#tw trapped

The sirens have long since gone silent from the sheer magnitude of the damage the Site has sustained, and Lachlan and Jack are just trying to stay alive and get to a shelter before they’re buried under rubble for 343-knows-how-long. Another quake hits the hallway, and Lachlan barely manages to dodge the chunk of rock falling silently from the ceiling and slamming into the floor with a loud crack.

A cross between a gasp and a groan comes from behind him. He whips around and has to choke back a sob. 

Jack’s entire lower half is trapped, crushed underneath the rock Lachlan had managed to dodge. He looks like he’s actively trying not to react, clenching his jaw and screwing his eyes shut. He inhales sharply through his teeth and groans again, a single tear tracing a path down his dust-streaked face. 

Lachlan is there in an instant, kneeling next to him so quickly he nearly topples right onto him, taking both of his hands in his own and giving them a gentle squeeze. “Hey,” he says, trying to put on the most comforting voice he can. “Hey. Hey, Jack. You okay? What’s going on?” 

Jack chokes back a sob. “Take it. Just take it and get out, please. I’ll be okay.” 

He wrests his hands free and fumbles his amulet off of his neck, pressing it firmly into Lachlan’s hands. “I love you so much. Get to safety, alright?” 

Lachlan tentatively accepts, placing it in his breast pocket—the one closest to his heart. “Jack, I can’t just–” 

He looks like he’s barely keeping it together. “I’m not worth it, go. Go!” he nearly yells. “Just go, Lach, I’ll be fine, you need to get to safety!” 

“I’m not just going to leave you here!” Lachlan retorts, trailing off when the slightest of tremors travels up through his shoes. 

A small trickle of blood leaks out of the side of Jack’s mouth. “Then we’ll both die! Go!” 

Lachlan hesitates. “Okay. I love you so much. I'll see you–” 

“Go!”

Lachlan nods, turning to head off. He wants to say something, some parting words, but the ground heaves beneath him and he bolts, barely making it out in time before the entire hallway collapses with a deafening rumble. He’s gone, then.

…

Moments ago.

Virgil feels the breath leave his lungs and he gasps a little, scrambling to his feet in the Mindscape.

Virgil! Logan’s voice barks like a shout—strained and urgent—through the air of the Mindscape, and Virgil feels a frantic tug on his hair that forces him to his feet. Virgil yelps as he’s pulled sharply upwards.

He rises up with a grimace, his hands instinctively flying to his scalp at the sharp burst of pain.

“Shit, Logan—” Virgil cuts himself off as he looks around.

The apartment is empty. Virgil stands alone on the stairs, his heart hammering in his chest and only getting harder and faster.

He feels a tug deep in his gut, and a sudden understanding slams into him hard enough to leave him breathless. He knows exactly where they are.

…

Present.

Virgil can feel his eyes stinging but he ignores it as he yanks against the doorknob with every ounce of strength he has.

“C’mon!” he grits out behind clenched teeth. Maybe it’s his own mind playing tricks on him but there’s a moment when Virgil swears he hears a crazed kind of laughter reply from the other side of the door. It sounds like Remus, but somehow even more unhinged.

“Please!” His voice is distorted so much it doesn’t sound like his own. It’s tight and pleading. It’s raw, and it burns Virgil’s throat. He doesn’t know if Thomas can hear him. He doesn’t know if Thomas knows he’s trying to get to him. He doesn’t know if Thomas understands that he is trying to help him.

His heart is thudding against his ribcage. He closes his eyes. He focuses. He still can’t rise up in his room. The only way through is the door. Virgil blindly, desperately, throws his weight against it again.

He can feel in his lungs the way that Thomas can’t get his breath.

“Thomas, you—” Virgil rakes both hands back through his hair and grips against his scalp. He squeezes his eyes shut and pleads through the door. “You have to breathe—”

…

Moments ago.

Virgil closes his eyes and focuses. He breathes in, and feels a sudden rush and a faint sense of dizziness. He stumbles a moment, shaking his head.

“Thomas—“ he starts, before he realizes that he didn’t appear in his room as he’d planned. He rose up on the outside of it.

Virgil frowns and tries the door handle. It doesn’t turn, and Virgil feels a surge of fresh adrenaline.

“Very funny, guys,” he says, uncertainly. “Open the door.”

Silence.

“Guys, seriously. Let me in. It’s not safe for you in there.”

Virgil waits. Tenses. Seconds go by, and Virgil feels something hard and cold settle in the pit of his stomach. He tries the door handle again.

He can’t get the door open.

…

Present.

Virgil is intimately used to the feeling of fear—the tensing of your muscles, the sharpening of all of your senses, the taste it leaves in the back of your throat—but he is afraid now in a way he hasn’t been in a very long time. He can’t give up. Virgil must get Thomas out of his room.

He must. He’s the protector. It’s his job.

Why can’t he get in? He doesn’t know. He can’t stop repeating the question in his mind. They’re in danger in that room without him. He can feel them through the door. The distinct senses of anxiety from each of them is pressing around every sense that Virgil has. Flooding them. He can feel them. Feel their fear and taste it on his tongue.

And he can’t get to them.

Virgil rams his fist against the door again with a strangled, wordless cry.

He can’t protect him. He can’t protect Thomas.

“I’m sorry.” It’s all he has left. A hoarse, distorted apology as the fight rushes out of him with a suddenness that leaves him dizzy.

Exhaustion takes the place of his adrenaline. It sinks into his muscles with a sudden and intense weight, as if it had been a pendulum above his head waiting for someone to cut the string and slam into his shoulders. Virgil feels his knees suddenly shake and he leans against the door to keep them from giving out entirely.

The door swings open.

Virgil barely has enough time to regain his own balance as his initial support structure vanishes before he realizes that Thomas is standing on the other side of the door. His cheeks look damp, his eyes look red.

“Thomas—” Virgil barely gets the host’s name out before Thomas’s knees buckle. Virgil’s arms shoot out instinctively, catching him in a clumsy tangle of limbs. A burst of alarm surges through him, his eyes flickering up past Thomas’s head to see the other Sides.

They look…. Bad.

Their eyes are sunken, ringed dark with black eyeshadow. There’s something haunted about the look Patton gives Virgil, and the Anxious Side doesn’t miss the way he’s trembling where he stands. Roman’s chest is heaving, and his eyes are screwed shut. Logan is looking at Thomas, silent and unmoving save for the slight shake to his hands. Virgil sees Logan curl them into fists.

For a long, painful moment, nobody moves.

Logan is the first one that does anything. He takes a step forward, seems to lose his balance, and then takes in an unsteady breath. He gives a pointed, if solemn, look at Virgil. The Anxious Side doesn’t understand the look in his eyes.

“Thomas,” Logan says. The word shakes. Logan stops, clears his throat, and tries again. His voice is much, much quieter than Virgil can ever remember hearing it. “Thomas, you must rest.”

Virgil glances down at the host sagged against him. He feels Thomas nod slightly against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says hollowly. “Okay, Logan.”

Virgil still doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say—a dozen questions come to mind, none of them ones that Virgil feels brave enough to ask in this moment—as Thomas gets his feet a little more firmly under him. Thomas glances at Virgil as he pulls away and gives him an exhausted, shaky smile before he sinks through the floor.

“Guys…” Virgil tries, finding some semblance of a voice for only a moment. Logan brushes past him without another word, heading towards his own room. Virgil tries not to wince as the door to Logan’s room latches shut behind him.

Virgil looks back at the others and sees Roman has opened his eyes, his breath finding a calmer rhythm. He looks like he can barely hold himself upright, but he claps a hand on Virgil’s shoulder as he steps past the Anxious Side. Virgil doesn’t say anything, watching Roman head to his own corner of the Mindscape without a word.

“I think we all just need some rest, kiddo,” Patton murmurs quietly. “That’s… that’s the first priority.” His voice sounds distant and detached. In fact, sounds so unlike the Moral Side that Virgil can only look at him. Patton gives him a sad, tired look, kisses the side of Virgil’s head, and goes to his own room.

Virgil stands at his doorway, finding that for all the effort he had just put towards getting through that door… it’s suddenly the last place he wants to be.

///

Read Part 2 here!

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-Wilford, once being a big-game hunter, knows how to cook really well. He specializes in meats mainly. But a good pass time for him is cooking and baking. You would think that he would make wacky meals, but in reality that’s not the case. 

-As we know about Dark, he is the embodiment of Damien, Celine, and the entity (a full house if you ask me, hah). In an RP @lost-inhibitions and I share, we have it to where Wilford actually has a huge chunk of this entity with him. That’s why he’s so bat shit. He’s like a bottle of water that was overly filled with this thing, that his mental capacity kinda just gets zapped every now and then. This causes him to become rather delusional. Yet interestingly enough, Wilford isn’t truly ditsy. He knows a lot. 

-Alongside knowing a lot, the entity causes Wilford a lot of strain on his mind. So although he may know possibly more things than Dark, he can’t outright say anything. So you really have to focus on the riddles that leave this man. He’s clever and quick witted, so everything he says could very well be crucial information. 

-At night time, when we sleep, our minds naturally sort out memories and such.(it’s really cool! Def look it up!)  It happens to Wilford too. But during this time, William’s mentality (which sleeps while Wilford is awake) awakens and rushes into panic as he realizes hes trapped in a sleeping husk. Interestingly enough, with just enough strain, this can cause William to wake up and gain control of his body. Often times, he finds that his time is very much limited due to him panicking again, and the entity shut him down to bring out his more “stable” half.

-Wilford and Dark are inseparable. And this is due to the entity being split up in both Wilford and Dark. At this point the two are like magnets. So lets say these two get pissed off at each other and Dark ends up in location A, Wilford: location B, then these two will eventually meet up at location C. Most times they can pick up on each other. Dark is a little more aware of this ‘gut feeling’ and what it is. But Wilford over thinks the feeling to the point he just goes “Idk why but I need to walk in this direction. Oh hey, its Dick, I mean Dark.” But isn’t Wilford smart?? Isn’t that what you said, Crypti? Yes. But that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of over analyzing things to the point its all just “meh”. He can still be confused.

-You cant kill him. Just like you can’t kill Dark. The entity in them wont allow it. But because Wilford has so much of this Cthulhu type thing inside him, it will heal any harm done to Wilford much quicker than Dark. 

-Wilford can warp and distort your reality if you piss him off, or if he’s bored and wants to pick at your brain. It’s one way for him (mostly the entity) to gather information. But experiencing this isn’t fun. Imagine the room growing overly saturated with colours. Things start to warp. It’s hard to walk. Everything’s loopy!! Yeah, its no fun house.

-As stated in my recent post, Wilford has a tough time with his appearance. If his mustache grows too big, much like Williams, he will grow antsy and trim it. Same goes for his hair colour. Pink is known to be a comfort color, as it is also a playful one.(It’s a colour that resembles many things, but these two are typically universal). When we are hurt emotionally most of us seek comfort or the other! So that’s what Wilford subconsciously picks. Or maybe it was William. But point is, Wilford does his best to keep his appearance very much different from William. An entity can’t control a panicked body so easily after all. Not without shutting the body and mentalities down.

-Uuh. Lets list some not so sad ones… Okay well, if he’s frustrated, his mustache twitches. He wont scratch it. Just..He’s gotta twitch it. Wilford also fidgets a lot to settle himself down if bothered.

- He’s totally down to wear dresses. Mainly cause in the 30′s William would’ve gotten taken down by society standards. So Wilford expresses Williams inner “I want to try that”. Plus he likes the feeling of different materials. Hell. This guy wore heels and such to an interview. But he will typically stick to the button ups and slacks because its an attire he cant fully let go of. I wonder why.

-Aside from the tv station, I imagine that he actually had a small podcast. He would tell his viewers about his wacky life and about Dark; many only assumed they were made-up stories. But the podcast had to be shut down due to cryptid hunters trying to find out where Dark, or even Wilfordwas. Technically, intruders would be no big deal to get rid of, but it’s mostly Dark who convinces Wilford to lay low, and not do anything that would cause them to go into hiding, and start new, again.