#creativity freed

Turning his back against the unbroken darkness of the sky outside his window, Janus dressed for bed, walking through the brushing, scrubbing, and moisturizing steps of his night time routine by pure muscle memory. He blinked at his reflection in the mirror, running the pads of his fingers over the green, bumpy material of his shirt, letting the friction warm his chilled fingers, feeling the buzzy vibration travel up his fingertips, through his hands and his arms and back again to his chest, creating little loops of feeling. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the sensation to soften the edges of the crushing ache he felt in the center of his chest. It was an old trick that sometimes worked at start of a frenetic day but rarely helped in the long, quiet nights.

He snapped his eyes back open, staring at his reflection. “Stop wallowing and do something about it. Do your damn job. Bring them back.” Swallowing back the protesting inner voice that said he’d been trying—and failing—for years to do just that, he roughly zipped up his hoodie, ignoring the sharp pinch when he caught one of his scales in its teeth, and snapped off the light in his bathroom.

Closing his eyes and concentrating, he conjured a small indulgence, a cup of steaming earl grey tea. Holding the delicate cup close to his face, he relished the heat and the aroma of flowers and leaves and, with that twist of the blade that always made him think of one half of his heart, the scent of bergamot perfume.

‘Ugh, Jannie, you know I don’t do "tea." That’s much too normie for me. Try that with the Ner—’ He hadn't needed the power of deception to cause him to slap his own hand over his mouth when Janus’ face went stony at the mere mention of the Side. ‘Oh, I’m sorry Jannie, I didn’t mean…’

Janus had taken a deep breath, and eased his fingers through the wild riot of curly hair on his head. ‘It’s alright, I know you didn’t mean to…’ Pushing back against what had then been only a twinge in his chest, Janus raised the cup toward him again, ‘You know… You can tell the others you drink perfume if you try this…’

He’d narrowed his eyes at first, but seeing Janus’ gloveless hands, his face exploded in a smile. ‘Well why didn’t you just say so?’ Taking the cup, he’d guzzled the entire thing, squeezing his eyes shut and sticking out his tongue, making a gagging sound. ‘Ugh, it’s terrible!’ He’d grinned at Janus, cackling. ‘I love it! Let’s make some more!’

Janus staggered, grabbing at the wall for support as the unbidden memory dropped on him with the force of a truck. He took a few moments to steady himself, then walked to his bookcase, completing his nightly routine by pulling out the old journal bound in buttery soft yellow leather. Setting the cup and journal on his nightstand, Janus lowered the lights in his room, keeping the bedside lamp and a strip of lights along the edges of the room bright. He peeled back the covers on his bed, hissing in relief at the warmth that had built up while he’d finished his evening preparations. He slid under the covers, and pulled them up high, then opened the journal and picked up his tea, taking a sip.

Letting the journal rest on his lap, he thumbed through the pages filled with his tiny script. The journal had been a gift, conjured as a joke, the fancy binding branded with the title ‘My Top Secret and Very Evil Dastardly Plans.’ The first year after he’d been shackled, Janus had promised him that he would find a way to get him out before he ran out of pages in the book.

Up until then, he’d used the journal to track his work in the Core Mindscape, trying to find a better balance between peaceful ignorance and the righteous anger that threatened to drive the Side mad. “Much learning doth make thee mad,” he muttered under his breath. When he’d made the promise, he was confident that the half-empty book held more than enough pages to develop a successful strategy for freeing both of them.

Now there were only three empty pages left and he’d gotten no closer to success on either front of his war in all that time.

Gritting his teeth, he flipped through the pages, looking for an un-filled margin, an empty quarter-page, a few inches of blank space that he could use to jot down more ideas, anything that would allow him to not mar a fresh page. Anything that would allow him to delay his inevitable failure to keep his promise just a little longer.

A tear splashed down onto the book, blurring the ink. Gagging at the sour taste of his own ineptitude, Janus turned to the next blank page, pen hovering over the empty expanse. His whole body jerked when there was a sudden knock at his door, causing him to nearly spill his tea. He closed his eyes. There’s no-one who would knock at his door. The only other Side who could possibly be around in the Subconscious wouldn’t knock. Besides, Janus knew he was in the Imagination, stomping fabricated Nazi skulls. Any knocking he heard was just another trick of the Subconscious, and one he wanted nothing to do with.

Ignoring the knocking, Janus took another sip of his tea, tapping one end of the pen against his lips. The knocking soon grew to pounding, until finally he heard what sounded like Roman’s voice, “Deceit, open the damned door! We need you!” He heard a muffled conversation filtering under the door.

Rolling his eyes, Janus set aside the journal, flipping back the covers and he slid out of bed. “Did you get lost, My Prince?” he drawled dryly, not even bothering to put down his tea, not wanting to lose even a bit of the warmth of the cup while he dealt with this intrusion. Scowling and holding his cup with one hand, Janus yanked open the door.

The cup fell to the floor, shattering, splashing three sets of legs with the remnants of his tea.

---

Remus stared at his brother. His brother was the one to convince.

He knew that Logan would be on his side and would help get him back to Janus. He could see it in his eyes, that tiny spark of something hiding, whether it be love, or logic, or memory, or some impossible mixture of all three, there was something deep inside the Logical Side that drove him to trust Janus when no-one else in the Core Mindscape would. Remus was pretty sure that even Janus couldn’t see it when he looked into Logan’s eyes.

But Remus knew. Watching Logan talk about Janus… it was like looking in a mirror. Not to mention that the harder the Logical Side tried to push away the little voice in his head that they should get help from Janus, the more clearly Remus could hear him. Anything can be an intrusive thought. Even a good idea.

“You can bring me to Dee,” Remus whispered, carefully watching his brother’s eyes, begging him to listen when he didn’t have the strength to fight both the pain radiating through him and his brother’s mistrust of his lover.

Roman’s sudden movement jarred his broken hands resting in his lap. He closed his eyes briefly, pushing back against the pain. He looked to Logan, staring in his eyes, pleading with him to listen and understand what he was saying. To break through what was stopping him from remembering. “It’s Deceit’s job to make sure that what Thomas doesn’t want to know won’t hurt him.” Remus could see a brief flash of understanding in Logan’s eyes before it quickly dissolved behind his carefully hewn mask.

Remus wanted to cry but if Roman thought he was too weak, he might be even more difficult to convince. He steeled himself, gathering his strength, putting fire behind his eyes as he looked now to Roman to make his final case. “Dee Dee didn’t want me in that tower any more than you did, Ro. Please,” Remus couldn’t stop his voice from cracking. He could feel his last threads of control slipping out of his grasp. He bored his eyes into his brother, “Bring me to him. He’ll keep me safe.”

Remus started to shake, no longer able to hide the shooting pains in his hands, his arms, his head. Every inch of him was on fire. He bit his tongue, trying to keep back the tears in his eyes, trying to be strong just a little while longer, just until he could get to Janus. He pressed his lips together, not willing to give up, but not knowing how much longer he could last.

Roman was speaking to him, “Can you move?”

Remus wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He grit his teeth, wincing at the pain that shot up his arms as he raised his broken hands to his brother. “To get back to Dee Dee? I can do anything.”

Logan was quiet, silently watching their exchange. When Roman nodded, Logan stood, reaching for Remus’ shoulders to help him sit up and get to his feet. “What’s the best way to the Subconscious, Duke?” he asked.

“You can’t go to the Subconscious, Pocket Protector.” Remus shook his head, staring into Logan’s eyes. “It’s too dangerous.”

“What?” Roman hissed. “If you think we’re gonna just let you slink off into the shadows, searching for Deceit by yourself, you must think we’re really stupid.” He gestured toward Remus’ bandaged hands. “You’ll be foiled by the first doorknob you encounter.”

Remus bit his lip. Fuck. Jannie will—lovingly—string me up by my toenails if I bring Logan into the Subconscious.

“No, I mean... “ fuck fuck fuck fuck where’s Jannie you need him? “I mean—”

Logan tilted his head at Remus, “I think the Duke believes that the Subconscious is too dangerous for me, specifically. Perhaps because of my particular links to Thomas’ memories and logic.” Remus narrowed his eyes at the Logical Side. He wasn’t Janus, but he also knew bullshit when he heard it.

Roman, however, nodded, “That makes sense.” Remus thought he caught a tiny smirk tweaking Logan’s lips. “You need bravery and creative control to manage the dangers of the Subconscious.” Roman stood tall, moving around the bed and reaching for Remus, wrapping his arm around his waist. “I will take you.”

Logan gently draped Remus’ arm over Roman’s shoulders, brow furrowing when Remus winced in pain as his injured arm settled in the new position. Logan looked carefully at Remus, asking in a low voice, “Is that alright? Or is it too much? Should we—”

Remus breathed heavily through his nose, gritting his teeth. “It’s okay. Anything to get back.” He took a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

---

Roman stood with Remus outside Janus’ door. He could see other doors in the hallway, but Remus urged him to ignore them, claiming that most of them were tricks of the Subconscious. Unsure whether to believe him or not, Roman finally decided it wasn’t worth the risk if his brother was actually telling him the truth.

Sighing heavily, he felt the cold seep through his tunic, chilling his bones and weakening his grip on his sword. Roman pounded on the bright yellow door in front of them again. “Why can’t I just tell him you’re with me so he’ll open the door?”

Remus shook his head weakly. “Dee will think it’s a trick.” His voice was taking on a dazed quality, reminding Roman of when they were small and he would talk in his sleep. “The Subconscious... will show you just what you want sometimes… but it’s all a trick in the....” Remus' voice trailed off.

Roman tightened his grip on his brother’s waist, “C’mon, Re, don’t go to sleep yet, we need to get you in there.” He pounded one more time, this time shouting through the door, “Deceit, open the damned door! We need you!”

Finally, he heard shuffling noises on the other side. He sighed, exasperated, muttering under his breath, “It’s about time, you slimy snake.”

Before he’d even opened the door, Roman could hear the Lord of the Lies muttering something sarcastic at him. Once the door was fully opened, though, Janus’s mouth fell open, staring at Remus hanging off Roman’s shoulder, head bobbing, fighting to stay conscious. Janus dropped his cup, shattering the porcelain and splashing tea all over them.

“Muse…” he whispered, reaching for Remus, tears welling in his eyes.

“Dee Dee,” Remus murmured, falling into his arms. Roman stood outside the door, watching his brother cry as Janus held him, making shushing sounds into his hair, and rubbing his back. After several minutes, Remus’ sobbing quieted, and Janus seemed to shake himself.

“Roman,” he said simply, squinting at the Princely Side. “You should come inside.”

Ushering in the twins, Janus started to lead Remus toward his bed. He looked over his shoulder at Roman, “Please close and lock the door.”

Roman followed his instructions and also took a moment to wave away Janus’ broken tea cup, then stood just inside the room, looking around. Theoretically, Roman understood that Janus must have had a room somewhere in the Subconscious. But he never expected to find himself standing in it.

It was markedly warmer here than in the icy hallway outside. In fact, if he didn’t know whose room it was, Roman might have even described it as cozy. An ornately carved four-poster bed served as the centerpiece of the room. It looked soft and inviting, draped in thick blankets in complementary shades of yellow and green and blue. When Janus laid Remus down on the bed, he muttered something near his ear, gesturing toward the ceiling directly above them.

Janus nodded, murmuring quietly, "I took it off... it blocked the view of your mural."

Roman looked up and saw that the ceiling was covered edge to edge in a fresco that looked like Michelangelo had studied under Jackson Pollock. Or perhaps the reverse. There were abstract swirls of greens and yellows, with a small smattering of blue dots added over the top, looking like cotton wood drifting through the air in the spring. The entire ceiling seemed to pulse with movement, as though the swirls of paint themselves were animated. The longer Roman stared, the more he could discern figures and shapes and feelings in the colors over their heads.

The ceiling mural wasn't the only art in Janus' room. There were also large, colorful photographs framed on one wall, and another wall by the door was nearly covered in gleaming, dark wooden shelves packed with small framed pictures and books of all kinds. Roman stepped a little closer, examining the spines, surprised to see a shelf devoted to volumes of Grimm’s, Perrault’s, and Andersen’s fairy tales.

Roman’s attention was drawn by the increasing volume of Remus and Janus' whispers. He heard a sharp, “Logan?” from Janus before he whipped around, staring at the Princely Side. “Logan helped you free Remus?”

Roman shuffled his feet. “Well, yes. Um, it, was actually his idea to do it tonight. He was in my room and I think he was spurred by the the creative impulse and—”

“But, wait he shouldn’t have re—” Janus’ voice cut off as he looked down at his hands, eyes widening. Roman followed his gaze and then turned his back, realizing for the first time that Janus wasn’t wearing his gloves. Roman heard Janus move toward his desk and, after a moment, he murmured, “Thank you, Roman. You can turn around.”

“Deceit, what's going on? I had to tell Logan that Remus was locked up in the Imagination.” A pained noise escaped Remus’ lips and Janus sat down again next to him, cupping his cheek and brushing away new tears from his face. “I can remember how angry Logan was when it first happened. How could he forget something like that? How could the Side responsible for Thomas’ memories have forgotten something like that?”

Janus shifted on the bed, “I don’t have a sssimple answer for you, Roman. Suffice it to say that we should celebrate Remus’ freedom and let sleeping dogs lay.” Janus stared at Roman, raising both eyebrows significantly. “Do you understand me?”

Roman could feel the subtle twitch in his hand as Janus tugged at his muting control. The message was clear. Roman would not bring this up again, whether by his own will, or by Janus’. Roman scowled, but he nodded.

Roman stepped a little closer to Janus’ bed. “You’re not going to send him back to the tower, are you, Deceit?”

Janus’s mouth fell open, “Of course not,” he hissed. Janus stroked Remus’ face and as he watched the gentleness of his caress, sudden understanding flooding through Roman’s heart.

“Oh… ” Roman’s knees wobbled and he sat down hard in Janus’ desk chair. “I thought Remus wanted to come back to you because you’re the only other Dark Side.”

Remus rolled his eyes, “Oh, Ro Bro,” he sighed shakily. “Every word of what you just said is wrong.”

Janus chuckled, smiling down at Remus. “Thank you for bringing him back to me,” he said, turning to face Roman again. “Time can feel a little different in my room… You should get back before you're missed.” Janus brushed Remus’s hair from his face, “I’ll be right back, Muse, alright? Stay here.”

Remus nodded, closing his eyes. Janus stood, reaching a hand out to Roman. “Let’s get you back.”

“Can you wait just a minute?” Roman asked, eyes darting over to Remus nearly asleep on Janus’ bed. Janus bowed his head and stepped back. Roman knelt down, getting as close as he could to Remus. He brushed his fingers along Remus’ upper arm. “I’m glad it worked, Re. I’m sorry it took so long.” Roman scrubbed sudden tears away from his face.

Remus smiled at him. “You made it there eventually, Ro Bro, that’s what counts. Don’t worry, I’ll heal up and get you back later.”

He let out a watery laugh, “You better. You owe me one.” He leaned over and kissed Remus’ forehead. “Don’t worry, I punch you later, but it wouldn’t be very Princely of me to strike a man who can’t hit back.”

Remus laughed, “Just for that, I’ll punch you twice. See you in the Imagination, Ro Bro.”

“See you, Re.”

Roman stood and moved closer to Janus. “Okay, Deceit, lead the way.”

Janus smirked, taking Roman’s hand. “Here we go,” sinking out of his room and appearing in Roman’s.

“I don’t suppose I need to tell you, but of course you should—”

“Yeah, Deceit, I know." Roman sighed as he sat down on the edge of his bed. He saw that Logan must have tidied up the contents of the first aid kit he'd conjured to care for Remus. The enormity of their night pounded at his bones, sapping his strength. Roman suddenly felt exhausted. "I’ll pretend none of this ever happened.”

“Very good, thank you. Goodbye, Roman,” Janus murmured, sinking back down out of the room.

“Goodbye, Deceit,” Roman said as he disappeared.

---

Janus closed his eyes as he rose up again in his room, suddenly consumed by an irrational fear that this was all still some sort of illusion.

“Jannie…” Janus’ eyes shot open at the beautiful sound of Remus’ whisper. He rushed to the bed, fighting the impulse to throw himself into Remus’ arms, afraid of hurting him. Remus winked at him, though, listening, as always, to everyone's suppressed thoughts and desires. “Don’t worry, Jannie, when I’m fully mended, I won’t let you out of my arms.”

Removing his gloves for the second time that night, Janus carefully ran his hands through Remus’ hair, tapping as much of his conjuring abilities as he could to free him of the knots and drecht that had accumulated since he’d last seen him in the tower. Once that was done, he quickly went to his sink, wetting a washcloth in warm water for Remus’ face. While he was gone, Remus waved away his ruined clothes and awkwardly slid under the covers.

Turning back to his bed, Janus chuckled, shaking his head. Visibly exhausted from both the physical and creative expenditure of energies, Remus just sank back into Janus’ pillows, smiling weakly. Janus sat next him, gently wiping down his face, his neck, and his chest.

“That will do for now,” Janus murmured, turning down the lights and crawling into bed next Remus. “In the morning, you’ll take a real shower, Muse.”

“Hm, that actually sounds nice.” He sighed, turning to his side as Janus wrapped all of arms around him. “Jannie?” Remus’ voice cracked.

“Yes, Remus?” Janus propped himself up on one elbow, staring down in concern at the sudden seriousness in Remus' voice.

“Promise me something.” Remus' voice was so quiet, Janus could hardly hear him.

“Anything, Muse,” Janus carded the fingers of one hand through Remus’ hair, another hand gently rubbing circles on his chest.

“Promise me…” More tears fell down Remus’ face as he stared back into Janus’ mismatched eyes. “Promise me that if this is all a dream, I won’t ever wake up.”

Janus dried Remus' tears, pressing soft kisses in their wake. “If this is all a dream, Muse, I’m going to stay right here, dreaming together with you.”

Remus smiled and closed his eyes, and Janus could feel him relax into his arms. Janus pressed one more kiss against his head and smiled as he closed his eyes, feeling half of his heart was finally home again.

---

I didn't want to believe that it was the more, well, believable story. I fought with the outline for WMHB for a long, long time, trying to logic my way out of it (ha ha ha ha sob).

Everything with Pedro and the second-to-last chapter (and the tail end of that chapter) was another bit that just formed in my head, the visuals, the ticking of the coffee maker and the sounds of the car pulling out of the driveway. Tapping the coffee pot to see if the coffee was still hot. The knock at the door (both of them). The entire conversation between Remus and Logan at the table. (oh boy, that's a whole other topic I self-commented about here to avoid spoilers.) I couldn't shake those images and... if it felt more real in my head, then I figured it would make more sense to feel more real in Remus'.

And that's when I went from outline to story.

While I was writing, I added every hint I could possibly think of that wouldn't be 100% explicit. I didn't want to give it away, but I also didn't want it to be completely unexpected. I wanted a surprise, not a rug-pull. That was an abyssmal failure.

In between other story commitments I have (hi there, TS Storytime Big Bang and Sanders Sides Big Bang.^) I have been trying and failing to re-write WMHB in a satisfying way. I hate and I love that story. I've nearly deleted it twice.

I am working on what happens next, after WMHB. (That's the Dreams & Nightmares story I've posted tiny bits from. Not Joy. What happens in Joy is not real.)

I hope this answers your question in a satisfying way and gives you an inside peek into my thought processes while writing this story.