#flashback chap

Mocking, angry, bitter…like he needed Virgil to know that whatever friendship they’d had was dead. Well, nearly stabbing your friend would surely make them angry. Roman was just retaliating for years of animosity.

Still. It hurt. A lot.

Didn’t make Virgil any less bitter though.

With the tears under control for the time being, Virgil let his sleeve fall from his teeth into his lap. He was so tired. He slumped forward on his bed, forearms resting on his thin thighs and stared down at his own hands.

They were worn, long and thin fingers that trembled slightly from nerves he could never shake. Nails bitten to the quick, and when he had no nails to bite, the skin around them bitten and torn. Calluses from countless battles in his subconscious.

He let his head drop, fingers running through his own hair. For once, soft and light to the touch. Patton was right, showering did often make him feel better. But that didn’t mean he always wanted to. Or saw the point.

He closed his eyes, sighing sadly to himself. Was there a point to going on? He had a job to do, and he wanted to do it. He wanted to protect Thomas and the other Sides. He did care. In his own way.

But months…months…of animosity from not just Roman, but Thomas too? It had worn away his resolve. What was the point if he was going to be hated at every turn? Even when he did something right, even when he kept Thomas from doing something dumb enough to get himself killed…

Was a ‘good job’ too much to ask for?

Probably, he thought to himself with a sigh. Lord knew they poured all of that energy on each other. Virgil hadn’t been a part of that in years. Heck, he hadn’t even spent a Christmas with them yet. He shuddered, that was something to worry about come December.

Those tears he’d been holding back decided to force their way up, his heart desperately clawing into his throat. He worked so damn hard. Did they think it was easy to keep a grown man alive? No, not when his other Sides are fighting back.

He bit his lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. Of course, the videos didn’t help either. Roman liked using it as a means to air dirty laundry. To throw insults and slights at him that he didn’t do when they were in the mindscape. Heck, Roman wouldn’t even look at him when they went back.

And here he was, back to thinking about Roman. Someone he’d been so close to once. Running around the mindscape together, the Imagination together…playing…

It had been playing then. Villain and prince. He’d been good at the villain part. They’d been young then. They couldn’t have known how this would all turn out. But…looking back now, painted with pain and misery…

It felt like Roman had always known. Had always thought Virgil a villain.

That broke Virgil’s remaining resolve. The tears slipped from his lashes, falling to his thighs. Why? What did he do wrong? He’d been trying to protect Roman! And by extension, all the others! Why had they turned on him?! Princey was the one who tried to stab him!

Broken, agonising sobs escaped Virgil in the early morning, shivering despite his hoodie. He was always cold now. Such a contrast to the heat he’d felt that first day when he became Anxiety.

His shaking only seemed to get worse as he pulled and tugged at his hair, desperate attempts to pull his crying back under control. He was stronger than this. Better than this. So what? So what if they hated him? He had a job to do and he was going to do it!

But…what was the point?

With a violent tug at his hair, nearly tearing half of it out, he managed to snap his eyes open and bit his lip again to muffle the sobs. It was just a nightmare why was he having a crisis over that?

Because it wasn’t just the nightmare.

He let his hands fall from his hair, staring down at them again. There wasn’t really a point to him, was there? He made Thomas anxious. He made him scared. He kept him from doing the things he loved. That was…that was no way to live.

Virgil was nothing more than an illness. A disorder. A personification of sickness. What was the point to him then? He knew the others wouldn’t care if he just disappeared. Heck, they’d probably throw a goddamned party. An even though it hurt, he couldn’t deny that it was true.

Christmas certainly would have come early.

Thomas couldn’t live while he was still around. But who was to say he couldn’t live without him? He’d been Instinct once. The one thing that kept Thomas alive. The thing that told Thomas that this dog was friendly and this one aggressive. That this food was okay and this would make him sick.

Did he even do that anymore?

Or did he just cause pain?

A door slammed somewhere in the mindscape, just down the hall if Virgil’s hearing was still good. Probably Roman’s room. Was he affecting Thomas-

A curt knock on his door.

That was a yes.

“Hey, Dark and Gloomy, what’s the deal?” Roman’s voice. A fresh wound to an already shredded heart, “It’s like six in the morning!” Virgil found the resolve to get to his feet, “Would you cut it out?”

Virgil didn’t have the voice to answer. He’d been crying. And he’d be damned if he let Roman know he’d been crying. About him…again.

So he did the next best thing to make him go away.

He threw his alarm clock at the door.

There was stunned silence as Virgil stumbled to his bathroom and leant against the doorframe for a few moments. Roman stomped off, probably to Patton’s room, and Virgil sighed as he straightened.

Well, now he’d have Patton to deal with. Maybe. It was six in the morning.

When Virgil flicked on the light, he scowled. His reflection wasn’t right. “Oh, hey there, Anxiety.”

He rolled his eyes as he approached, “Doubt.” He stepped toward the sink, “Can you at least help me put on my eyeshadow while we do this?” he sighed, turning on the faucet.

“Long night?” Doubt snickered, crossing his arms as he half-mirrored Anxiety’s movements.

Anxiety washed his face clean of his streaked eyeshadow and rolled his eyes at his not-quite-reflection, “I never have a ‘long night’,” he answered, scrubbing his cheeks, “I don’t sleep.”

Doubt snickered again, “That’s true.” Doubt didn’t move when Anxiety lowered himself to splash water over his face, “Princey still giving you issues?”

“Firstly,” Anxiety straightened again, cold washcloth draped over his eyes, “Only I call him Princey.” Doubt scowled, but Virgil was too busy trying to hide the fact he’d been crying, “Secondly, when isn’t he?”

Doubt huffed lightly, “Ya know, you don’t have to accept that crap, right?” he had his arms crossed when Virgil took the washcloth off to inspect his eyes. He grimaced when he saw they were still bloodshot and puffy.

He put the washcloth back on, “I’m not leaving Thomas unprotected.”

Doubt huffed angrily, “Will you worry about yourself for once?” he would have stomped his foot if it did any good. Well, maybe that was partly Virgil’s fault. Doubt was too loud.

Virgil laughed bitterly, “I do.”

Doubt growled softly, “You are not Thomas.” The smirk on Virgil’s face turned into a sneer, “And we both know how he feels.”

Virgil dropped the washcloth into his hands to glare at Doubt, “Low blow, man.”

Doubt shrugged at him, “Hmm.”

Virgil glared at Doubt for a bit longer before he sighed, his shoulders sagging, “You’re right though.” He tossed the washcloth into the basin, turning off the cold water, “I’m not Thomas…and he hates me.” His voice cracked as he admitted it aloud for the first time. He held himself up against the sink, his knees feeling weaker than before, “I don’t want to leave him unprotected though.”

“He hates you, Anxiety.” Virgil grimaced again, biting his lip, “So what, if he’s unprotected?” Virgil raised his eyes, hair shielding his gaze, “He should have appreciated you.”

Virgil snorted, dropping his gaze back to his hands, “Who would though? I’m an illness. A disease.”

“You weren’t always that way though.” Doubt reminded him, “I still remember when this place,” he held his hands out, gesturing to Anxiety’s part of the subconscious, “Was almost like Roman’s.”

“You remember back that far?” Virgil asked, swinging open the bathroom cabinet to pull out his make-up bag. Doubt made a noise irritation as Virgil swung it closed again. Doubt looked a little shaken, but quickly regained his balance, “I can’t even remember back that far sometimes.”

His not-quite-reflection snickered again, “Of course you don’t. You’re too busy fighting a war in there.”

Virgil looked down to his make-up bag as he pulled out his essentials, “I wouldn’t call it a war…”

“It’s a war, Anxiety. Everything you do, everything you say, is met with some kind of resistance.” Virgil only glanced at Doubt. There was no point making him know he was right, “Nothing you ever do is enough. Nothing will ever be enough. You’re fighting a losing war, man.”

Virgil popped the cap on his concealer, carefully tracing it over his nose and cheekbones, “Okay, maybe it is a war.” Virgil admitted quietly, dotting the concealer on his jawline and some on his forehead, “But that doesn’t mean I’m losing.”

Doubt’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as Virgil carefully blended in some of the concealer, “Are you kidding me?! Look at the toll this bullshit has taken on you!” Virgil scowled as he dotted foundation around his face, “You’re covering it up every day, but it’s there.”

Well, that was true. He was tired. He was sore. Maybe he was fighting a losing war, with no allies or backup in sight.

“Alright, alright.” Virgil finished blending out his foundation. He already looked a shade or too healthier. It was an improvement, not a fix. “Let’s pretend that I’m starting to believe you.” He waved an eyeshadow brush at Doubt as he spoke, “What then?”

Doubt smirked smugly at Virgil, arms crossed as he mirrored Virgil leaning in, “I’d say leave. Duck out. Officially.”

Virgil nearly dropped his eyeshadow palette, jerking back a few steps. Doubt only watched, “What? I joked about that. I can’t actually leave!”

Doubt arched an eyebrow at him, “Can’t you?”

Virgil’s eyes fell to a spot on the basin and frowned as he thought. Maybe he could. He wouldn’t leave the mind, that much was certain. It was only recently that they’d discovered they could physically manifest, and even then it had been an accident. Logan had been sick for a week afterward. So he couldn’t pop out and walk away.

But maybe…maybe he could close off his part of subconscious? Maybe he could…turn it off? But how?

“I can see the cogs turning.” Doubt’s smirk grew as Virgil’s eyes met his, “Didn’t Roman close off the Imagination? So Patton would stop messing with it?”

“Yeah, but it’s still there. Thomas can still access it.” Virgil stepped forward again, slowly applying eyeshadow under his eyes.

“But Roman wanted it that way.”

Virgil paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes as he studied Doubt’s. He knew he shouldn’t be listening to him. Heck, he shouldn’t even be talking to him. Doubt was his minion (…friend…associate?) so listening to him was a bad idea. And heck, Virgil did enough doubting on his own without Doubt also draining his energy.

But he brought up a valid point. Maybe Virgil could leave. Maybe he had a way out when it got to be too much after all.

“And Thomas?” Virgil asked, continuing his application.

“What about him?”

“Would he be able to function?”

Doubt rolled his eyes with a huff, “You really think you’d still care?”

“You…do realise we die if he does, right?”

Doubt snickered, “He hates you, Anxiety. You may as well be dead already.”

Virgil jerked, his brush spreading eyeshadow over his nose and the tears immediately rushed to the surface, “Okay, ow.” He dropped his head to try and clean up the eyeshadow and hide the tears that threatened, “That was a little uncalled for.”

Doubt gave him another smug smirk when Virgil met his eyes again, “It’s true though, isn’t it?”

Virgil sighed, “Maybe.” He answered with a glare before returning to his application, “I guess that’s something to consider if the time comes.”

“When the time comes.” Doubt corrected, leaning back as Virgil did so he could fiddle with his hair, “It’s only a matter of time, Anxiety. You know that.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve noticed.”

He didn’t need to be reminded that Roman’s jabs have been getting more and more vicious. That he’d been making more of an effort to avoid the anxious Side. That he only listened to Virgil’s points if they came from Logan’s mouth. Either they were going to fight it out, or one of them had to leave.

And Roman was too important to Thomas.

“At least it’s an option.” Virgil continued.

Before Doubt could say anything further, there was a knock from Virgil’s door, “Anxiety?” Patton. That took him a while, “Can we talk?”

Virgil threw Doubt a wary look, “We’ll talk about this later.”

Doubt nodded, watching Virgil leave but not leaving the mirror.

Virgil opened his door to see Patton standing there, a mix between Dad Mode and concern on his face, “Can I help you?”

“Why did Thomas have a panic attack this morning?” the tone was more accusatory than Virgil liked hearing from Patton.

“I had a nightmare.” He admitted with a shrug, tucking his hands in his hoodie. “Didn’t realise it was affecting Thomas.”

“And the thing with Roman?”

Of course. It always came down to Roman. The fucking golden child. Virgil’s face twisted with hurt, poorly hidden behind a sneer as he glared over Patton’s shoulder, “What thing?”

Patton arched an eyebrow at Virgil, not noticing as Virgil physically braced for the coming lecture. It hurt, of course, being lectured like this by Patton. So early in the morning. And Logan’s passing affirmation didn’t help.

It was ten minutes before Patton finally seemed to run out of steam, noticing Virgil’s stiff posture and downcast eyes. He took in a deep breath, “Look, kiddo-“

“Don’t call me that.” He snarled back, taking a step back into his room, “I get it. None of you want me here. Whatever.”

“That’s not it at all!” Patton cried, taking a step into the room. He blocked Virgil from closing the door before he’d even moved to do so, “We’d just like you to try a little harder not to affect Thomas-“

“Exactly. You don’t want me here.” Virgil’s voice cracked a little, and he sneered up at Patton to mask it. “I get it.”

Patton had never seen pain in Virgil’s eyes before, then again, he’d never actually looked. It shook him so much, he took a step back, “Anxiety…kiddo…”

“I said don’t call me that!” Virgil’s temper finally flared, and he slammed the door shut, ending the conversation with a finality Anxiety wished he could take back.

Neither of them moved, but Virgil tried to mask the dejected, broken sob that escaped him before he hurried back to his bathroom. Doubt gave him a knowing look, but was silent as Virgil curled up on the floor.

Three different voices, three different requests (or demands in Roman’s case), three different meals passed by before Virgil was able to pull himself together. And when he did, Doubt was still there, waiting.

Virgil looked like a mess. He was a mess. His hair was ruffled, his eyeshadow streaked down his face, eyes stinging and bloodshot and puffy. But he didn’t care.

“How do we do this?” he held himself up over the basin.

Doubt grinned at him.