#dad!janus

He hated this restlessness. It made it hard to settle down. To not want to uproot everything and move to a different state whenever the weather changed. Deceit closed his eyes, one hand reaching up out of habit to the left side of his face, brushing smooth unmarked skin where scales used to reside.

“Coffee for your thoughts?” A young voice asked as the soft scrape of the kitchen chair sounded behind him.

Despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile. He should have known. “Not until you’re in high school, Remy.” 

He turned in time to see the young Sleep, now seven years old, drop his head to the table with a thunk and a groan. “That’s ages away, Dad. Please. I’m dying here.” 

“You’ve survived the past five years without it, you can last ten more. Orange Juice?” Deceit asked without a hint of sympathy as he moved to the fridge.

There was a reason why he always grabbed his coffee from the cafe down the street. He’d learned early on that even though he’d been brought into the real world with Deceit as a two year old, the popular Shorts Character could and would find and down any coffee hidden at home within the hour. 

If they had still been in Thomas’s mind he wouldn’t have cared.

But out here? In the real world? With real consequences? Yah no. Sleep would have to satisfy himself with coffee flavored candy instead. And even then, this early in the morning, he wasn’t about to hype the boy up. Especially when their resident night owl should be sleeping. 

“Wha’ ‘bout Hot Chocolate?” A different voice asked sleepily. 

Deceit raised an eyebrow, hand hovering over the orange juice as he looked over to eight year old Emile standing in the doorway, one hand clutching his favorite Steven Universe blanket while the other rubbed at his eye. “Shouldn’t you still be asleep, Em?” 

He knew full well that despite his namesake, Remy was the lightest sleeper. It was easy for him to wake up to the smallest of sounds. But Emile? Most of the time he couldn’t get the kid out of bed before ten unless one of his favorite cartoons was on.

Emile yawned, wandering over to the kitchen table and pulling himself onto a chair. “It’s snowing.” He said like that explained everything, resting his head in his arms.

It didn’t. Normally Deceit was the only one to be sensitive to changes in the weather. 

Remy let out a long suffering sigh before twisting in his seat, going onto his knees in order to see over the back of the chair. “Can we have marshmallows in it?” He asked hopefully, amber colored eyes going wide and watery as Deceit glanced to him. “Tis the season.” He gestured to the snow falling outside. 

Deceit snorted, shaking his head as he grabbed the milk from the fridge and three mugs from the drying rack. “Tis the season indeed.” Considering it was Christmas Eve. Definitely the season. 

“Is that why you’re awake?” Emile asked, pulling the blanket tighter around him. “The storm?” 

What else would it be? The kids were well aware of his quirks after the five years they’d spent together. He made a noncommittal sound as he placed the three mugs of milk into the microwave before turning to the cabinet to grab the cocoa mix. 

“They say it’s only gonna get worse.” Remy added, pulling out Deceit’s phone, small fingers darting across the screen. 

Great. Just what he needed to hear. “Oh?” He asked, frowning at his phone.

So that’s where it had ended up. He should have known. If it wasn’t Emile stealing it to watch cartoons, it was Remy taking it to scroll through the various social media sites he’d made Deceit get so the kid could stay up to date on the latest trends. 

At least that particular issue should end tomorrow morning when he finally gave both boys their own phones to use now that he’d finally landed a gig here in New York where he could afford two more lines on his plan.

Remy smirked, amber eyes glittering in the screenlight. “The airports are already talking about canceling flights. Stranding hundreds of people.” 

Emile gasped, bottom lip trembling. “Nooo. All those families not together for Christmas?!” 

Tender hearts. Unfortunately not everyone could get their happy ending. Deceit shook his head, grabbing the marshmallows as the microwave beeped. “You want me to go play rescuer again?” Sure, he’d gone on similar forays when his restlessness became too much to bear staying indoors a second longer, helping stranded motorists or picking up passengers through MyRide, but this was Christmas Eve. He should be with his kids. With his family. Not wandering around the city like a restless knight on a quest to save the princess from the Dragonwitch. 

Sleep didn’t even bother to hide his smile this time as he rested his chin on one small hand. “You are Self Preservation aren’t you? You protect people.”

He protected Thomas. There was a difference. And considering Thomas had wanted nothing to do with him even before he’d shown up in the real world far far away from his host’s home--

“And--” Remy gestured to the thickening snow. “You’re obviously not gonna go back to bed anytime soon.” 

Sleep would know. He may not be a part of Thomas anymore, but now that he was getting older some of his...talents still came through on occasion. 

Deceit placed the three mugs on the table before taking his own seat. “I highly doubt the two of you want to spend all day in the car on Christmas Eve.” He said, unable to stop his leg from bouncing in place as he watched the snow falling from the corner of his eye. Gah. It was bad this time. The idea of driving around the city sounded far too appealing to be normal. And technically he didn’t have to take the boys with him. They could spend the day here while he--No. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. It was Christmas Eve. He couldn’t just leave them.

“All day?” Emile frowned, standing up in his chair, the blanket falling off his shoulders “It’s that bad?”

Deceit tsked as Emile clambered over the table, easily avoiding the mugs, and into his lap. “It’s...I’ll be fine.” He said, wrapping his arms around him, resting his chin on the boy’s head as he gently rocked him. He didn’t want it to be that bad. But if the snow kept up---it probably would be an all day restlessness. “We were going to have a lazy day, remember?” He said, smirking as Remy rolled his eyes. “Watch movies? Build pillow forts. Bake cookies.” And finish wrapping all the presents he’d bought for them. All the homey stuff he was sure Patton would have loved to do instead if he’d been present. 

Regardless, if he could keep busy maybe he could distract himself from this restlessness from the storm. 

It hadn’t ever worked before. But there was always a first time.

“That was before it snowed though.” Remy said patiently, setting Deceit’s phone face up on the table, his MyRide app open and showing a dozen requests for Rides even at this early hour. “It’s not like we haven’t spent hours on end in the car before, Dad.” 

That was true. Though Deceit had been trying to decrease their car time as the boys got older and could be trusted to be left home alone.

He exhaled, pressing his nose into Emile’s sleep tousled hair, briefly closing his eyes. “We’ll give it a couple of hours, alright? Until the sun comes up at least.” He looked up in time to see Remy making a face at him over his mug. 

“Will you even live that long?”

Deceit rolled his eyes, resolutely ignoring the falling snow outside. “I’ll survive.” He said, adjusting his grip on Emile as the boy wiggled around to rest his head against Deceit’s chest, snuggling in close to him with a contented sigh. 

"Now, now, no rough housing. Remember hitting one—” Patton began, eyeing his three sons expectantly.

"Is hitting two," they chanted in unison. Virgil sighed quietly. Not feeling soul pain was just one more reminder of how different he was from his brothers. While the twins were tall and strong and had curly red hair like Pops had, Virgil was slim and gangly, with wispy black hair. While they played varsity football, tackling the smaller players with gleeful vehemence, Virgil hadn't even made the cut for varsity swim.

And while his brothers had soulmates—Roman had even already met his—Virgil clearly did not. Virgil stared down into his bowl, willing his tears to stay behind his eyelids. He wasn't sure which would be worse right now, the terror twins poking at him for crying at the breakfast table or Dad cooing and making a big deal out of it.

"Yeah, Re, it's not Virge's fault he doesn't actually have a soulmate to hurt."

Virgil pulled his hood up over his head and hunched over his bowl as his brothers laughed, forcing himself to have just a few more bites of his breakfast. No matter how much he wanted to just flee from the table and hide in his room until it was time to leave for school, he'd learned from experience that skipping breakfast would just lead to hunger pangs by third period.

Patton gave Virgil's shoulders a warm squeeze. "Oh, of course you have a soulmate, kiddo!"

"Yeah, don't listen to us, Virge," Remus cried as he gave Virgil a too-tight hug and Roman pulled back his hood to ruffle his hair. "Besides, even if you don't have a soulmate, you'll always have us!"

Patton had always tried to reassure him that his lack of soul pain didn't mean he didn't have a soulmate. Every time he'd crawl into his lap after the twin's—at times not so gentle—ribbing, Patton would dry his tears and sing to him until his crying stopped. Then he would smile and murmur, "Don't you remember back in kindergarten?" Virgil would shake his head ‘no’ just to hear the story again. Patton smiled and pulled Virgil closer, wrapping his arms tightly around his son. "On the second day of school, you came home crying because your arm hurt."

He would lay his head against his father's shoulder, listening to the low rumble in his chest as he told the story. "We checked your arm, we put ice on it, we massaged it. Nothing worked." Patton gently rubbed his arm as he spoke. "It just hurt." Virgil nodded, remembering the ache he couldn't understand, and the fear it had spurred in him. "Finally, we took you to the doctor and he confirmed it—it was soul pain." Patton kissed the side of Virgil's head as he smoothed back his hair. "A broken arm was his best guess."

That was the last time Virgil felt soul pain. And as Virgil had grown, so had his doubts as he’d watched his brothers complain about their own periodic soul pains. One bad night, after he'd crept into his father's room after yet another nightmare of being left alone in their big, empty house, Virgil finally voiced his fear.

"But, Dad… what if I used to have a soulmate and… and they—" Unbidden, his eyes trailed over to the old picture of Pops that his dad kept on his nightstand.

Patton was quiet for a while and Virgil immediately regretted his question. He pulled his son in for a long hug. "You would know, Kiddo," he whispered roughly. "You would know."

---

Logan Sanders was very careful. Extraordinarily, exceptionally careful.

When Logan was five years old, he'd sat shivering on a tall examining table in the emergency room. They'd had to cut off his favorite thermal knit space shirt—it was covered in blood anyway—and given him only a thin hospital gown to replace it. He examined the skin on his arm where his goosebumps disappeared underneath the edges of the new heavy cast that covered his right arm from his palm all the way up above his elbow.

And he listened in horror to the whispered conversation between his fathers and his doctor.

"Pain management will be particularly important." The doctor's voice was that serious tone that all the doctors would get around Daddy and Papa. "Logan is five now. His soulmate will feel the same pain he does."

"Fuck that little brat and his parents for letting him push Lo off the slide!" Logan's eyes widened. He'd never heard Daddy say a bad word before.

"Luc," Logan heard Papa hushing Daddy. "Lo's just in the next room, my dear…"

"But don't people teach their kids basic fucking compassion anymore!? Don't they care that their little monster—"

"Messrs. Sanders…" Logan heard Daddy's sharp huff. He slid off the table and crept closer to the doorway. He watched their reflection in the glass on the other side of the hallway and he scrunched his nose when he saw Papa hold Daddy's hand, kissing his palm. He knew eavesdropping was bad, and spying even worse, but the doctor's voice was too quiet to hear from all the way over on the examining table. And he had to know what they were saying.

Logan chewed at his lip but then stopped himself, thinking about his soulmate's lip. "Has Logan started to experience soul pains himself?" The doctor spoke without looking up from the clipboard, eyebrows furrowed.

Logan rubbed his upper arm, remembering the flurry of sudden, throbbing pains he'd felt on his upper arm and back last December. And the sharp stabbing in his shins most mornings. And the stomach aches that brought him to tears and made him not want to eat, no matter what Daddy made for him.

Papa's voice was strained. "Yes, we believe he has." Logan watched their reflection with wide eyes as Daddy put his arm around his shoulders and Papa sniffled.

The doctor cleared his throat, shifting his clipboard between his hands. "Well, this is the age when most parents start to tell their children about soulmates. Some parents avoid it for longer than they should. It can be an… uncomfortable conversation. How much does Logan already know? I can… I can recommend some books if that would make the conversation easier for you three."

Daddy chuckled and Logan felt his own shoulders relax in response. Papa started to sound like himself again when he murmured, "I believe we may have a passing familiarity with some of those books. Thank you, Doctor."

"You should go check who wrote those books, Doc." Daddy had laughed loudly before a hand over his mouth muffled the deep rumble. Papa said something to Daddy in a voice too quiet for Logan to hear. Clearing his throat, Daddy asked, "Can we take Logan home now?"

Despite that night's special dinner, the long bubble bath—he got to wear a special oceanographer's sleeve over his cast—and the double bedtime stories from both Papa and Daddy, sleep did not come easy for Logan. He'd changed position every few minutes, the deep ache in his arm thrumming under his skin no matter how he tried to lay. Logan closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his cast. He imagined his soulmate, huddled under covers like he was, also crying from their shared pain. So Logan did what Papa had said and imagined himself rubbing his soulmate's arm, picturing the pain fading away, evaporating like little drops of water in the sun.

As the pain slowly eased enough for Logan to begin to feel the tug of sleep at his limbs, he'd whispered into his darkened room, "I'm sorry. I won't ever hurt you like this again. I swear."

---

"Ugh, Nerd Alert," Roman muttered, loudly, as the new sophomore passed them in the hallway.

Remus craned his neck to look over Roman's shoulder and shrugged. "He's a little geeky, but he's got nice… eyes."

He scoffed. "You would think so!" Roman slammed his locker shut, half an inch from Virgil's head where he knelt to access his own locker in the bottom row. "Hey, I missed you this time."

Rubbing the back of his head in the memory of the many mornings when Roman had not missed catching his head with the corner of his locker door. "Yeah, thanks for that."

But Roman had already resumed his conversation with Remus. They leaned back against the bank of lockers, sizing up the new student as he stopped in front of a locker on the other side of the hall. He held a small card in front of him, scowling at it, attempting to decipher the smudged numbers that would unlock his new locker. He turned the lock, left-right-left, slowing as he approached each number. Carefully lining up the last number, he tugged on the latch.

It wouldn't budge.

The sophomore stared down at the card in his hands and tried again, rapidly twisting the lock to reset it.

Roman shook his head at this twin. "This guy's trouble. I heard he had to change schools because even the teachers at his last school were mad at him for trying to get football banned."

"What!?" Remus stood a little straighter. "What's his problem with football?"

"Some shit about hurting soulmates."

As he crouched in front of his own lower level locker, Virgil wordlessly watched as the new student's face lit up when he tugged up on the locker handle and it swung open with a tiny squeak. He felt a little smile tugging at his own lips as he watched him clip a copy of his schedule to the inside of the locker door, then arranged his books in a tidy row along the bottom of the locker.

Roman nudged Remus and tilted his chin toward their younger brother. "Awww, does somebody have a widdle cwush on the new kid?" Remus laughed and pulled Virgil to his feet, rubbing his knuckles roughly against the top of his head. Virgil's vision was obscured by Remus' arm, so he didn't see when the new kid winced, briefly rubbing the top of his own head.

---

Logan Sanders stood at the front of the chemistry lab, equidistant from the teacher’s desk and the large whiteboard that covered the wall. This was his last class of the day and by now he'd internalized the steps. First, hunt down the room through the byzantine halls—what kind of school has room #213 across the hall from #216 and next to room #238? Then, he would approach the teacher's desk, present the school transfer note and class schedule and introduce himself. Last, wait for the teacher to decide what to do with him.

The Honors English teacher hadn't been terrible, merely distracted, and had waved Logan toward the rows of seats, telling him to pick an empty seat.

The Math Analysis instructor had left him waiting at the front of the room for the first half of the period. Logan spent the time darting between students awkwardly in an attempt to stay out of the way as she'd assigned them problem sets from the homework to write out on the whiteboards around the room. She had snapped at Logan when he’d quietly drawn one student’s attention to a small arithmetic error in her work that had percolated through her proof, leading her to the wrong answer. He'd wanted to sink into the floor when all eyes turned to him as though they'd all finally noticed him standing there.

So Logan stiffened his jaw and stood a little straighter when the Chemistry teacher told him to wait until everyone else was seated before assigning him a seat—and, consequently—a lab partner.

"Mr. Knight?" he called toward the back of the room.

Three heads raised and three voices answered, "Yes, Mr. Neal?" One of the students, the tall one with facial hair—Oh, for the love of Archimedes, is that a full mustache?—had replied in a sing-song voice. Mr. Neal narrowed his eyes and nodded as though coming to a decision. "Roman, please take the empty seat next to Virgil." Logan watched as the shorter boy slouched, edging his seat a little further from the vacant seat the taller boy— Roman, Logan reminded himself—slid into. Logan had assumed they'd been brothers—there was a strong resemblance, particularly between the two taller boys in varsity jackets, but Virgil didn't appear to be happy to sit next to him. He adjusted his glasses and frowned, tucking the puzzle away to ponder later.

"Logan," Mr. Neal finally turned to him. "Take the empty seat in the back next to Remus."

"Yes, sir." Logan adjusted his backpack and nodded. "Thank you, sir."

The older Knight boys snickered at his response. Remus waved broadly, waggling his eyebrows at Logan as Roman glared at the boy. Logan glanced one more time at Mr. Neal before he walked down the aisle to the last row of lab tables, but the teacher had already begun his instructions on how to prepare the Bunsen burners for today’s lab.

Logan kept his eyes trained on the aisle in front of him, minding his step and steering around the backpacks and chair legs hazardously poking out irregularly in his path. Roman and Remus were still laughing when he approached his seat and sat down.

Now that he was closer, he saw they were a few years older than most of the rest of the class, and certainly older than both Virgil and himself. What were they doing in sophomore chemistry, anyway?

Roman sneered as he walked past and muttered, too low for the teacher to hear, "You even think about messing with football at our school and you might as well go homeschool right now."

Virgil hissed at his brother, "C'mon, man, lay off... He's new." Logan didn't respond, keeping his eyes trained on the lab bench as he slid into the open seat next to Remus.

Roman whacked Virgil's arm with the back of his hand, his senior class ring adding extra oomph to the blow. "Whatever. He's not messing with swim teams. You have nothing to worry about."

Virgil scowled at Roman as he rubbed his arm. Remus' eyes widened slightly when Logan's hand jerked toward his own arm and leaned over to whisper to his brothers just when Mr. Neal called his name.

”Remus? Do you have an answer for the class?

”Yes, sir, Mr. Neal." Remus grinned madly, rising to his feet. "The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, sir." He shrugged when the class laughed. “Hey, not bad for someone who didn’t even hear the question.”

Mr. Neal appeared to barely suppress an eye roll before he spotted Logan’s raised hand. "Yes, Logan?"

”The emergency shut-off for the gas is in the back corner under the yellow sign.”

“Good. Lucky for you, Remus, your lab partner is paying attention.”

Wincing, Logan waited until Mr. Neal directed his attention to the other side of the room before he turned and offered his hand to his new lab partner, "Salu"—Logan heard Papa's voice in his head, Stick with a simple 'hi', Lo—"Um, Hello, I'm Logan."

Remus stared at his hand for a moment before grinning wickedly and shaking his hand. "It's good to have some fresh meat in the class," he waggled his eyebrows. He winked, then started to squeeze Logan's hand harder. Reacting quickly—and with gratitude for the self-defense training Dad had given him—Logan pressed his index finger against a pressure point in Remus' wrist and he dropped the smaller boy's hand.

"Shit, how'd you do that?"

Logan stared at the hulking boy, wary of retaliation. Remus just rubbed at his hand, not in pain, but perhaps in… surprise? His eyes were wide and he had a ghost of a smile dancing under his mustache. Logan raised his eyebrow. "Do you actually wish to know?"

"Fuck, yes!" he hissed loudly. Mr. Neal cleared his throat from the front of the room, glaring at the two of them. Remus ducked his head and picked up his pencil as though he was taking notes. He whispered, "Will you teach me how to do that? It didn't even hurt."

Ensuring his seat was as close to the edge of the lab bench, and as far from his very physically expressive new lab partner as possible, Logan adjusted his glasses and murmured, "I applied pressure to your radial median nerve that forced you to release me before you could damage my hand or cause pain to my soulmate." Logan glanced at the older boy. "Or to yours."

Remus scoffed. "What the fuck do you care if your soulmate feels your pain? Everybody with a soulmate gets soul pain. It's normal."

"I owe it to them." Logan shook his head, eyes fixed on his paper. "Besides, my soulmate already gets hurt enough for the two of us. They don't need more pain from me."

---

Virgil braced himself for the day's lab assignment. Giving either of his brothers a book of matches rarely ended well.

He tapped Roman's shoulder to draw his attention back from his conversation with the students across the aisle. "Did you hear the instructions?"

"Yeah, sure, we crush the can." He reached for the empty aluminum can in front of them. "Here, I can do it—"

Remus laughed from the table behind them. "No, dude, you gotta heat it up first." The new kid Remus was working with already had shoved a pair of goggles onto his brother’s face and was rolling up his own sleeves, safety glasses that fit over his regular eyeglasses already in place. He was measuring water into the aluminum can and had given Remus the tongs to hold the can over the Bunsen burner.

"Hey, Ro, why don't we try it that way?" Virgil asked, tilting his head toward Remus' table.

Roman picked the book of matches and struck one, reaching for the dial on the burner. "No, wait! We're not ready for the heat yet—" Virgil grabbed at his hand, getting too close to the match and quickly yanked his hand back, popping his burnt finger in his mouth. "Ow, fuck, Ro! You burned me."

Remus had only been half-paying attention to his brothers in front of him, holding the aluminum can over the flame. He did notice, however, when Logan winced and shook his hand at the same time as Virgil. "You all right there, Pocket Protector?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. It will pass." Logan scowled at the taller boy. "And please just call me Logan."

Remus shrugged but narrowed his eyes slightly and chewed on the edge of his mustache as he waited for their aluminum can to begin to emit steam.

The class continued through the experiment and as each table progressed through their work, the sounds of bending aluminum and excited exclamations began to roll across the room. Logan grinned briefly when their can collapsed under the change in pressure when it was removed from the source of heat. He began to log the results in their lab journal, sketching out the crumpled can.

Remus sat back, watching both his lab partner and his brothers at the table in front of them. Finally, he said, "Hey, Nerdy Wolverine—" he smiled innocently at Logan's glare. "What? Wolverine's name is 'Logan.' Anyway, how about we complete another little experiment?"

Logan quickly suppressed a smile and crossed his arms, staring closely at him. "What kind of experiment did you have in mind?"

"This!" Moving too quickly for Logan to stop him, Remus flicked his ear—hard. He grinned when both Logan and Virgil flinched in unison, covering their ears and rubbing the sore skin. "Hey, Virge, you okay?"

Still wincing from the unexpected pain, Virgil turned to face Remus and Logan's table. Roman looked up from where he'd been doodling a large dragon in their lab journal. "That hurt."

"Yeah, I said I was sorry for burning you," Roman whined.

"No, you didn't, and that's not what I'm talking about." Virgil stared at Remus. "What did you do to me?"

Shimmying his shoulders as Logan's face suddenly bloomed in understanding, Remus crowed, "I didn't do anything… to you."

Logan met Virgil's eyes. "I am very sorry about this, but we must be certain," he said before tapping the back of his fingers against the still-hot edge of the Bunsen burner. They both yelped in pain, shaking their hands.

Virgil's eyes filled with tears as he stared at his soulmate smiling at him. His soulmate. He actually had a soulmate. Virgil smiled back at Logan and he barely heard Remus call out to the teacher. “Hey, uh, Mr. Neal, our lab partners got burned… Can they go to the nurse’s office?”

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Mr. Neal waved them on and the younger boys both stood, eyes fixed on each other's. Remus stage whispered to Logan, giving him a little shove toward Virgil. “Take the back staircase down to the office and thank me later.”

Logan, the boy next door, had two wonderful and supportive mothers who always encouraged him, while Virgil, the boy across the street had a kind mom and dad who had all of the best intentions.. But it was clear that they really didn’t understand the young emo very well. They were both extremely loved and cared for, but there was just something about them having Janus close by as an adult gay man that they could look up to and go to that literally everyone involved was happy about.

The four boys had basically grown up together, Janus watching as Remus and Logan would bring frogs home and try and keep them alive in shoe boxes or play little mad scientist games while Roman and Virgil would have little performances in the living room or argue about their favorite movies. 

They were all about thirteen or so when it really hit Janus that these two boys had grown more interested in his sons than he had originally realized. Logan and Virgil were both much.. Not necessarily quieter than his sons, but definitely less intense. That didn’t mean they weren’t trying, in their own ways, to feel things out and see if their feelings might have been reciprocated... But it was clear that every single time they did, it went right over those identical heads. 

The boys actually made it to age seventeen before Janus finally decided he just had to step in. He’d sent Roman and Remus on an arbitrary errand down the block, then texted the two other boys and asked them to come over. Once he’d gotten them both into the living room, he sat opposite them and got right to the point. 

“Alright you two, I am very aware of how you two feel about my boys.” Janus watched as both Logan and Virgil’s eyes went wide, clearly worried about how their gay role model felt about that, but he was quick to hold up a hand to calm them and continue on. “I’m happy for you, I support you. There’s just something you two really need to be aware of.” 

The two teens glanced at each other and then back to Janus. “...And what is that?” Logan asked.

Janus brought in a big breath then exhaled slowly. “...You two need to understand... Subtlety isn’t going to get you anywhere with them. My boys are about as dense as four day old bread.“

The two of them just blinked and processed that for a moment, sitting quietly for a minute until they heard the twins unlocking the front door and coming back inside. Before they made it in, Logan and Virgil quickly turned back to Janus and each gave him a nod in understanding. 

Janus had nodded in return, getting up to let the teens sort themselves out. 

Despite the fact that literally everyone else had been aware of the situations, Roman and Remus both managed to be completely blindsided within the next week or so. Those three loved the twins.. But no one could deny that what Janus had said was extremely true. 

—

He ran a hand through his hair, flipping another page in his notebook before he continued scrawling on the page. Maybe Virgil had actually been onto something when he said he was vanishing into the wilderness of Europe for the rest of his life. 

Sure, Janus had laughed six months ago when his best friend had turned thirty and begun complaining about all the kids coming out of the woodwork to ask him to be their Dad.

It’d seemed impossible at the time. To have children want to come up to Mr. Shadows Incarnate and expect Virgil to put them to bed and tell a bedtime story.

Now though, he understood why Vee had become more reluctant to leave his house as the year had worn on. Because the mini spawns really had come out of nowhere once his own thirtieth birthday hit. 

And it was awful. 

Wherever he went, it was inevitable that some child would approach him, shimmering golden sparks floating around them indicating that they were looking for a Parent Bond. 

It was also as inevitable that he would scare them away just as quickly. 

After all, his halfmoon scar and creepy yellow eyes had caused plenty of kids to scream and run with a single look years before his thirtieth birthday. 

No, at least Virgil had a bit of that shy emo charm that made him more approachable, even if the merest appearance of anyone under four feet had his best friend going pale as a corpse and ducking out before the kid could take more than two steps towards him.

Privately he was certain Virgil would find a kid perfect for him before the year was out, despite his best friend’s attempt to avoid the inevitable.

He knew Virge would make a good dad. Compassionate. Protective. His best friend had a dozen other traits that would benefit him when the right child flared with him. 

Unlike Janus.

Who could make a grown man cry with less than four words and a glower.  

No. He couldn’t imagine having any child coming to him in the middle of the night expecting comfort. 

He knew he was intimidating.

He knew he could be scary.

It wouldn’t be fair to subject a child to that on a daily basis.

Honestly, it felt like a slap to the face that no matter how much he achieved, how many degrees he got, or businesses he owned, or careers he pursued, or money he made…

The universe felt that one couldn’t be complete unless said person also had a screaming, slobbering, dirty child in tow.

Janus ran a hand through his hair, again brushing the crescent scar on his cheek as he looked up long enough to watch a cluster of mothers with their dozen and a half children in strollers rush by, seeking salvation at the nearest set of golden arches with at least four of the kids already screaming for their happy meal toy. 

Even if he did make a connection with any kid brave enough to approach him...Janus could never imagine trying to coerce a screaming brat into eating their chicken nuggets all by himself. Could never stand to walk around with food, slobber or worse, vomit stains on his best suits like a badge of honor. Could never be patient enough to listen to the long and rambling and pointless stories he’d heard multiple parents suffer through while observing them here in the food court.

No. There was no way Janus would allow the universe a say in how he ran these next five years of his life.

He had goals.

Life plans.

And he didn’t need some interfering Being with an obviously unhealthy parent complex ruining that.

The scrapping of a chair being pulled back broke through the gentle hum the noise the chaos of the food court had receded to, causing Janus to look up from his paper in time to see a boy, wearing a faded black long sleeved shirt with matching glasses and thankfully older than the screaming toddler throwing french fries six tables over, plop down in the seat across from him.

A child. With golden sparks shimmering in the air around him. 

Oh goodie.

Janus barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. And here he’d thought that the fact that he’d caused a pair of twin girls, a baby, three boys, six preteens, and four other children under the age of five to scream in terror and/or burst into tears before the lunch rush had even started would have been enough for the universe to call it quits for the day on attempting a Parent Bond.

“I have a prospersition for you.” The boy said, making eye contact. Janus blinked, pen pausing mid stroke as he raised an eyebrow to the child. Prosper...prosper? Oh. “A prop-osition?” He asked, careful to pronounce the word correctly. 

The boy nodded once, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Prop-osition” he repeated, saying it properly this time. “Will you listen to it? Please?” 

Oh, now there was a please? The kid hadn’t even said hello. Janus exhaled, running a hand through his hair, again fingering the raised scar on his cheek, eyes darting about without much hope for any sign of a frantic adult looking for their wayward offspring as he sat back, tapping his pen on the table. “I’m busy.”  

The boy’s eyes flashed. “No you’re not.”

Janus scoffed, gesturing to his papers. “I assure you that I a--”

“Are doing what you do every Friday. You’re not busy. You just sit here. All day. Reading. Writing.”  

Observant. Janus frowned, again glancing around for a guardian figure. He didn’t think children thought much beyond eating, sleeping, and playing with their peers. “That is considered being busy by most people, I don’t have time to tal--”  

The boy shifted to his knees, the golden sparks dancing around him as he carefully placed eight quarters on the table before pushing the pile over to him. “For your time.” He said, looking up to meet Jansus’s eyes once more.

Clever. Not quite the amount he usually took for a consultation, but he doubted a child could come up with that much cash. Still. It was the first time one of these golden sparked spawns of the devil decided to pay him instead of screaming bloody murder. 

Janus exhaled, laying down his pen, sitting up as he clasped his fingers together, resting his chin on them. “I’m listening.” Though he doubted anything good would come from this proposition. He could already predict the direction this would go.

The boy relaxed, though he stayed half kneeling on his chair. “I need you,” his mouth twisted slightly, grey eyes glittering. “to pretend to be my Father.” 

Father? Ha. Called it. “No.”

Golden sparks flared as the boy lifted his chin. “You didn’t even ask ‘Why.’”

He smirked, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach as he pushed the coins back. “I don’t need to.” It was obvious why the kid wanted to play pretend. After all, the sparks surrounding him were only visible to those like Janus. Single. Between the age of thirty and thirty-five. Childless. If the kid needed a fake dad...well this wasn’t his first rodeo with the concept. “You either need protection from some bullies, which--” He gestured to himself. “You think I look scary enough to intimidate them.” Though not scary enough to keep the kid from bugging him in the first place. “Or else you have lied to your friends about who your Dad is or what he does and so--”

“You’re wrong.”   

Janus cut off, tilting his head. “Am I?” He was certain he wasn’t. 

“You are.” The boy kept eye contact, grey blue eyes hard as stone. 

It would be an intimidating gaze once he grew older, Janus was sure. “Enlighten me.”

The boy pushed the coins back across the table. “The Aquarium is having a Father/Son day today. I want to go.” 

Not what he meant by enlighten, but he’d humor the kid. “So?”

The boy rolled his eyes, shifting to his knees so he could better rest his arms on the table. “I can’t exactly partisiis--partissee--par--” 

“Participate?”

He nodded. “I can’t exactly participate if I go by myself, dummy.”

Dummy? Who just helped the kid pronounce ‘participate?’ 

Janus shoved the quarters back to the boy before picking up his pen, tapping it against the table. He could see the kid’s problem though. It made sense why the aquarium wouldn’t want to let hordes of little demon spawn run around tapping on the glass, licking the floors, and breaking things unsupervised. “I’m not spending fifty dollars to play your Dad, kid, just so you can look at some fish.” 

A pet store would work just as well and wouldn’t cost a dime. If he was willing to go along with this.

Which he wasn’t.

He didn’t even like fish. Not since that stupid childhood fishing accident that had given him the lovely scar on his face in the first place.

No way would he willingly go along with some brat to a place filled to the brim with the creatures.

Despite how brilliant of a scheme it was. One Janus would have used himself though under different circumstances. 

Though he supposed, if he felt like admitting it, which he didn’t, but he still---it….hurt in a way, that the kid, even having the sparks, just wanted to use him to get in to see some boring fish instead of trying out a real Trial with him to see if they had any sort of parental bond. 

It was a stupid feeling. 

He should be used to being used. 

The boy adjusted his frames, barely blinking as he shoved the quarters back across the table, staring Janus down. “Adults get in for only ten dollars today. Kids get in free. If.” He emphasized the word. “Their Father brings them.” He shifted in his seat, pulling out a twenty and slid it across the table. “For your ticket.” He said simply, eyes flashing. “I’m only asking for your time. I don’t want to go on a Trial with you. I don’t need or want a Dad. I just need an adult with the time on his hands to pretend to be one and let me esplore the place for two measlely hours.”

Double ouch. At least some kids attempted to do an actual Trial Run with him to see if their sparks would Flare before being so blunt in telling him he wouldn’t be their Dad. 

Janus frowned, already shaking his head. “Kid, I don’t--” 

The boy pulled out another twenty, placing it on the table. “Two hours.” He said simply.  

“You don’t even know me--” Sure, he knew the boy knew he was in the Trial stage of life since the stupid floating sparks thing, even if he couldn’t see his own, went both ways. But that didn’t mean that he should just shove--

The boy placed a third twenty on the table. 

Janus exhaled, running a hand through his hair, again fingering his scar as he glared at the child. “You’re seriously bribing me? Where did you even get that much cash?” Hopefully it wasn’t stolen, but he’d applaud the boy for being so prolific in his thievery. 

“Not important.” The boy stated, pulling out a fourth twenty without breaking eye contact. 

Why was he being so persistent?! Any other child would have run away by now. 

“Why me?” He demanded, leaning forward, sneering in a way he knew made his eyes look even more creepy. “Why not bribe some other--”

The boy hesitated, a fifth twenty already in his fingers as his steely gazed wavered. “If I tell you why, will you go with me to the Aquarium?” 

That was hardly a fair exchange. The answer could be super simple and he’d be stuck with the kid for two hours. “I’m going to stick with my ‘I’m scary theory,’” Janus said instead, gesturing to his face. That was the usual reason kids gave in most circumstances. 

The boy frowned, lifting his chin. “I can be scary enough on my own without your help.” He said shoving the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing an angry red corded scar that wrapped around his arm from wrist to shoulder. “We match, kinda. Your scar looks similar. Makes it easier to pretend that you’re my Dad. That we were in the same accident.” He pushed the pile of money towards him. “And if anyone suspects you aren’t my birth father, then the sparks will show them that we’re on a Trial and that our scars mean we’re meant to be.” 

Meant to be. 

It took a lot of effort to not touch the crescent mark on his cheek. To ignore the fluttering in his chest at those words.

They’re just pretty little lies. 

Sure, there were ongoing theories that families all shared a similar trait that marked them. Whether that was having a mole on the same part of their stomach, sharing a taste in mustard, having an allergy to hay, hair having the same cowlick, or having similar looking scars--Janus kept his hands firmly on the table as he pulled his eyes back up to meet the kids. 

It was hearsay though. Nothing had ever been proven. Not when the sparks flaring between parent and child was a far more accurate indicator that they were meant to be a family. 

No, he highly doubted anyone would Flare with him during this five year tortrue period. Not even this kid despite the sparks dancing between them. 

Janus took a steadying breath. It was fine. He didn’t need a family. Not even a pretend one for two hours. He was better off alone now that Virgil had harred off to who knew where. “How long do I have to wait before you run out of twenties and give up?” He said, keeping his voice cool. “Because I’m not taking your bribe, kid, regardless of the amount. You’d be better off hiring a nanny or something.” 

Though he was curious just how much the boy thought it would take to convince him to go along with this farce. 

The kid made a face. “I don’t want to be coddled the entire time.” He snapped, the fifth twenty vanishing as he shoved his sleeve down. “All anyone ever does is treat me like I’m breakable since--” he gestured to his arm, the scars once more hidden. “And I’m sick of it. You look like you’d happily let me fall off a bridge if I wasn’t careful and I just...I just--” He shook his head. “I need to not be cared about for a bit.” 

Let him fall off a bridge? Ouch. Janus focused on relaxing his clenched hands, one finger at a time. “So you have a death wish? I’m not gonna be complacent to--”

The boy growled, slamming his hands on the table, steel grey eyes hardening even as they shimmered with unshed tears. “No. I just want to look at the fish.” He hissed. “I want to esplore. Learn. SEE. Without having a grown-up hovering over me like I’m freaking china. All you would have to do is stay near enough to keep any other metaling adults away. That’s all I want. For two hours. To be treated like a normal kid.” His hand clenched as he took a breath, bottom lip trembling. “I thought you of all people would understand that.” He whispered, eyes flickering to the scar and back.

It took a lot of effort to not touch his face. To maintain eye contact. 

Sure.

He understood. 

Janus had wasted years chasing that particular dream throughout high school and well into his first couple of years at college. 

It had all been for nothing. 

People judged the book by the cover. Few ever took the time to look deeper. 

And it sucked that Janus was being forced to reckon with the fact that if he didn’t go with this kid and pretend to be his Dad, he’d be like every other adult unwilling to give the boy a chance to be ‘normal.’  

…Great. Just. Great.  

He’d just been guilted into spending two hours looking at the fish. 

Janus broke eye contact, cursing under his breath as he shoved his papers into his book bag and stood, grabbing his jacket and hat off the chair. 

Maybe he should follow Virgil’s lead and disappear into the wilderness for the next four and a half years if the kids were going to start pulling this type of act on him. 

“You got a name, kid?” He asked, fishing out a single twenty from the stack before shoving the pile back at the boy. Enough for the ticket. That’s it. 

The boy caught his breath, eyes going wide. “You mean--”

How could eyes hard as steel one second go so soft like freshly fallen ash the next?

You know what. He didn’t want to know. If the kid knew how to do puppy dog eyes, then he knew how. That was that, but after today Janus would not be falling for them again.

“Name.” He repeated, impatiently gesturing for the boy to follow him as he tugged his hat down over his eyes. “Else I’ll make one up and I guarantee you will not like it.”