not the little prince. Never the little prince.

Mine, the snake hisses as its coils tighten around the city, mine.

When he speaks, his voice is cool and calm. He can see the three of them tense, pulling away from him. Even Remus goes still.

“Roman Prince is in danger,” he says evenly, “and I will get him back.”

The warehouse is silent.

“To do that, I will need your help.”

-------------

Not yet, the snake says as the other heroes start to appear in the media, covering bruises and hiding flashes of fear. The public starts to worry that something is wrong.

Not yet, the snake murmurs as supply chains to the city begin to dry up, the compound growing more and more isolated as the companies begin to draw away. Whispers from the inside, saying that something’s wrong, something’s coming.

Not yet, the snake insists when the Prince still doesn’t reappear. The public says that it’s different, something’s changed without him, something’s wrong.

Soon, he whispers when the others start dropping hints in the interviews they give to the press.

Soon, as the coils begin to tighter further and further and the leash on the Prince starts to loosen.

Soon, as he lets a camera catch sight of him one day, raising his hand in a wave before disappearing back into the shadows.

And on the night when the media runs a story about the horrors hidden in the compound, when the other heroes are safe behind friendlier walls, when Remus grins and screams with the weight of a thousand tortured should behind him, the snake leans down and whispers.

Now.

-------------

BREAKING NEWS: Compound found destroyed on the outskirts of the city. Officials have identified it as belonging to the Cyrus Corporation.

Technicians have identified several victims of the blast, including those that claim they were being held hostage for human experiments. They have also found records pertaining to several of the city’s heroes, including Logic, Heartbeat, Stormcloud, and the Prince. Were these heroes the results of these experiments?

While the other heroes have begun to speak out against the Cyrus Corporation, the Prince has seemingly disappeared. Was he killed in the aftermath of the incident, or is he still hiding something?

A calling card of the Serpent was found at the scene, implying a connection between the destruction of the compound and the disappearances of the heroes. We’ll have more of the story after the break.

-------------

“Sweetie,” he hears a voice whispering, “sweetie, it’s alright.”

Someone is screaming. He wishes they’d stop, it’s making his head hurt.

“Shh, shhh, my darling, it’s alright. I have you, you’re safe now, I’ve got you.”

They’re still screaming. Why does his throat hurt?

“Please, sweetie, come on, now…”

Everything crashes over Roman in a tidal wave. He’s screaming. His throat is aching. His entire body is on fire.

Someone is cradling his head. Someone is murmuring softly to him. Someone is here, protecting him.

“Open your eyes, my darling, let me see you.”

He opens his eyes.

The Serpent is staring down at him, concern written plainly across his face. No, no, that doesn’t make sense, he betrayed the Serpent, why is the Serpent looking at him like that?

“Shh, little prince—“ right, he’s still screaming— “shh, it’s okay.”

The Serpent’s shoulders slump when he finally shuts up, smiling and brushing the hair back from his sweaty brow.

“There you are, little prince,” he murmurs, “you had me worried.”

Roman is frozen. He’s here with the Serpent after he betrayed him, all but spat in his face, and he—he messed up, he messed up so badly, don’t hurt them, please—

“Shh,” the Serpent murmurs, a hand tangled in his hair, scratching at his scalp, “it’s just me, little prince, just me. I won’t hurt you.”

“I—I—“

His voice is horribly strangled.

“Here,” comes the gentle voice, too gentle for him, “drink, sweetie.”

A straw is held to his lips and he cautiously sips. The Serpent hums and pulls away the cup when he’s had about half the glass.

“Good.”

A full-blown shudder wreaks havoc on Roman’s aching body and the Serpent chuckles.

“Oh, little prince,” he whispers, leaning down and cupping Roman’s cheek, “you poor thing, you poor, poor thing…”

Why isn’t the Serpent mad? He should be, he—Roman ruined everything, he put everyone at risk, he got his friends hurt, he hurt everyone else, he never stops ruining everything and hurting everyone, everything’s his fault, he should’ve just listened, he should’ve just—

“That’s enough, now, little prince,” the Serpent murmurs, and he realizes he’s just said all of that out loud, “that’s enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Roman stammers, “I’m sorry—I’m sorry—“

“Shh-shh-shh, none of that.” The Serpent brushes a tear from his face. “I’m not angry with you, sweetie, you’re alright.”

“Wh-why?”

The Serpent opens his mouth to answer but Roman’s already stammering again.

“I’m not questioning you, I’m not—“

“Hush, my darling,” the Serpent says, laying a finger over his lips, “you’re not there. You’re with me, you’re safe, and you won’t be harmed. Shh, let me talk for a moment, alright?”

Roman hushes.

“Thank you.” The Serpent takes a breath. “You are safe. Your friends are safe. Remus is safe. I am safe. The people who hurt you will never hurt you again. The compound is gone, the Cyrus Corporation is gone. Nothing will touch you again.”

Roman stares at him.

It’s…gone?

All of it?

“Yes,” the Serpent promises, “all of it.”

Everything stops. They’d been in his head, in his body, in his skin for as long as he can remember. They’ve been there as he breathed, as he slept, as he lived, and now they’re just…gone?

“H-how?”

The Serpent smiles. “With a little help from our friends, of course.”

“They’re…” He swallows. “…they’re okay?”

“Yes, little prince, they’re fine. Remus is fine.” He ruffles Roman’s hair. “Everyone’s okay.”

And lets out a soft noise when Roman starts to bawl.

“Oh, sweetie, come here…come here, little prince, I’ve got you. Shh, shh, everything’s alright now.”

They’re gone. It’s over.

It’s over.

“Yes, little prince,” the Serpent promises, “it’s over now.”

-------------

“I still,” Roman mumbles when the Serpent sets a cup of tea in front of him, “have trouble.”

“Believing?”

He nods as the Serpent sits down in the chair opposite him. He looks down at his hands. “It’s not that I don’t want to o-or that I don’t believe you, but—“

“Shh, sweetie, it’s okay. I understand. You’ve been through something extremely traumatizing.” The Serpent regards him carefully. “It’s going to take a while to heal from it.”

Roman watches ripples form across the surface of the tea. “…sometimes I still don’t know if this is real. Or another trick.”

“What if you had something,” the Serpent asks, “something that they would’ve had no way of knowing? Would that help?”

“…maybe.”

The Serpent hums, sitting forward. “What about my name?”

Roman’s head jerks around, eyes wide. The Serpent just smiles at him. “Wh-what?”

“My name, little prince,” the Serpent murmurs, “if I told you my name. They don’t know it, you would be able to hold onto it. If you wanted.”

Oh.

Roman nods slowly. The Serpent smiles and holds out an ungloved hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, little prince,” he says, “my name is Janus.’”

“Janus,” he repeats, testing how it feels, “nice to m-meet you.”

Janus smiles. “Will you stay with me, little prince?”

“Will you…keep me?”

“Forever,” Janus promises, “if you want.”

Yes.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@reddstardust@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

#dragonbabbles #fic #sanders sides #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders

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