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Deceit stood in the doorway to Virgil’s room, watching as the other side threw the contents of his wardrobe towards his bed. A ragged black duffle bag, studded with My Chemical Romance pins, lay open on the covers, already partly full.
If Virgil had noticed him, he was doing an excellent job of pretending otherwise.
Deceit folded his arms, leaning faux-casually against the doorframe. ‘Planning another trip to the subconscious, are we?’ The words came out coloured with more spite than he’d intended, but he was hardly going to take them back.
Crossing to his chest of draws, Virgil didn’t so much as glance at Deceit. His hand hovered over the snow globe he, Deceit and Remus had made together last Christmas – the one containing a Christmas hat adorned spider; the one that was part of a set of three – before pulling away, leaving it where it was. He opened one of the draws instead, yanking out crumpled t-shirts by the handful, and throwing them on the bed with far more force than necessary. ‘Just.. don’t,’ Virgil muttered, and Deceit was fairly certain he left the sentence there.
Eloquent as always, Virgil. ‘“Don’t” what?’
‘Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t going to.’ Deceit sniffed petulantly, pretending to examine his fingernails through his gloves. ‘It just seems a little soon for another pathetic cry for attention, don’t you think?’
Virgil’s spine visibly stiffened, knuckles turning white as he gripped the rim of the drawer. They were both well aware his “ducking out” had been anything but a cry for attention. ‘I have nothing to say to you. Get out.’
‘That’s a shame. Because I have plenty to say to you.’ Deceit let all the carefully suppressed panic he’d been holding onto since he woke up to find Virgil gone bubble to the surface. In two strides, Deceit crossed the room, yanking Virgil round by the shoulder until they were nose to nose. ‘How could you be so stupid?’ Deceit hissed, inches from Virgil’s face.
Virgil scowled. ‘Stupid enough to believe you, you mean?’ Shoving Deceit off him, Virgil backed away, curling his hands in his hoodie sleeves. ‘I thought I was hurting Thomas. That he’d be better off without me.’
Deceit had never said that. Deceit would remember if he’d ever said that.
Wouldn’t he?
Except… ‘Maybe they’re right’ echoed at the back of Deceit’s mind.
But all he’d done was remind Virgil exactly what the others thought of him. He’d been trying to make a point; that Virgil didn’t need their approval. It was hardly Deceit’s fault that Virgil apparently cared more about their opinions than his own continued existence. How was Deceit meant to know that?
How, precisely, was Deceit meant to magically predict Virgil was going to take his words as an excuse to throw himself off the bloody cliff to the subconscious. He was no mind reader.
It wasn’t his fault.
Throat dry as sandpaper, Deceit swallowed thickly, scanning Virgil for any lingering signs of what he’d done. Shoulders hunched up around his ears, he had the air of a stray cat with its hackles up – hardly unusual for Anxiety. If he was any paler than usual, Deceit couldn’t tell under his makeup. And the shake in his hands was because he was redirecting his pent up frustration at Deceit, that was all.
Meaning Virgil was fine.
(He had to be.)
‘And you’re pinning your little breakdown on me instead of the “light” sides who have continuously bemoaned your existence… why exactly?’ Deceit asked incredulously.
‘Stop it. I know what you’re doing.’
Did he? Because as far as Deceit was concerned, all he was “doing” was asking a perfectly valid question.
Virgil’s chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath, before continuing with all the conviction of a child insisting the tooth fairy will definitely come if they put a tooth under their pillow, ‘They do want me around. They said so.’
Yes, and it totally wasn’t Deceit swapping out bloodied enamels for quarters all those years. Deceit remembered how upset Virgil had been when he found out the truth as a spotty little tween; he so wanted to deal with the fallout when the proverbial penny dropped and scattered the happy house of cards the lights supposedly wanted to construct with a side they, really, barely knew anything about.
‘Oh, Virgil, sweetie,’ Deceit purred, dripping condescension. ‘Just because those dunderheads finally realised Thomas needs anxiety to function, doesn’t mean they want you “brightening” up their day to day lives.’
Even if they thought they did for now, they’d soon change their minds if faced with the reality of the situation. How long would Morality put up with Virgil skipping “family” breakfast because he was too exhausted from anxiety-induced insomnia to get out of bed? What would be Logic’s tipping point when it came to finding Virgil sitting on surfaces that could in no way be classified as chairs? How many nights of Virgil picking holes in all of his favourite Disney movies before Roman snapped?
The thought of Virgil living with them was nothing but a joke. It was hilarious that he’d got so far as packing.
The lump in Deceit’s throat wouldn’t let him laugh.
‘You’re wrong,’ Virgil muttered, and the fact that he wouldn’t meet Deceit’s eyes said nothing whatsoever about his level of security in the truth of that statement.
Turning away, Virgil dragged his black and grey knitted blanket off the top shelf of his wardrobe, letting it fall into a heap in his arms. He didn’t need to unfold it for Deceit to know it was much too small for Virgil to effectively wrap himself in these days; the first third or so of a new one lay waiting in Deceit’s own wardrobe, decorated with his entirely successful attempt at a spider pattern along the trim (“Expressionism” Deceit intended to call it when he eventually handed over his masterpiece).
Virgil ran his hand along the material, stopping at the gaping hole where a younger Deceit had failed to fix a few dropped stitches. He poked his thumb through the gap, staring at it like it held the secret to the universe.
The action, combined with not knowing remotely what Virgil was thinking, made Deceit’s scales itch incessantly.
‘Care to bet?’ Deceit asked snidely. ‘Because on my money, they’ll be marching you back through that door in a week. Probably better to avoid the embarrassment by not going in the first place.’
‘They wouldn’t.’ Bundling up the blanket with a scowl, Virgil shoved it back into his wardrobe, ignoring the offended noise that escaped Deceit’s mouth when it fell to the floor. Virgil didn’t bother to pick it up, using his foot to push it all the way inside and slamming the door. ‘They care about me.’
The inflection stabbed deep in Deceit’s gut, twisting his intestines, leaving them squirming like snakes. And I don’t? his mind screamed, the thought leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.
Forcing his focus away from the growing nausea, Deceit scoffed. Bile was all he had in his stomach regardless; he hadn’t eaten since discovering Virgil missing, too busy traipsing around the darkened corridors of Thomas’ mind, trying desperately to figure out what had happened. Because of course Virgil wouldn’t have been idiotic enough to…
Well, apparently he was.
‘Sure,’ Deceit said. ‘It was them who were there for you after every video that left you feeling like,’ slumping, Deceit affected Virgil’s posture and continued in the other side’s voice, ‘a stinking pile of garbage.’ Deceit stood up straight once more, pressing his hand to his chest in mock surprise. ‘Oh, wait a minute, that was me.’
‘Okay, your idea of being “there for me” is offering sarcastic commentary.’
‘…So?’
Virgil huffed, rubbing at the bridge of his eyebrow agitatedly. ‘You not getting how that’s a problem, is the problem.’
‘Doesn’t seem like a problem to me.’ As far as Deceit was concerned, he’d been providing Virgil with an amusing distraction from his issues. What had he been expecting instead? A hug? Just the thought made Deceit shudder.
‘Fine. How about this then:’ Virgil crossed his arms, glowering, ‘they don’t lie to me literally all the time.’
‘I don’t lie to you.’
‘He said, lying,’ Virgil deadpanned. Rolling his eyes, Virgil shouldered past Deceit to get to his bathroom. Grabbing his washbag off its peg, he started packing his toiletries away, throwing a bottle of mouthwash towards the bin by the door when he picked it up to find it (presumedly) empty.
The bottle hit the rim of the bin and bounced off, landing by Deceit’s feet. He raised an unimpressed eyebrow at it, but Virgil wasn’t looking, too busy wrapping his toothbrush in cellophane he’d acquired from God knows where. Wrinkling his nose, Deceit nudged the bottle closer to the bin with his toe.
If Virgil truly thought going to live with the light sides would magically make his life so much better, then Deceit needed to check his head for cliff-diving related injuries because he was actually delusional. Even disregarding what the light sides would think of it, their sunshine and rainbows shtick would drive Virgil up the wall in five minutes flat. Surely, he couldn’t be serious. Packing was all just some sort of act, some ploy to get Deceit to give him something he wanted. It had to be.
‘What is it you’re after, Virgil? A later bedtime?’ Deceit mocked. ‘One less night of dish washer duty per week?’
Virgil met his eye in the mirror above the sink. ‘I want to live with people I can actually trust.’
He spoke quietly enough that Deceit had to read his lips, and for a moment Deceit was certain he’d misunderstood, because Virgil couldn’t be implying…
But the half-guilty, half-resolute pull to Virgil’s mouth said otherwise.
The lump in his throat grew three sizes, turning bulbous and sticky, and Deceit blinked rapidly as he tried to ignore it. He forced a high-pitched laugh. ‘So, let me get this straight: you’ve decided to trust, what, fifteen minutes of them suddenly deciding they do actually want you around, over a lifetime of friendship.’ Deceit clapped patronisingly. ‘Excellent math there, Virgil.’
Exhaling heavily, Virgil turned to look at him sideways, one hand white-knuckling the edge of the sink like he needed it for support, the other hand gesturing awkwardly between the two of them, still clutching a tube of toothpaste. ‘Can you really call us “friends”?’
‘I just did.’ Deceit’s heartbeat was too loud, beating out a staccato drumbeat against his ribs. Virgil didn’t mean it.
‘Right, of course you did,’ Virgil muttered. He looked away, training his gaze on a piece of wall off to one side, and digging his teeth into his lower lip. ‘You know, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from the others, it’s that friends? Yeah, they’re actually supposed to trust each other.’
‘Virgil.’ Deceit waited several long moments for the other side to reluctantly meet his eyes, before continuing, lacing the words with as much sincerity as he could summon, ‘You can trust me.’
The statement was a half-truth at best. A white lie; the sweetest kind. He could trust Deceit – to fulfil his function, to do what was best for Thomas regardless of whoever’s feelings might get hurt along the way. And since Virgil and Remus were Deceit’s responsibility, Virgil could even trust him to do what was best for them too – just so long as the two didn’t contradict. Not that Virgil would appreciate the intricacies of what he was asking of Deceit.
‘Rich, coming from someone who I’m pretty sure doesn’t trust me in the slightest.’
Deceit folded his arms under his cloak, pursing his lips. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘How can I trust someone who won’t trust me?’ Hunching his shoulders up even further, Virgil flailed an exasperated hand. ‘You don’t tell me shit, Dee!’
Well, that was entirely fair. Secrets and lies were so deeply woven into the fabric of who Deceit was; what on earth would unravelling them look like? He so totally wanted to find out what he’d be left with if he did.
And Deceit had actually considered telling Virgil one or two of his secrets; had spent an inordinate amount of time contemplating Virgil’s possible reactions to Deceit revealing the fact that he was hard of hearing in particular. Even if he’d ultimately decided not to (the potential gains failing to outweigh the risks; why upset the apple cart if things were far better off as they were?), the fact that he’d thought about it had to count for something. And it certainly didn’t mean they weren’t friends. ‘I tell you everything you need to know.’
The look Virgil shot him was decidedly unimpressed. ‘You haven’t even told me your name.’
(Janus, Janus, Janus –)
No.
Squashing the miniscule, idiotic, part of himself that longed to hear his name spoken aloud, to hear it said in another’s voice with warmth coating the syllables – as if that would ever happen – Deceit scoffed. ‘So, you decide to tell Thomas your name, and suddenly names are important; is that how this works?’
‘Don’t even try it; I know names are important to you too.’
No shit Virgil, Deceit bit his tongue to avoid snapping back. Names were important to all of them; when you’re a part of a whole, anything that belonged to you and you alone was bound to be something you held onto.
But Deceit didn’t need that comfort. He existed for Thomas. If the others wanted to play pretend that their individual thoughts and feelings actually mattered, then fine. But it was a lie Deceit had no interest in indulging in. He’d buried his name deep – so deep he didn’t even let himself use it. He was hardly going to go digging it up just because Anxiety had suddenly come to the misguided conclusion that sharing his own name meant he was entitled to Deceit’s.
Deceit hummed in sarcastic agreement. ‘Oh, so important to us all, I’m sure. That’s why you must have felt so warm and fuzzy inside when they laughed at yours.’
‘Patton already got Roman to apologise.’ He scrunched his face up, shaking his head dismissively. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter. Telling them my name was an act of trust, to show I’m willing to work with Thomas. With all of them.’ Virgil visibly ground his teeth when Deceit rolled his eyes, adding ‘Not that you’d know anything about that.’
‘Yes, as we both know I am actively working against Thomas at all times.’
‘Well you’re not working with him!’ Virgil exploded, throwing his arms up in the air. His eyeshadow had gotten progressively darker throughout their conversation, and he rubbed at it, staining his fingertips black, before grabbing his washbag off the side and stuffing the toothpaste tube inside. ‘Just, leave me alone. I’ve got stuff to pack and you’re in the way.’
He meant it.
Not even a hint of the taste of a lie met Deceit’s tongue. Virgil actually believed what he said.
The thought filled up Deceit’s lungs like smoke, suffocating and bitter. Of all sides, Anxiety thought Deceit was… what? A hindrance? “Bad” for Thomas? The same Anxiety who damn well knew the two of them shared responsibility for Thomas’ self-preservation. Had he forgotten?
(Had he chosen to forget?)
Deceit stared numbly at Virgil as he finished emptying his bathroom cabinet. Shampoo, makeup remover, nail polish – all disappearing into the little bag.
A floaty feeling washed over him, and Deceit gripped the doorframe to prevent himself from swaying with the current. He could see the woodgrain under his thumb, but through his gloves Deceit felt nothing at all.
Between one blink and the next, Virgil was in front of him. He was frowning, but it couldn’t be in concern because that would require care, and care would in turn require friendship. And apparently they weren’t actually friends.
‘Are you… okay?’ Virgil shifted his weight from foot to foot, visibly uncomfortable, and Deceit couldn’t decide if he’d only bothered to ask out of pity or some self-righteous do-gooder instinct he’d picked up from the light sides.
Flicking his gaze to the mirror behind Virgil, Deceit took in his own reflection. He was pale, all the blood leeched out of his skin, making his scales stand out in contrast. The beginnings of dark shadows had begun to form under his eyes from being in Virgil’s room so long, but they were barely noticeable; certainly not enough to affect him. Curling the corner of his mouth up into a smirk, Deceit dragged his mask into place. ‘I’m fine.’ The syllables twisted in his mouth reflexively, making the underlying “and you’re an idiot for asking” unmistakably obvious.
Virgil’s expression shuttered. ‘Yeah,’ he muttered, shaking his head as he shoved past Deceit once more, moving back to the duffel bag on his bed. ‘You always are.’
What else can I be? part of him longed to hiss. Who, exactly, would there be to pick up the pieces if Deceit woke up one day and decided to chuck himself off the cliff to the subconscious? If he blurted out his “feelings” like they were in some sob story-esque melodrama, how precisely would that make anything better?
Did Virgil really want to hear about the all-consuming, heart-stopping panic that had gripped Deceit like a vice when he’d realised what Virgil had done? About how he had screamed at Remus until The Duke – The Duke – cried in the face of his own helplessness? About the crescent shaped crevices he’d left in his arms from digging his fingernails in until he bled whilst waiting, useless, to see if Thomas would be able to bring Virgil back?
How, if Virgil truly left him for the lights, Deceit didn’t know how he’d ever manage to get to sleep at night – not when the thought of letting Virgil out of his sight for any longer than he had to made his lungs clench and his scales burn at the possibility of Virgil trying again.
Of course Virgil would love Deceit making what he’d done all about himself. It totally wouldn’t leave Virgil feeling guilty and defensive, on edge and liable to snap at Deceit all the more viciously for it.
No; Virgil would appreciate that about as much as he appreciated Remus’ version of cooking – which, considering last time Deceit let Remus play chef they’d been served charred toast smeared with candle wax and seasoned with crystal meth, meant not at all.
What’s more, it would make Deceit look weak.
And pouring his heart out just so it could be stepped on when Virgil left anyway didn’t exactly sound like Deceit’s idea of fun.
(Except, Virgil didn’t look weak when he told the others how he’d been feeling. And even if he had, what had the consequences been? A showering of affection and acceptance?)
Deceit ran his forked tongue between his teeth, hard enough to feel the bite without quite drawing blood.
(Here was the truth: Deceit wasn’t Virgil.)
Barely bothering to fold anything, Virgil stuffed the last of his clothes into his duffel bag, along with his toiletries, headphones, and the few other personal possessions he’d apparently decided to take with him. The material bulged, zip sticking when he tried to close it, and Virgil leant his weight on the bag’s contents with one hand, yanking harshly on the zip with the other until it started to give.
Deceit’s heart constricted. Virgil was truly intending to leave him.
Deceit had to stop him.
Stepping forward rapidly, Deceit encircled Virgil’s wrist with his own gloved hand, ignoring how the other side flinched under his grasp.
‘What are you doing?’ Virgil spat, using his free hand to attempt to pry Deceit’s fingers loose.
Deceit held strong. ‘You wanted the truth, did you not? Well, alright, Virgil. If it will get you to stay…’
‘I never said that – ’
Deceit cut him off. ‘My name…’ Deceit paused, long enough for Virgil to stop struggling as surprise fell across his features, but not long enough for it to dissolve into suspicion, ‘is Dolian.’
‘Honestly?’
The smile that Deceit let spread across his face was sweet as sparkling cyanide. ‘Of course.’
It was a name Thomas had vaguely seen a fan or two theorising about. Apparently it was derived from the Greek adjective dolios, meaning “to deceive”. More than a little on the nose if you asked Deceit, but not outright terrible.
Virgil’s eyes narrowed, gaze flicking from Deceit’s snake eye to his human one, then back again. Deceit kept his expression perfectly still; if Virgil was looking for a tell, he wouldn’t find one.
‘I don’t believe you.’ Yanking his hand out of Deceit’s grasp, Virgil turned his back.
A startled laugh burst out of Deceit. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You’re lying,’ Virgil shot back over his shoulder.
Obviously he was, but Virgil wasn’t supposed to know that. Deceit rounded the bed so he was in front of Virgil once more. ‘And how exactly did you come to that ingenious conclusion?’
‘It’s not difficult. You always lie.’
If Virgil really thought that was the case after having lived with him since they were children, then Deceit was seriously concerned for his observational skills. He was supposed to embody Thomas’ vigilance, for heaven’s sake. The fact that Deceit was lying in this instance was beside the point.
‘What, you don’t like that name?’ Smirking, Deceit leant his chin on his hand faux-ponderously. ‘How about Ezra? Do you prefer that one?’
‘Shut up,’ Virgil growled.
He was just pissing Virgil off more. He didn’t know how to stop.
‘Or Declan? Damian? Ethan?’ The pitch of Deceit’s voice rose as he ticked off each name on his fingers, each syllable increasing in speed, tripping off his tongue. ‘Caduceus, Echidna, Linde, Ruse, Lilith, Janus – ’
Deceit’s mouth snapped shut, teeth clacking.
The slip was accidental; he hadn’t meant to –
But his pulse thrummed in his ears, and he couldn’t deny that some part of him longed, a whispering voice in the back of his mind daring Virgil, if he was as good at reading Deceit’s lies as he claimed…
‘You’re unbelievable.’ Virgil shook his head, lip curling in disgust. ‘Literally.’
So, Virgil didn’t know him after all. Fine. He was Deceit; being unfathomable was part of his job description.
Virgil went to swing the bag onto his back, but Deceit grabbed the strap, stopping him. The bag dangled in the air between them as Virgil scowled. ‘Let go. I’m leaving.’
(No, he couldn’t, not like this -)
Deceit’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. ‘The sky is blue,’ he blurted. ‘Thomas lives in Florida. You’re an imbecile.’ Deceit wrapped the bag strap firmly around his wrist. ‘Is that enough truth for you?’
‘For fucks sake, Dee.’ Virgil tugged harshly on the bag and Deceit almost went crashing into him.
He adjusted his footing, rolling his shoulders casually, even as his heart jackrabbited, the organ making a concerted effort to burst out of his chest. ‘Oh, and I almost forgot,’ Deceit sneered at Virgil, tilting his face so his scales were on full display. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’
‘You can’t stop me.’
Deceit laughed, and it didn’t sound hysterical in the slightest. ‘Can’t I? Which one of us is repression, Anxiety?’
‘Okay, and which one of us gave up that power over me when he sent me to infiltrate Thomas and the lights in the first place?’
He was right. Of course Virgil was right. Deceit was helpless, powerless – nothing he could say or do would make any difference, Virgil was leaving him behind (and maybe he was right to, maybe the lights really could offer something more, something better than the dark and the shadows and the lies that Deceit had forced Virgil into all those years ago; maybe they really could make him happy because Deceit had certainly failed at that, he’d just never realised how badly until it was too late and Virgil had tried to fucking kill himself - )
All the air vanished from the room as a chill ran down Deceit’s spine. He went to take a breath, only to find that he couldn’t, he couldn’t –
He couldn’t breathe.
Deceit’s mouth opened and closed uselessly, gasping for oxygen that wasn’t coming. Field of view narrowing to pinpricks, black spots danced at the edge of his vision as his lungs caved in on themselves. He was dying.
The thought hit him like a slap to the face. Was he dying?
Or – was Thomas dying?
No, no – Thomas was fine. He was dozing off whilst watching television, the ever-aware part of the back of his mind supplied. And from what he could see of Virgil’s face as it swam before him, he was unaffected.
Thousands of tiny needles stabbed at every inch of his skin, and Deceit clutched at his throat with the hand that wasn’t still tightly wound in the strap of Virgil’s bag, tugging at his collar with trembling fingers, and he was burning and freezing all at once and –
‘Deceit!’
Virgil mouth was moving, but whatever he was saying wasn’t making any sense because Deceit was apparently busy having a stroke or something, somehow, despite his status as a goddamn figment of someone’s imagination, and Virgil couldn’t be allowed to find out anything was wrong.
Deceit tried to smile, and couldn’t tell if he succeeded, facial muscles numb, his mind further and further away from his body with each passing too-quick heartbeat.
He couldn’t make it stop – how did he make it stop?
The opposing force on the bag disappeared and Deceit stumbled backwards at the release of tension. Sudden pain spiked through him as his elbow collided with Virgil’s bedpost, a buzzing sensation radiating out from the joint and spreading, infecting every bone, every organ, every scale, and he was spiralling, spinning, reaching terminal velocity and –
Something brushed his arm, and Deceit flinched away violently, the world directly in front of him coming suddenly into full focus even as his peripheral blurred sickeningly. Virgil stood in front of him, much closer than before, and Deceit zeroed in on the way he held his hands up placatingly, focusing on the creases on his palms, the thumbnail he’d bitten down to the quick, the loose thread on his jacket sleeve, focusing, focusing, focusing, until –
‘You need to breathe.’ Virgil sounded like he was speaking from underwater. ‘You’re having a panic attack.’
Was he? God, that was embarrassing. He could hardly hope to hide that from Anxiety. Still; it didn’t stop him trying.
‘I’m fine,’ he choked out.
‘Tell that to your eyeshadow.’ Virgil said pointedly. ‘C’mon Dee, my rooms freaking you the fuck out. Let’s move, yeah?’
Oh yes, it was definitely just Virgil’s room and not literally every fucking other thing about the situation that was causing Deceit to spiral.
Virgil reached out a hand, and Deceit didn’t know if it was to grasp his wrist – like he was a damn child who needed help crossing the street – or if he was trying to take his bag back whilst Deceit was distracted. Deceit hissed at him, clutching the bag tight against his chest. Not a chance in hell was he giving it up – especially not when Virgil could take it and run, leaving Deceit to suffer through his panic alone.
(Although, wasn’t that what he was intending to do anyway?)
Backing up a step, the corners of Virgil’s mouth twisted downwards, the crease on his forehead deepening. ‘No touching. Got it.’ He glanced back over his shoulder at the door to his room. ‘You think you can walk that far?’
‘Obviously,’ Deceit bit out, then clenched his teeth together. His knees shook as he followed Virgil to the door, carefully placing one foot in front of the other so he wouldn’t sway as the floor tilted beneath him like the deck of a ship caught in a hurricane. Virgil’s narrowed eyes remained trained on him until he crossed the threshold out of Virgil’s room and into the dimly lit corridor.
Once outside, Deceit collapsed against the wall, pressing his back to the cracked and peeling paintwork, and sliding down until he was sitting with his knees pulled up, Virgil’s bag trapped between his thighs and his torso.
Loath as he was to admit it, Virgil wasn’t wrong. Stepping out of his room felt like a bucket of ice water being dropped on Deceit’s head; revitalising, even if he was now painfully aware of how he was shivering like a leaf on a breeze. But the Walzer ride he’d been on was slowly coming to a stop, and Deceit took great gulps of air as his lungs finally inflated once more.
From under the brim of his hat, Deceit watched Virgil sit down crossed legged against the wall opposite. A loose thread hung from the rip in the left knee of Virgil’s jeans, and Virgil twisted it tightly round and round his finger until the digit started to turn pink.
They sat in silence that stretched like putty, Virgil’s gaze boring into Deceit. Deceit didn’t want to look at him. He couldn’t look at him.
The human side of Deceit’s face burned in humiliation, but at least in this moment Virgil was still here, was still his – not some charity project of the light sides. Not someone who’d done the impossible and changed – changed into someone Deceit didn’t know what to do with. And the second the moment broke, Deceit knew Virgil would be gone.
Deceit swallowed – hoping, praying, for just a minute longer.
Virgil released the pressure on the thread, and the moment shattered.
‘You wanna talk about it?’
Raising his head just far enough for Virgil to catch his sneer, Deceit replied, ‘Take a wild guess.’ The words grated like sandpaper against his dry throat.
Virgil scrubbed his palm roughly over his forehead, pushing his fringe out of his eyes. ‘You could at least try, you know?’
‘Try what? To change?’ Deceit laughed, refusing to acknowledge how hollow it sounded even to his own ears. ‘I don’t think so somehow.’
‘Why not? What’s so bad about changing? You could work with us; help us make Thomas better.’
“Us”, he said; like he was already one of them. What happened to the Anxiety who was afraid of change? Who had a panic attack when Remus redecorated his room without asking? Who needed a whole week of build-up to even contemplate trying a new recipe Deceit had prepared? Who told Thomas about all the terrible things that could go wrong if he varied his routine even slightly?
Deceit had sent him away to the lights, that’s what. And then he’d never come back.
Deceit curled his hand tighter around the bag strap, letting the material dig into his palm through his gloves. God, he’d had been acting pathetically. It was becoming clearer to him by the second – of course Virgil was right; they weren’t friends. Certainly not him and this new “improved” version of Anxiety.
But he didn’t care. He was Deceit. He didn’t need friends. He worked best alone, and he got what he wanted by lying to and manipulating any idiot he could sink his claws into.
Losing Anxiety was like losing a singular pawn on a chessboard – inconsequential. Deceit was still playing. Deceit would still win.
(Even if recently it felt like someone had swapped out the rulebook without telling him, leaving him to flounder and pretend like he still knew what he was meant to be doing.)
Pinning his gaze on Anxiety’s eyes, knowing how much the other side would hate it, Deceit took the bag out of his lap and placed it to one side with careful, deliberate motions. He kept his expression unreadable as he climbed to his feet, and Virgil’s mouth dropped open as Deceit began to take off his gloves.
‘You – ’
‘Shush.’ Virgil’s mouth slammed shut so quickly it was like Deceit had used his power to silence him.
The skin and scales on Deceit’s hands prickled alike as they were exposed to the open air. Folding his gloves, Deceit tucked them into his pocket, then stretched out his fingers with a put-upon relieved sigh.
‘Listen closely, Virgil, because I’m only going to say this once.’ Deceit let a vicious smile, cuttingly sharp, spread across his face as he stepped forward to tower over Anxiety. ‘I would rather die than get on board that incoming trainwreck Morality is steering you all towards.’
‘Patton isn’t – ’ Virgil pushed himself to his feet, shaking his head, expression pinched like he’d swallowed a lemon. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, don’t I? So Thomas doesn’t want to stop lying to himself about his issues? That isn’t what you’ve all been meeting up to deal with the consequences of for the last year?’
‘Yes? You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing. Thomas wants to be better. We’re helping him.’
‘“Be better,”’ Deceit echoed disdainfully. ‘Not subjective at all.’ He folded his arms under his cloak. ‘And what happens when Thomas doesn’t live up to the standards he’s set for himself? That Morality’s set for him?’
‘What – ’ Virgil hunched his shoulders, curling his hands into his hoodie sleeves as he backed away from Deceit several steps. ‘What are you even on about?’
‘Well, Thomas is such a good person, don’t you know? It’s not like he’s got any demons lurking away in the back of his mind. Or are we going by “The Dark Sides” these days?’ Deceit shrugged casually. ‘That’s what Roman calls us, is it not? I do rather like the suggestion – it’s certainly suitably foreboding.’
‘Okay – ’ said Virgil in his I’m-done-listening-to-your-so-called-bullshit tone.
Deceit cut him off. ‘Thomas has built himself, and his self-worth in particular, on the foundation that he is a good person. If he keeps digging up his issues, that foundation is going to crack.’
‘That’s not what’s happening. Thomas is a good person.’
‘Thomas thinks he’s a good person by the standards of his own moral compass: our very own dearest Patton.’ Deceit spit the name with far more contempt than he actually felt for Morality. The need for the divide between “dark” and “light”, “good” and “bad”, was something they agreed on, after all. ‘And Patton can only believe that lie for as long as I maintain it; for as long as we stay hidden. Of course Thomas doesn’t have a capacity for deception so strong he’d need a side to embody it. And he’d never be such a monster to have dark and disturbing thoughts pop into his head from time to time. Feel angry? Be apathetic?’ Deceit brought his hand to his mouth, gasping dramatically. ‘Thomas would never!’
‘Let me get this straight,’ said Virgil, and Deceit could plainly see how he was clenching his jaw hard enough a vein throbbed in his neck. ‘You want Thomas to lie to himself forever?’
How was that even a question?
‘No,’ Deceit drawled sarcastically. ‘I want Thomas to tear himself apart from the inside out and take all of us down with him. Sounds like my idea of a fun Tuesday evening.’
Virgil shook his head, scowl firmly in place. ‘You just don’t want to loose the control you have over him.’
Deceit’s cold reptilian blood was ice in his veins.
This was what Virgil really thought of him; that Deceit was nothing but the antagonist, the saboteur, the selfish villain plotting against the heroes every move.
So be it.
A role he was made for, if the disgusting scales and snake traits Thomas had subconsciously gifted him all those years ago demonstrated anything.
Deceit surged forward, lengthening his stride when Virgil backed away until he had him pinned against the wall. The brim of Deceit’s hat brushed against Virgil’s forehead as Deceit grasped the front of Virgil’s hoodie, holding him in place. Virgil clawed at Deceit’s hand, trying to pull him off, and Deceit’s flesh screamed at the only skin to skin contact it’d had in years.
‘Go ahead then Anxiety; ssside with the others – sssee what happens,’ Deceit hissed, purposefully letting his forked tongue flicker past his lips. ‘I look forward to watching us burn.’
‘Bastard.’ Eyeshadow darkened to obsidian, Virgil ripped Deceit’s grip from his jacket with a strength born of fight or flight instinct and shoved him back.
Deceit hit the opposite wall with a thud. Pain blossomed across his shoulder blades and Deceit cackled, loud and grating, at Virgil’s clenched fists, his reddened face, his livid glare – his retreating back.
Deceit’s laughter petered to a stop as Virgil stormed away, snatching his duffel bag from where it lay against the wall as he passed.
When Virgil reached the arch at the end of the hall that led to the common room – and in turn to the staircase and door that would release Virgil from the living hell that was Deceit’s side of the mindscape – Deceit called out. ‘Oh, and Virgil?’
Virgil’s footsteps faltered, posture stiff as a taxidermied animal as he looked back over his shoulder at Deceit.
‘I wouldn’t trust that you’ll stay in the “light” side’s good graces for long.’ With a thought, Deceit’s scales melted away, his snake eye flickering to human, and dark eyeshadow smearing across his skin as he shifted his face to match Virgil’s. Taking off his hat, Deceit shook his head until his fringe fell forward, letting his stolen eyes flash purple. His mouth curled into Virgil’s small, lopsided smile, and he continued in the other side’s voice, ‘You never know what you might have said to them.’
The space between them was too vast for Deceit to catch Virgil’s muttered reply, too far to hope to accurately read his lips. But Deceit didn’t need to – the bitter abhorrence that poured from every inch of Virgil’s being said it all: “I hate you”.
‘Good,’ Deceit spat (–Deceit lied).
And then, as easily as falling into the arms of gravity once the cliffside had disappeared from beneath your feet, Virgil turned his back on Deceit for the last time, and fled.
***
The door that split the darks from the lights closed with a click behind Virgil. He squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden increase in brightness, freeing the tears that had gathered and letting them dribble down his face.
Dropping his bag at his feet, Virgil leant against the wall, and just breathed. Breathing was important; in and out. He just had to keep breathing as he waited for his racing heart to settle.
He couldn’t believe Deceit.
‘No change there then,’ he muttered bitterly. His jaw clenched and Virgil consciously relaxed it once more; he wasn’t trying to get himself more worked up.
He knew Deceit wouldn’t like him leaving. He didn’t like anything outside of his control. But to threaten to purposefully jeopardise Virgil’s place with the others when he’d only just found it? That was going too far.
Virgil groaned, scrubbing at his eyes and cheeks with his hoodie sleeves to wipe away the tears. He was probably getting makeup all over them, but whatever. He needed a new one anyway; this old one just didn’t fit right anymore.
Why did Deceit have to make everything so difficult? Why couldn’t he be happy for Virgil?
A simple answer invaded Virgil’s mind, digging it’s claws in: Deceit couldn’t care less about Virgil’s happiness.
‘All you do is hurt Thomas,’ Deceit’s voice echoed just as it had before Virgil had made his – what he’d thought would be permanent – decision to leave it all behind. ‘You’re nothing more than an inconvenience.’
Deceit not caring about his happiness? Yeah, that sounded about right.
‘Virgil?’ Patton’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and Virgil blinked open his eyes to see him approaching down the corridor, cardigan wrapped around his shoulders and a warm smile on his face like always. The smile dimmed to concern as he caught sight of Virgil’s probably still slightly eyeshadow streaked face. ‘Kiddo? Is everything alright?’
A lump grew in his throat and Virgil sniffed, shaking his head once rather than try to answer around it.
Patton held out his arms invitingly, and Virgil’s heart skipped a beat, all the million and one reasons he shouldn’t flashing across his mind in a hailstorm, except –
‘I am incredibly proud of you, Anxiety.’
Maybe he could handle just a bit more bravery today after all. If it got Patton to say things like that… sometimes, he was learning, a little fear was worth it.
Taking a deep breath, Virgil let himself collapse into Patton’s arms. Burying his face in the other side’s shoulder, Virgil felt himself shaking as a warm hand rubbed his back.
‘I’ve got you, kiddo,’ Patton murmured into his ear, rocking them gently from side to side. ‘It’s going to be a-okay. You’ll see.’
As the smell of freshly baked cookies reached his nose, Patton’s warmth soaking down to his core and enveloping him fully, Virgil thought that maybe, at least for this moment, he could believe Patton might be right.
Virgil was home.
***
On the other side of Thomas’ mind, Deceit stood alone in the corridor, hat in his hand, gloves in his pocket, staring at the spot where Virgil had vanished.
His ears buzzed, his mind static, and he thought of nothing because there was nothing to think about.
(Except that Virgil was gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone - )
There was no water in Deceit’s eyes, no blur to his vision, no gaping hollow under his ribcage that ate and ate and ate at his insides until he was nothing but an empty bag of skin and scales. The seconds turned to minutes turned to hours, or what might instead have been a mere instant with the way that time dissolved into mist around him.
Something flickered at the edge of his vision and Deceit didn’t care what it was because why should he? Why would empty skin care about anything at all?
If he stayed still for long enough, maybe he’d disappear entirely. Maybe he’d wake up from this nightmare.
(Maybe Virgil would come back, tell him it’d all been a joke; of course they were friends, of course Deceit wasn’t just the villain, of course Virgil would never believe him to be at the core of the rot nesting in the dark corners of Thomas’ mind.)
Whatever it was flickered again, and this time the dim lights flashed on and off with it – like the start of a horror film, Deceit thought vaguely. The muscles in his neck, stiff from being held tensed in one position for so long, cracked as Deceit slowly turned his head to look.
The door to Virgil’s room faded in and out of existence.
No –
In an instant, Deceit’s heart made itself known once more, thundering in his chest. Dropping his hat, Deceit stumbled to the door, throwing himself against the wood and digging his nails in deep, tearing up splinters.
‘Don’t disappear,’ he demanded (he begged), lips brushing the rough panelling as he spoke. ‘Don’t you dare. He’ll be back. Virgil will come back.’
Pushing the words (the lie), Deceit imagined them sinking into every woodgrain, every piece of furniture, every sentimental trinket Virgil had left behind – using every scrap of control he possessed over the dark side of Thomas’ mind, Deceit willed the door to stay –
The flickering stopped.
The door was still there, though as Deceit’s gaze glanced over the wood, it seemed almost duller than before.
Why had he done that? What was the point?
(Hope?)
(Hope was for idiots.)
Deceit’s stomach churned as he reached for the handle and pushed his way inside.
Nothing had changed, everything exactly as it had been when they’d left it; messier and emptier than it should have been.
Deceit’s eyes caught on the snow globe still sitting unassumingly on top of Virgil’s chest of draws, and he crossed the room to pick it up. The glass was chill to the touch, cold seeping into Deceit’s palm as he shook the globe until snow fell around the little fake spider inside. He stared until all the snow had settled to the bottom once more, and he could see Virgil’s face reflected back at him in the glass.
Scale by scale, Deceit watched himself shift back, eye burning as it returned to its reptilian state, until Virgil was gone.
Until it was only Deceit left standing in a room full of things Virgil didn’t want anymore.
Salty water leaked from Deceit’s human eye, trickling down the side of his nose and into his mouth, and he hated it, he hated it –
(Virgil hated him)
Why did Virgil do this to him? Why, why, why – how could he, after everything Deceit had done for him, after everything they’d been through together, all these years, and Virgil had left him behind like it meant nothing.
‘It meant nothing,’ Deceit seethed, and it was the most nauseating truth he’d ever tasted.
A scream of frustration fell unbidden from his lips and, before he’d even consciously decided to do so, Deceit pulled his arm back and hurled the snow globe at the wall.
The globe exploded on impact, scattering glittering shards of glass in all directions. A sharp sting cut across Deceit’s cheek as a miniscule shard embedded itself just below his cheekbone, and he hissed as he pulled it out.
The piece of glass lay bloodied and innocent in the palm of Deceit’s hand.
No creeping sense of dread clawed at his mind, no swirling thoughts, no racing heartbeat.
The room was dead.
Just like the Anxiety who Deceit had called his friend; who had called him the same in return.
Deceit closed his fist around the shard, feeling it cut deep into his palm. Blood bubbled out from the cracks between his fingers.
He didn’t care.
He didn’t care about any of it.
Deceit was totally, utterly, fine.