#platonicsides2024

“What if we get into a car crash on the way there?” “What if there’s a gas leak and when they light the candles the whole place explodes?” Remus grinned. “What if the gift we got sucks and everyone hates us?” Virgil grinned back. “What if a crazed killer escapes and starts biting everyone?” “What if- wait, biting?” “It could happen.” Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Fine, what if their dog got rabies and bit everyone?” “You’re really fixated on biting today.” “The crazed killer could have rabies, too! It comes full circle.” “Would you two quit it?” Janus hissed. “He’s going to the birthday party regardless so if I have to hear one more ‘what if’ there will be consequences.”

There was a single, blissful moment of quiet where Janus thought he might have won, that maybe they would give up easily this time. One single glorious moment.

“… What if instead of rabies the dog and the killer had a zombie virus?” Remus whispered. “What if we drown in the pool and no one knows CPR?” “That’s it! Remus, no good boy mush for a week!”

Remus screeched in response.

“And Virgil…” Janus’s thunder was temporarily stalled because there honestly much you could punish Virgil with without it causing more problems than it was worth. “Get on top of the fridge!” “Ugh, this house is a fucking nightmare!” Virgil yelled back as he dutifully climbed on the fridge. “Now, Remus, go clean your room and maybe you can earn back your slop.”

But then Virgil was accepted, and instead of ambushing them, he was invited to collaborate with Roman. The decor wasn’t nearly as scary, now consisting of cheery jack-o-lantern lights and plastic skeletons, but now that they had more than a late night raid to set up (and Remus wasn’t involved) it was a lot more cohesive, and the others could tell that real thought was put into how it was all arranged. Unlike before, when it looked like the Exorcist throwing up everywhere scene equivalent of a Spirit Halloween. It was also a lot more relaxing for Virgil, who didn’t have to face the consequences of telling Remus of all people (why did he used to think that was a good idea?) what he saw as shit-your-pants worthy the morning after. And despite what one might expect from someone who loved making himself a nuisance and inviting himself where he wasn’t welcome, Remus didn’t crash the decorating or switch out the cartoony ghost banners for goopy intestines. He just went back to his tower in the Imagination, and did his worst.

Because of recent “developments”, they were now making an effort to not force any Side out (though some were more excited about this prospect than others). Since Halloween was soon approaching, Virgil had hesitantly decided to dig up an old tradition, and invited the Duke to join Roman and him in decorating. After all, with two Creativities bouncing ideas off each other and two safer Sides to keep His Disgrace in check, it had to turn out great, right?

Yeah that silly idea was thrown out the window as soon as the twins’ opposing tastes lead to them butting heads.

“Why the hell would I use plastic knives? This isn’t a school cafeteria, I’m using high-quality, stainless steel, blood covered knives!”

“You’d use plastic knives because we don’t want someone to poke their eye out!” Roman argued. In his defense, he wasn’t suggesting they use the dinky plastic knives found in fast food restaurants that can’t actually cut anything, but plastic molded to look like the kind of bloody knives you’d see in cartoons, with bright red blood painted onto a right triangle on a stick. 

“Maybe you would, but I have some goddamn artistic integrity. The glorious season of Halloween deserves nothing less than real knives.”

Having had enough, and really needing a hand with hanging up the witch on a broomstick, Virgil decided to get involved (which was never a good idea, but being smart was Logan’s job).

“Yeah, because we totally want a repeat of Crochet Night,” he interrupted with a snicker as he struggled to get a loop of string onto one of the hooks they’d stuck onto the ceiling. It didn’t help that he really didn’t feel safe standing on a chair for this, so he was shaking a bit.

“Crochet Night?” Roman asked, interest evident in his voice, because one would assume that crocheting was a very mundane activity, the kind of thing you’d expect grannies to do while talking about the latest bingo game. But the combination of yarn, needles, Remus, free time, and perhaps a lack of supervision had some interesting possabilities, and he was intrigued.

“It’s a long story,” Virgil answered, and he wasn’t lying. It would be a task of its own to even describe the end result.

“Yeah dude, get your own fucking noodle incident!” Remus jeered, stabbing some rusty nails in the wall to hang decorations from. The nice thing about the Mindscape was that they didn’t have to bother finding a stud.

“Excuse me, Rudey Gloom and I have so many ‘noodle incidents!’ Just last week was spaghetti Sunday!” the Prince protested, and Virgil just shook his head and went back to trying to hang the witch (because that’s how it actually happened). He’d explain it later.

It was a while later, and they were debating if adding fake eyeballs to the blood red Hawaiian punch was too much. In Remus’ opinion, there was no such thing as too many eyeballs, but the others didn’t fully trust him not to put in real ones. Maybe one of two though, ones that they verified were just ping pong balls or something before they were put in, that might be fun.

One might think the first week of October is too early to start putting out party snacks. But since food in the Mindscape didn’t expire unless they (just Remus really) wanted it to, a table of them served just fine as decoration.

“We could make them outta jelly, then it would be like eating an actual one.”

Roman cringed at his brother’s suggestion, before hiding his face behind a sip from a red solo cup. Yes, like in the movies.

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only person who’d want that,” Virgil said, setting down a tray of those sprinkle covered sugar cookies that have pictures of pumpkins and ghosts on them.

“You say that,” the Prince replied, looking more excited than the situation called for.

“You say that,” Virgil mirrored, laughter barely contained by the grin on his face.

“What the fuck are you two saying?”

“Oh, it’s uh…” he trailed off, because really to understand he’d need to explain about five weeks’ worth of context, the history of ferrets, and the plot of an obscure kids’ show episode.

“You had to be there, Angus Boredom!” Roman boasted, gesturing his solo cup at his brother. Remus groaned, wanting more than ever to know what that was all about now that he was being denied the knowledge.

Several minutes later, Virgil gawked when he walked in with paper mâché supplies to see the twins working together to stick spooky gel stickers to the ceiling. Them working together for once wasn’t what he was reacting to, though that was also unusual. No, the real weirdness was that Roman was sitting on his brother’s shoulders.

“Hey Emo,” Remus waved, causing Roman to brace himself against the ceiling so he wouldn’t fall off. “You got the sauce?”

“For the last time, glue is not a condiment. And what are you two doing?”

“Uh, isn’t it obvious?” Roman asked as he removed the backing from a squishy spider sticker. “We’re putting up stickers. They glow in the dark, it’ll be fabulous!”

“I can see that, I’m not blind,” he rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t you use a ladder or something?”

“Nah, do you know how many people die from ladders? This is much safer,” he answered, and normally Virgil would argue that there was no way that was true. But really? They were quite good at it. Roman could stretch and reach and maneuver however he needed to, and Remus had no problem adjusting so they didn’t come crashing down. And, as long as he was given a bit of warning, Remus could stroll over to where they needed to be next and Roman wouldn’t so much as sway, balancing himself with his twin’s gait. It was obvious they had done this before. Multiple times.

“When did you even learn how to do that?” he queried, because before Remus revealed himself to Thomas, a majority of the interactions he used to see between the Creativities consisted of medieval duels.

“Oh, well we were on this quest in the Imagination,” Roman began, and that was already a plot twist. Last he checked, each brother was banned from the other’s side unless given explicit permission to enter. Of course, that didn’t mean the rule was actually followed (it wasn’t). But before he could continue, steam started escaping from his ears.

“Unfortunately, a wizard banned us from ever saying what happened that day, so it’s a pain in the ass to explain. I’d try writing it down, but I don’t want my morningstar to be dyed pink.” Usually Remus was immune to curses, since he didn’t mind if horrible or weird things happened to him. But the bastard of a wizard had personalized the curse to do things that actually bugged him, like covering his sketchbooks in cute cat stickers. He was tempted to donate it to Patton, but the paternal Side probably wouldn’t have been too appreciative of the drawings within.

Virgil looked up from where he was spreading out a tarp in preparation for the messy craft. “So I’ll never know?” The twins just shrugged in unison.

“Eh, I guess that’s fair. Three Sides, three things we refuse to explain, all checks out.”

---

The Sanders, as they had gotten used to being called, were enjoying a relaxing Saturday at home. It was approaching evening, the setting sun flooding in through the windows and giving everything a golden glow. 

Virgil squinted as the light reached the perfect angle to reflect off one of Patton’s little glass trinkets and hit him in the eye, combining unpleasantly with sitting in front of the computer for the past three hours. Logan was beside him, having pulled one of the dining chairs next to the desk in order to help his friend find a job. The emo was beginning to wish he had gone into something easier, like marketing, though he was pretty sure working a corporate office job would be the death of him. He had gone for a sound production degree, however, in hopes that one day he’d be able to work for a band he enjoyed, so now he was scrolling ad nauseam for a sound editing gig of any kind. You’d think it would be easy; just type in a few keywords into the browser and hit search, but no. He couldn’t even go three LinkedIn links without finding a “we can’t pay money but we would be the perfect jumping off point for your career”.

He had initially asked his friend to assist him with figuring out how applying for a job with actual career aspects worked, because the only occupations he had had so far were stuff cashiering and waiting, stuff that didn’t require a resume or references. Logan had taught him how to format one, what information to include, how to word everything for pique the most interest in whoever, or nowadays probably whatever bot, was reading his application. The assistance eventually evolved to include keeping him calm as thoughts of perpetual unemployment and failure began to fill his mind. He’d have to add “tactile fidget tools most effective at preventing nail biting” to his Virgil journal. 

The constant clicking sound of the scroll wheel was interrupted by the sudden sound of the twins shouting in the adjacent sitting area. It seemed that despite what they usually claimed, they actually did have something in common: an almost inhuman competitiveness when it came to Mario Kart. Just an hour ago they had been strongly encouraged (by the threat of putting carrots in their dinner) to keep quiet so Virgil could stay on the verge of having a migraine instead of having one, but apparently this argument was important enough to risk having their meals being tainted.

Logan twisted so he could see better, and noticed that the television was turned off.

“You cheating, scum sucking, deranged son of a bitch!” Roman yelled as he shoved his hand over his brother’s mouth, trying to silence his raucous cackling.

“Wow, what a nice thing to call your mother,” Remus snickered after licking Roman’s hand, causing his brother to immediately gag and rush to wipe the saliva off on the couch. He muttered profanely as he rummaged in the side drawer for a bottle of sanitizer. 

“Hey now, there’s no need for such potty language,” Patton chimed in from the kitchen, where he had just put the dinner rolls in the oven. 

“Ooh, someone’s in trouble,” Remus grinned at his brother, wiggling his shoulders mischievously as he frowned at him. He should honestly just be glad he didn’t start scream-singing Smash Mouth’s “All Star.”

“He turned off the TV so I wouldn’t win!” Roman protested, sending Virgil reaching for some tylenol at the outburst. Noticing this, Janus made a show of grabbing a carrot from the fridge and grabbing a knife, holding them up so the brothers could see them like he had the remote control to a bomb and was threatening to destroy the city. At least a bomb had the potential to be fun, in Remus’ opinion anyway. 

“Jan, come on, don’t be like that!” Remus whined, clasping his hands together to beg as his friend placed the vegetable on the cutting board with a purposefully loud thud. “We promise to chill for a whole fifteen minutes, okay? Just put the dildo plant down.” Patton winced at the vulgarity but had mercy on them, reaching over to put the carrot back in the fridge. He wasn’t sure why they had even bought it. None of them liked carrots.

Janus let out a dramatic sigh and returned to stirring the caramelizing onions so they wouldn’t burn. Usually Patton was the only one involved in preparing dinner, besides the few small jobs he sometimes delegated to the others (the twins were banned from anything with heat), but Janus had gotten his law school homework done early enough to come home an hour before he usually did. Despite Patton’s protests that he really didn’t need help and that he wasn’t that tired from his frankly awful day working at the daycare, Janus managed to force his way into the kitchen with a bit of persuasion. Mainly reminding him that there was no glory in suffering, no matter what his teachers in catholic school taught him growing up. 

Virgil tried to return to his search, but even with the pain medication his eyes were starting to strain, all the letters turning into one big squiggle that might as well have spelled out “sorry, but you’re really not what we’re looking for” as far as his growing anxiety was concerned. Logan noticed him gripping the mouse tighter, and out of concern for both his friend and the plastic, put a hand on his shoulder. Virgil snapped around to look at him, eyes wide like he had just been pulled out of an awful world that only consisted of blue light and filling out information that was already on his resume. He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the smell of baking bread as it filled his nose, anything that wasn’t the job search, but one can only focus on a smell for so long.

“How about we go set the table?” Logan asked, getting up from his chair before he could respond.

“But the applications! I haven’t finished a single one!” Virgil fretted, still following him to where he was taking plates out of a cabinet. He opened a drawer and began counting out forks. Patton noticed and nodded his thanks before turning back to plating the baked potatoes.

“And in this state I doubt you’ll be any good at filling one out,” Logan stated bluntly, trying to be comforting in his own Logan way as he placed plates in their proper place on the table. “You need a break. If you feel the need, you can get back to it after dinner, or I can help you tomorrow.” Lord knows Virgil would stay up until 2 AM with or without the stress, but Logan actually respected his circadian rhythm. 

Virgil frowned, still feeling like he was wasting valuable time, but nodded as he set out the cutlery. He looked over to the twins, and they had gone back to playing Mario Kart. Though they had left the normal game mode and were now doing the challenges. Roman’s face grew almost as red as his fashion statement of a belt as one of his balloons was popped by a dastardly red shell, courtesy of his brother obviously, but he didn’t yell. It seemed that though the threat of being made to consume carrots was no longer imminent, they were still trying to make good on their promise to be quiet, if not out of integrity then probably out of concern for what Janus would do instead. No one wanted a repeat of the Shoe Incident. Don’t ask. Janus had them all sign NDAs.

Remus was biting his lip so hard in his struggle to stay silent that they were beginning to bleed slightly, but he just licked it away. He almost launched himself into the side table as he leaned unnecessarily in time with his go-kart’s sharp turn. 

Soon dinner was ready, and Patton called them to the table as he set out the food.

They weren’t related, for the most part.

But they still sat at the table every Saturday evening, chowing down on lovingly homemade food as they chatted about their weeks, the stress fading away, even if just for a moment, as the air filled with old inside jokes. And in their opinion, it was better than any of their “real” family dinners had ever been.

---

Patton loved cards, particularly handmade ones, and if they had some sort of joke in them, even better. Virgil knew this to be true, there was a significant amount of evidence, he didn’t have to be anxious about it. Emphasis on have to. This was a totally optional anxiety he was participating in. But the reason for the card pushed him through.

It was not secret that Patton had been having a hard time. Virgil hadn’t been there for the blow up, and while part of him wished he had been so that he could be there for his friend, another part of him knew it was for the best because situations like that made him prickly. But there was no changing that anyway. Now Janus was… well he was doing something and Virgil had decided to withhold judgement, though he was still a bit suspicious. Causing a scene with him now would only make things worse. The only thing was, Patton’s room and honestly whole existence now held Schrodinger’s Janus and Virgil knew if they saw each other, it would cause a scene. Thus the card.

The first trouble had been what joke to write. Looking up ‘jokes for sad people’ was mildly helpful. Virgil decided to pair his card with a puppy and kitty coloring book so he could use ‘I’m here if you ever need a shoulder to crayon’. He also wrote smaller at the bottom ‘P.S. U R still fam. ILY.’ Hopefully that would convey what he wanted. With a thought he sent it to Patton’s room and decided to take a nap. Being personally nervous and emotionally vulnerable was tiring and Thomas was set to doom scroll for another hour at least. He’d make him anxious about it later if he kept it up.

-

When Virgil woke up, he was pretty sure it wasn’t natural. Then he heard a knock. Someone wanted his attention. Looking at the time, he’d only slept for about half an hour so nothing could have gone too horribly wrong, right? Well considering he was Anxiety it was best he opened the door before he started thinking about all of the possibilities.

When he did open it, he found Patton, sans Janus for once, looking more than a little emotional, though which emotion was hard to say.

“Patton? What-”

Virgil was interrupted by Patton throwing himself into his arms. It seemed like Patton was going to say something, but instead he just started shaking.

“Woah, there, Pat. I’ve got you.”

There was a wet patch Virgil could feel forming on his shoulder. He was a little surprised Patton was taking him up on the offer so soon, or somewhat at all considering his self imposed need to seem happy around everyone all the time, but not unhappy with the results. Eventually the shaking stopped, though the occasional sniffle remained.