Chapter Text
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Thud.
A soft swear sounds at the door, then the metallic jangle of keys, before the lock clicks open and the door swings out. The light from the hallway spills into the dark room and reveals a man standing in the doorway, casting a long dark shadow. The man is tall and lanky but slouched heavily, clad in a worn, black hoodie with purple patches sewn on that was slightly too big for him. He looks young, skin pale to an anlmost unhealthy extent, and with dark eye bags framing his purple eyes, their vibrancy dimmed by exhaustion. Sighing, he walks into the house without turning on the light, dropping his backpack onto a chair before walking away. The name “Virgil Sanders” can be seen on a faded name tag.
The man — Virgil — practically falls onto the sofa, grabbing the remote and turning the television on, volume low. He closes his eyes against the sudden brief glare of light in the dark room, well-practiced at this point. He stretches out leisurely like a cat, listening to the news, before he freezes.
“...and here we are at the scene of the standoff between Psyche and the latest villain group they are facing, Void,” the news reporter was saying, visibly excited. “The villain group is on the right, while on the other sid-oh! Oh, there’s the Prince!! Logic and Deceit too!” When the camera focuses in the distance, three figures appear, two wearing black, one with navy blue highlights and the other yellow, while the figure at the head was wearing white with a bright red sash across his chest.
Virgil lets the news reporter’s voice tune out, seeing that it’s a standard battle, standing up and heading to the kitchen. “Flashy as ever, Roman,” he grumbles, searching the drawers for some instant coffee, and not finding any. “Ugh, just my luck.”
You’d think, as a barista, he’d have coffee in his own house, but noo…
He quickly puts on his boots and heads out to the convenience store down the road. Pulling his hood over his head, he kept his eyes on the ground and his head down.
It seems the others were doing well with their hero business as usual. He could still remember the time he could go on missions, even the times before their powers had manifested, when they were happy, before that horrible incident, before just by existing he could hurt his brothers, before he had become worthless, useless, a liability—
A loud horn jolts him out of his thoughts, and he looks up to see a large truck plowing down the road. Strange, it rings at the back of his mind, but he automatically moves closer to the buildings to avoid being near the probably-drunk driver. His body begins to relax again after the near scare, but far too soon. Something hard collides with the back of his head with a loud crack, his world flashes with painpainpainpainpain, before everything goes dark.
~~~~~
Thomas looks up from his stack of paperwork at a loud crash from the other room. Sounds of a scuffle come from the doorway, before Roman burst in, distraught. “JANUS BROKE THE CROFTERS AGAIN.”
“Well, you and Logan were being so quiet over that particular jar, I just couldn’t help myself,” a smooth voice said, as Janus strolled into the room, smirking.
“But-but it’s Crofters! You can’t just do that!” Roman cried.
“And what are you going to do about it?” Janus retorts pettily, now checking his fingernails.
“Ugh—!“
“Guys!” The two brothers stopped and looked at Thomas. “We are in a situation here, and I would appreciate it if you guys could either help me sort through this,” he brandishes the thick stack of papers at them, “or just be quiet.”
“Aren’t those the different idea we suggested for future videos?” Roman asked, dropping into a seat next to Thomas.
“Yep, Storm mentioned yesterday that the fans have been calling for another collab, so I was thinking—”
The computer screen in front of Thomas glitched for a moment, and then a few more times with a staticky sound before settling to show a man wearing a white mask.
“Psyche, we want to negotiate.”
Thomas met Janus’s eyes over the screen, suddenly serious, and he nodded and went to fetch his other brothers. Turning back, Thomas raised an eyebrow. “And why would you think we would agree to any terms of yours?”
The man—or could be a woman, they were using a voice modifier—chuckled. “Because we have your brother.”
Thomas’s brows knitted in confusion, as he saw the rest of his brothers file into the room after Janus, and did a mental headcount. Remus, check. Logan, check. Patton, check. Roman was already with him. There was no one missing.
Roman laughed. “All our brothers are here, did you get a little conk on the noggin’?”
The masked person hummed, before the camera switched and showed someone lying on the floor. “Ooo look, I think he’s waking up!” The distorted voice came through the computer’s speakers (a different person?), and as if on cue the man in the tiny metal room groaned quietly. He lay there dazed for a moment, before attempting to move and, with a hiss of pain, lay still once more. He started visibly take deeper breaths, and Thomas could recognise the incoming signs of a panic attack even blindfolded by now. It was painful to watch.
The man took some more time to recover, before gingerly raising his head to peer about the room. As he did so, his hood fell off.
Gasps sounded behind Thomas, but he barely heard them as the blood drained from his face, as he set his eyes on the face of his brother that he hadn’t seen for years, that he had thought missing, that he had thought dead, and he was unable to tear his eyes away when they met the man’s purple ones through the screen.
“Psyche, say hello to Virgil Sanders.”