Chapter Text
“I’m sorry, you want me to what?”
Patton took a deep and shifted nervously in his seat. “I want you to talk to Deceit,” he repeated, before explaining himself, “He listens to you, and he won’t work with me. I just want to negotiate with him. That’s all.”
Similar hands found his own in an effort to comfort the moral side. “I’ll do what I can, but what should I say?”
“Tell him I want Virgil back,” Patton muttered. “I know that’s where he went, and I can’t tell Deceit to let him go, because I’m not supposed to.” With a sigh, he folded his hands over the ones comforting him, trying to return the favor. “I’m sorry I haven’t explained all this to you, kiddo, but there’s just so much I can’t say… I can say this, though. If you tell him to, Deceit has to listen to you. You’re the only one who can control him. Can you please just… Try? For me? For Virgil?”
“I can try.” Breathing deeply, Thomas nodded.
Virgil whimpered beneath his Master, back arching and twisting.
“Ah, h-harder, please…”
Deceit softly tut’d. “Virgil, patience is a virtue,” he muttered, voice far too stable for the situation, as the other squirmed, trying to grind back against him.
With a high-pitched whine, Virgil pawed at the sheets. “Noooo, I want it, please Master, please…”
Sighing, Deceit motioned to Remus. “Why don’t you give our little kitten something productive to do with his mouth?”
Remus grinned as he grabbed the anxious side by the hair and yanked his head up.
Virgil bit his lip to keep from moaning outright at the sound of Remus unbuckling his belt.
And then his alarm went off.
With a sharp jerk, Virgil found himself falling right off his bed and onto the floor, blankets tangled around him.
God fucking damn it.
Groaning out loud, Virgil struggled out of the fabric prison, using his bed for balance to get upright.
Virgil stalked to his old dresser and flung it open, scouring through the black and grey to find something decent to wear. As soon as he settled on a plain grey tee shirt and some black skinny jeans, he yanked them out, and slammed the drawers shut.
He poked his head out into the hall - thank god it was early enough Remus would finally be asleep - and quickly made his way down the hall into the bathroom, clutching his extra clothes to his waist. As soon as he shut and locked the door, he leaned back against the solid wood with a heavy sigh.
Today would be another warm and early shower, he supposed.
Roman heaved a sigh as he flopped down on Logan’s “practical” (it was covered in astronomy and constellation maps, what a nerd) blue bed.
Logan just grunted, not looking up from his book, even as Roman put his head in his lap.
The two sat alone in silence for a few minutes, except for the constant notes coming from the desk where Logan’s metronome sat.
“Do you think Virgil hates us?” Roman finally muttered, getting the logical side’s attention.
Softly closing the book, Logan leaned back a bit, looking up to his star-painted ceiling as he hummed. “No, I doubt that he does.”
Roman huffed. “Well, then why would he leave?”
“I’m not sure,” Logan murmured, burying his hand in Roman’s hair, “Perhaps it was something beyond our understanding. I certainly could not put myself in his mental state, and I doubt you or Patton could, either.”
The prince just sighed again as he lifted his head up more to offer better leverage. The feeling was nice. “I still want to know,” he complained.
Logan just nodded, continuing his gentle petting, and letting Roman talk.
“Why didn’t he just talk to us before he left? We could have helped, couldn’t we? We could have fixed whatever was making him stressed enough to leave...”
“Roman,” Logan scolded gently, “Sometimes things seem much more difficult than they are. These situiations can cause people to make rash decisions, including ones that may seem odd or poorly executed to those outside the issue.”
The creative trait sighed a third time, and went even more limp in Logan’s lap. “I guess, but I still wish we could have helped.”
There was a long pause before Logan finally responded. “I know. I feel similarly.”
Roman looked up, surprised, and was met with a crestfallen look. His eyes softened, and he sat up, moving to wrap his arms around Logan’s shoulders, trying to be as comforting as he possibly could. “Hey, we’ll be okay. Virgil will come back when he’s ready, right? It’ll be fine in the end. Patton will get him back.”
Logan gently leaned against Roman, slowly bringing his hands up to hold onto the princely aspect’s arms.
“I… I really hope so, Roman.”
As soon as he felt the pull, Deceit set about resisting it. Giving in to a call would not end well, considering all the times he’d popped up for a summoning only to be sharply reminded that he was entirely unwanted and would never be called for intentionally.
He had no urge to be berated or chased out with shouting and insults. He had no want to be accused or scrutinized unfairly.
Most of all, he had no desire to see those bastards upstairs.
Virgil had been skittish and on edge ever since he came back, and lying more than ever before, particularly to himself. It reminded Deceit of when Virgil had formed before, when he had been twitchy and volatile.
It pissed him off.
Deceit hated the fact that they had broken his little emo. They acted so open and accepting of him, but they had rejected him as soon as he revealed his past, hadn’t they?
While he couldn’t get the full story from Virgil, the anxious side hadn’t lied in the slightest when he said the reason he left was that he had admitted he was formerly a dark side. It felt like enough, to know that his past was the reason he had been cast out, forced to flee his home, made into a pest or parasite in some way.
And it wasn’t fair.
Virgil was always a complicated side, but he had many good merits, and he deserved far better, so Deceit had decided he would never forgive them. It was just too much. This was the straw that had broken the camel’s back.
They stole his Virgil, and then they threw him away like a cracked china doll.
They didn’t deserve anything but revenge.
So, no matter how hard Thomas tried to summon him, Deceit was firmly dedicated to staying perfectly still. He would not rise up, he would not let them push him around, he would not play into their sick games.
“Get fucked,” he announced, not at all caring that they couldn’t hear him, “get fucked twicefold each with a chainsaw.”
No matter how long it took, he wasn’t moving.