Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The story ends like this:

In a flame. One might say a blaze of glory.

“Do you think he’ll make it?”

“...”

“Logan?”

“...I don’t know.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the way his skin stung and flaked off the tips of his fingers. It was quiet—as quiet as a hospital can be—time dotted in metronome beeping and shoe squeaks against tile. The air was dizzying with the sharp smell of antiseptic and cleaner, and Logan desperately tried to pointedly ignore it. The six of them sat in the lobby, just outside Thomas’s room. A stream of possibilities babbled through his head, half of them either broken or slipping away. Logan tried to think of something, anything useful. 

Exposure to wildfire smoke can increase cardiovascular-related issues such as acute myocardial infarction, cardiovascular mortality, cardiac arrest, and heart fail–

He shook the thought away, hesitantly slipping out of his mind. Despite the steady noise, there was a specific kind of secondary silence hanging in the air around them in a bubble, like the entire world was holding its breath.

Out of all of Logan’s tangled thoughts, one knot—one question—refused to be pulled loose.

Why?

Why did Thomas run in?

The answer was there, bright and glaring in the way Nico’s room was right beside Thomas’s. But he couldn’t make sense of it, a puzzle piece that everyone but him seemed to think fit. Thomas had known there was a chance he wouldn’t make it. And Logan had made sure of that, holding his wrists tight and tighter until rings were pressed into them, as if the knowledge itself might sear its way in, but the effort was fruitless against his bleeding heart.

He couldn’t stop thinking. Couldn’t stop picking at the burnt skin steadily flaking off his arms—Thomas’s arms. Logan wasn’t used to this. Any of this. The discomfort of feeling anything at all sat heavy, and he squirmed, like the emotions he’s scarcely felt might burn him further. 

“Who was the last person to check on him?” Patton asked.

“Me.” Roman raised a hand, then said much quieter, “But I don’t see why all of us can’t just go in.” It was the kind of thing from Roman that would normally be dripping with some kind of petulance, but he didn’t sound petulant at all. He just sounded tired.

Virgil glowered. “Do you really think that’s gonna help? You saw what he looks like.”

Logan pinched his nose and sighed. “While I’d word it less bluntly, Virgil’s right, Roman. Observing Thomas in his current state might exacerbate the issue.”

“How?”

“Well it– Um–” Logan felt his words slip loose, like the bit of knowledge he was holding had snuffed out right in front of him. “It…” 

Roman furrowed his brow in worry.

“It would be like– looking in a mirror when you don’t feel good.” Patton saved him, voice gentle as ever. “ It doesn’t change anything, and– uh–” He was careful not to look Roman in the eye, or lack thereof, “–you only feel worse.”

Roman nodded solemnly, and Logan could tell that the small bit of advice Patton slipped in was not lost on him. 

Virgil turned to Roman, eyes piercing and a little wild. “We wouldn’t be here at all if someone hadn’t taken the reins.” His voice rasped much more than it usually did, as did all of theirs, filled with remnants of ash.

Roman made a face that looked like he would’ve been pursing his lips, and guiltily looked away. “Look, I get that you probably hate me, but is now really the time?”

“I told you–”

Janus cleared his throat, loud and deliberate enough in a way that said Shut up, both of you. “I’ll go check on him.”

They quieted. The only thing they could really do was wait. Logan closed his eyes, thoughts aimless again.

“Thomas, please, you must be smart about this–”

“I– I have to, I–”

“Just wait for the firemen, it’ll be okay.”

“No– no, that’ll take– there’s nothing out here for miles, Logan.”

“Even so–”

“I– I think I know where he is, I’ll just be in and out.” Thomas broke free from Logan’s grip on his wrists.

Logan turned to Roman, eyes wild and desperate, orange from the fire reflecting within them. “Don’t do this.”

“We have to. If something happens to him, you– you know he’ll never forgive himself.”

“How is he? Anything good?” he heard Virgil ask. Logan opened his eyes again, and Janus was standing in front of them, looking away.

He swallowed, before shaking his head slightly. “I wish I could tell you something better.” He pointed his chin at Remus. “Any change?”

Remus sat at the farthest chair from them. He hadn’t moved since they got here. His eyes were cloudy, half-lidded and downcast. Logan thought of all sorts of things he would’ve said in this situation, but Remus remained as silent and still as a stone statue, catatonic almost. A line of worry ran through him, like a crack in a plaster wall before the whole thing came down. Half of Thomas’s creativity was rendered inactive. What did that mean for the rest of them? 

His mind had gone eerily quiet. Logan shook his head, like the smallest of actions would clear the haze. But the silence lingered, seeping into every gap and corner. They were in their own world, the six of them marching like ants in a spiral—suspended between a simple question: will or won’t? And another one, just lying underneath the surface, bleeding through until it blistered and cracked.

“What happens if Thomas doesn’t wake up?” Patton asked. All of them were thinking about it. But saying it aloud felt entirely foreign, speaking the idea into existence until it settled. The suggestion hung in the air with a near tangibility. “What happens if he…” He didn’t need to say the last word. They all knew it.

Virgil was bouncing his leg, the heel of his boot tapping dully against the marble floor. “I don’t wanna think about that. He– he has to live. He has to.”

“We have to consider the possibility,” Roman whispered.

“Don’t you get started.” Virgil snapped, his tempest tongue bleeding through. There was a desperate tinge to it, like the keen of a wild animal. “This wouldn’t be a possibility if you’d just listened to me and Logan in the first pla—”

“Hey.” Patton raised his voice slightly, looking between the two of them. “I get that you’re scared, Virgil, really. But looking for someone to blame is the last thing you should be doing, got it?”

They tensed, and Virgil nodded curtly, eyes slightly glossy. Logan didn’t think he'd ever see Patton so serious.

“Clearly, this isn’t working,” Logan rasped. They all turned to him. “Sitting in a hospital lobby? Waiting for his condition to change? It’s only making us more tense.”

“Well, what else do we do? We have to be there for him,” said Roman.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think it’s for the best to go back in the mindscape.”

“But–”

“We’ll be with him either way. We’re a part of him after all.” Logan tried his best for a smile. He didn’t think it worked. Roman nodded.

And with a breath, they all sank down.

Thomas’s living room was empty. It was the first place in Thomas’s head that Logan thought to go to, and it was evident the others felt the same. Roman and Patton held onto Remus, setting him down on the couch. Virgil was just behind them, recovering from rising up. And Janus—his eyes settled on Logan. Logan held his gaze, then glanced at Remus. Remus, who’d barely spoken a single word in the past however many hours they’ve been alone. Remus, the unlucky brother, unlucky again like his namesake. Remus, whose function was starting to fail. Perhaps it already had. 

Logan couldn’t ignore the way his own thoughts were escaping him, the way he was remembering less and less. He returned Janus’s gaze, and nodded off to the side, away from the others.

“You know what I’m going to tell you.” Janus rested his hands on the dining table. He looked rather worse for wear, no different than most of them, but his snake half was still intact.

Logan exhaled. “I– I think I’m losing my function, Janus. That means something, doesn’t it?”

Janus looked at him mournfully, like Logan was the one who’d been in the hospital bed. He’d seen Thomas in his room, and so he’d seen all he had to, what pieces were really left of them. Janus only pulled aside Logan to tell him what they both knew. In other words, a quiet understanding passed between them, and Logan, always searching for answers in the dark—however twisted and ugly they may be—finally found one.

Thomas was going to die.

Chapter Text

The story ends like this: 

In pain, as all good stories do.

Virgil couldn’t stop moving. It wasn’t anything new of course, but it was somehow worse. A pressure was slowly building up in every part of him, and if he didn’t do something, it would just split his skin and break free. So he kept moving, trying so hard to ground himself that he wished he could just tie his nerve endings to the floor. 

He shook his hands.

Virgil didn’t like the quiet. It was obtrusive, in a way—drilling. Patton and Roman had left him to watch Remus while they discussed God knows what with Logan and Janus. Maybe it’s about the recovery. Maybe it’s about the aftermath, a much quieter, more cynical voice inside him said. He shook his hands harder, like it might shake away the thought.

He flicked his fingers as he settled next to Remus. He breathed in, then out. Slowly. Again, shakier by the second.

“You’re lucky you got to duck out of this one,” he said to Remus. He didn’t mean it.

He closed his fists tightly until tiny crescents were pressed into his palms. Breathing wasn’t working. His lungs were lined in dust and ash and he was trying so hard to ignore the way his arms felt numb. He couldn’t panic, not now. It was the last thing he needed—the last thing Thomas needed. He closed his eyes, pushing away the feeling. Anything he did felt like grasping at straws, small pockets of hope that dispersed as quickly as he caught them. The dread was closing in on him, sinking in its teeth. 

Maybe he would just die now, like this, afraid. Afraid of everything, afraid of himself, afraid of death. He was fear itself, after all—the spinner of his own suffering.

“Oh thank God! Hurry up, the firemen are here.” Virgil waved them over as they emerged from the wreckage, ash trailing behind them.

“Come on, Thomas, we have to–”

Roman barely got a word in before the two of them—Thomas and Nico—collapsed.

“Thomas!”

“Fuck, Thomas!”

Silence.

“Thomas.”

The blaze raged on.

“Thomas,” Roman huffed, brushing the hair out of his eyes and shaking him by the shoulders, “Thomas, get up!”

“Shit, shit, shit, Thomas!”

Patton ran up to them. “What happened, did they get out okay?”

“Thomas– He– He won’t wake up.”

Virgil was jolted away from his thoughts when he felt something settle in his hand.

Remus, still as quiet as ever, had his hand carefully interlocked with his. Virgil huffed, then slumped his head against Remus’ shoulder.

“Can only make me feel better when you don’t speak, huh?” he said, with no real heat behind it.

Maybe this was what made death so formidable. The waiting. The feeling that if he stopped paying attention, he might be lost from himself, a premature ghost. But it was easier with them around. Remus’ rings were pressed against his fingers, somehow more grounding than anything else he was trying. They were still alive, for what it was worth. And that made it hurt all the more, didn’t it? The simple fact that he could lose them.

Some time later, Roman found him on the couch, still leaning against Remus in some semblance of comfort. Virgil nodded towards him. Anything new?

Roman, held his breath, then grit his teeth like he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Virgil, still carved hollow with fear, felt himself filled with something else. Regret. He shouldn’t have snapped at Roman. He shouldn’t have said anything at all back in the hospital. In truth, he couldn’t find himself blaming Roman in any way. They were still always in the same boat, six parts of a whole, six planets orbiting the same star. He sat up, finding a bit of strength to conjure a roll of gauze. He nodded towards Roman.

None of them had pointed it out. They knew how much his complexion meant to him. They’d all been given the same scars, the same burns, a facsimile of Thomas’s. And then there was Roman. He tried his best to hide how much it bothered him, but Virgil could see it, the way he was ducking his face away whenever he spoke. He couldn’t say he’d become a mirror version of himself, not when he barely looked like Roman at all anymore. A bruised ego, much less bruised, more so burned. Virgil moved so he was sitting beside him, legs gathered on the couch. He held up the bit of gauze.

“Can I?”

Roman nodded, his eye never landing on Virgil’s.

Carefully, Virgil unraveled a bit of gauze, starting at Roman’s forehead, and began wrapping downwards.

“I’m sorry about… earlier,” he said, stretching the gauze over Roman’s hollow eye socket, then around again. “I was being a total dick.”

“You were right,” said Roman. His voice was so hoarse, Virgil wouldn’t have heard it if they weren't sitting so close.

“No– no I wasn’t. I was angry, and I lashed out–”

“Please don’t try to make me feel better, Virgil.” Roman rasped. “You were right, it was my fault.”

“Don’t say things like that–”

“But you believe it, don’t you?” Roman’s gaze finally snapped to Virgil’s, and his eye was beginning to well with tears. “You said it because it’s true and– and the others are probably thinking it too–”

“Roman–”

Roman’s hands were shaking, clutching at his sides like he was a harbor. He ducked his head away from Virgil again, face clinging to the gauze. “It’s all my fault, I ruined everything–” 

Virgil cupped his cheek, turning his head to face him. “You didn’t ruin anything. We don’t even know what’s going to happen–”

“We do, Virgil!” Roman snapped, voice thick with tears. “Thomas isn’t waking up!”

Virgil froze. He dropped the gauze, let it roll off the couch behind Roman.

“What?”

“Janus and Logan figured it out.” Roman closed his eye, dropping his chin. “He’s not going to make it, and there’s nothing we can do.”

Virgil imagined himself in Roman’s position. Someone who’d been so sure he was doing the right thing, What did he think of himself now, he wondered? Was he still a hero? Or has he abandoned himself to drown in his grief? How much of him was left— would be left? Virgil wondered, distantly, if Roman believed he deserved it. If Roman believed that he should’ve been the one in Remus’ place, if he believed the scarring was a punishment.

“Virgil?”

And somehow, Virgil couldn’t find anything to be said. 

Death had been a looming monster, something he was so sure would’ve torn them apart into flesh and bone, rotting carcasses. But death, in its finality, didn’t feel so monstrous anymore. It felt like a breath released. Like a chapter closing.

Virgil found that it didn’t matter to him, at least not in this moment. For now, the only thought in his head was that Roman was upset, and he had to make it better. It was the only thing left to do, the only fire left to snuff.

He conjured a pair of scissors and a safety pin, cutting an excess bit of gauze as he adjusted it around Roman’s head and pinned it in place.

“Then let’s find something we can do.”

As if on cue, Roman looked behind him. Virgil followed his gaze and–

Remus moved, just slightly. Roman looked caught between awe and apprehension. 

“Remus?” Pockets of hope, all the way through.

His face was still mostly unchanging, save for the slightest furrow of his brow, like he was concentrating all his effort on a single thing. And when his expression relaxed again, he held something in his hand. An eyepatch. It was black, rimmed with green rhinestones. Roman, for a second, stared in wonder. He then gingerly accepted it, placing it over the bandaged eye socket. Pockets of hope didn’t rebuild the world, but somehow this felt more like a start than it did an end.

“Thank you. Both of you.”

Chapter Text

The story ends like this:

When Thomas ran into the fire, Roman followed.

“Roman. Roman, I need you to promise me something.”

“Don’t–”

“Roman, please–”

“No, no you’re– we’re going to be okay.”

“Just listen.”

Thomas put his hands on Roman’s shoulders, face streaked with soot as fire danced around them.

“If something happens, promise me you won’t feel guilty.”

“I– I can’t–”

“Promise me.”

The others were kind enough to ignore it. Or maybe they felt bad for him. Hated him, but only enough to spare his dignity. They’d inherited Thomas’s burns just as they’d inherited any other changes to him. But this time, it seemed, the universe decided to pick on him specifically just a bit more. Charred skin climbed down his arms and up his neck like vines, and everything hurt to touch. He didn’t even want to think of his face. He could barely look at it anymore. Roman tried to remember what Thomas told him, tried to lead it to his heart. But how could he not feel guilty? How could he be free of condemnation when he was a living reflection of his guilt?

Maybe this is my punishment, he thought woefully.

But then there were the others, the only ones he had. He wasn’t sure what they thought of him anymore. There was no way to be sure, even if he asked, and asking felt like the dullest thing he could do right now. So what was there to do?

“Roman?”

It was Janus. Roman cautiously stood up, still trying to quell his body from shaking. He made his way to Janus, instinctively ducking his face again. There was no need to now, he supposed, not when most of it was covered. 

The two of them sat at the dining table, and Janus didn’t wait. “I need something from you.”

“You don’t hate me, do you?” The question came quicker than he anticipated. Maybe it was alright now if Roman asked foolish questions, did foolish things. He supposed he had a record.

“No.”

“I– no?”

“What you did was stupid and reckless, yes. But I don’t hate you.”

Roman narrowed his eyes. “How come?”

“You know that Thomas’s mind has always fixated on what-ifs in dire straits, Roman.” He said, eyes fixed on him. “And historically it’s helped none of us. Maybe what you did was right, by your standards, but none of us have the time, energy, or desire to hate you for it, especially now.” Janus set a gloved hand on his, and somehow it was the most kindness he’d ever expect Janus to show. “It would be another net loss.”

“Thomas told me not to feel guilty. But I– I can’t help but–” Roman felt his voice breaking again.

“Oh Thomas,” a smile tugged at Janus’s lips, and the smallest huff of a laugh escaped him. “Naive as always.” He turned to Roman, the ghost of a wistful smile still visible. “If Thomas asked it of you, then I think you know what to do.”

He knew. He didn’t like it, but he knew. An ache tugged at his heart. If he couldn’t absolve his guilt for himself, he’d do it for Thomas. That’s all that mattered to him, in the end. And maybe some time later, if not now, he could begin to forgive himself too.

“Do I have your full attention now?” Janus asked. Roman nodded. “Good.”

He held both hands out, prompting Roman to take them. Roman complied.

“What are you thinking of?”

Roman closed his eyes. In total darkness, anything and everything existed. It was beautiful. It was terrifying. “I'm thinking of…” Roman’s voice broke again, spilling more of himself than he wanted to give. “...how Thomas was going to ask Nico to stargaze with him.”

Janus hummed. “We can work with that.” 

“I– What?”

Janus hushed him. “Concentrate.”

“Concentrate on what?”

“Stargazing.”

“I– uhm– alright.”

And so Roman did. He thought of an open field and an even more open sky. He thought of the six of them together, watching Thomas and Nico, their dreams reaching higher than the stars above them.

“Now open your eyes.”

And Roman did.

Thomas’s living room was gone, and instead there was grass beneath their feet. They stood under a midnight sky painted with stars, decorated across the void so marvelously like the galaxies themselves were hung with all the care of a craftsman whose art was their lover. Roman couldn’t help but gaze in awe. He turned to Janus, who smiled amusedly, clearly pleased.

“This is…” He couldn’t find the words. Words felt too small to fit what he felt. And his heart felt so full, so big that he wondered how it ever fit in his body at all.

“It’s all you.” Janus squeezed his hands. “You had a bit of my help, of course. But it was mostly you.”

“Janus…” Roman was wide-eyed, like a deer believing the night sky a sea of headlights. It was terrifying. It was beautiful. “Thank you.”

Janus shrugged. “You don’t need to thank me for lying. It’s what I do best.”

Lying. That’s right.

It wasn’t real. Of course it wasn’t real. He doesn’t know why he could’ve ever believed it was. It was a lie, a facade made to coddle them with the fleeting idea of warmth. 

But it was warmth nonetheless.

Roman looked at Janus, some small bit of worry still keeping his feet planted. “There’s–” He huffed a mirthless laugh. “I can still taste dust on my tongue.”

Janus smiled again, “It can be the dust of stars if you believe it.” He nodded off to the side, where the others were waiting.

“It’s… beautiful, Roman.”

“Thank you, Patton, but I can’t take all the credit,” he replied, looking over to Janus.

Here they were, together for a final moment before the curtains closed, and Roman couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather be with. Thomas, in a way, was with them too. And he hoped, at the very least, that the end was kind to him. But for now, he was alive—they were alive—and existence felt like a song. Roman actually found himself smiling. It was messy, muffled with gauze, and more teeth than skin, but he was smiling. And was that not what Thomas would’ve wanted? His hero, his prince, to have unshakeable, indomitable joy in the face of his demise?  

He cleared his throat, his best attempt at a smile still plastered across his face. “Would it be too soon if we had a campfire?”

A myriad display of emotions flashed across the others’ faces, with Patton’s wide eyes, Logan’s raised eyebrow and Virgil and Janus stifling their laughter. Roman could’ve swore he even saw the smallest suggestion of a smile on Remus.

It was less of a campfire, and more of a hearth. They’d found that by conjuring this place, the last of their energy to create had been used up. So they built it the old fashioned way, splitting up among the thicket of trees to collect firewood and stones. Despite the darkness and the choir of crickets, Roman wasn’t afraid of these woods. He’d made them, after all. When they’d all returned to the field and lit the flames, the fire soared, reaching as high as dreams. The orange glow of the blaze cast their faces in an amber light, gazing at the firmament high above them. It was less quiet too, somehow, despite having less noise than the hospital. Or maybe it was just a different kind of quiet. It was the kind that hummed with enough tenderness and adoration to fill a void of silence.

Just then, distantly, a star swelled in the sky and burst, before fizzing out. Then another followed. And another. One after the other in a synchronized dance of dying cells.

“What’s going on?” asked Virgil.

“I think… that means it’s almost time,” Janus responded.

Roman looped his arm through Remus’s, and they all clung towards each other like a cluster of galaxies, bound by gravity.

“What… do you think will happen to us?” Patton asked, ever the beating heart. “Where will we go?”

“Home.” They all turned towards Roman. “Er– Logan, stars are made of uh– oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, all that stuff right?”

“I– correct, but–”

“And so are humans? Or in this case, so is Thomas?”

“Yes.”

“All the things that make him up, being us, are the same things in stars, right?”

“...yes.” 

“So… from stardust we were made–”

“–and to stardust we will return…” Logan completed, a hint of awe in his tone. “Roman… how did you know that?”

Roman shrugged, as much as he could of course, locked around arms and heads resting against him. “You were talking about it yesterday.” 

Yesterday. A distant memory, far and getting further.

“Right. Of course. I must’ve… forgotten.”

Roman closed his eyes. Everything felt awfully short and hazy now, like life could’ve been a dream before this moment. But whatever respite they received, however many shared smiles and bursts of laughter like bells, it was and would always be enough. 

–

The story ends like this:

Gently.

In the grass, around a hearth, hands intertwined. Something primal threaded them together. Ever-present and intrinsic, running deep through the roots beneath them and the spaces between stars. Existence was a heavy thing, ancient and older than the lines of their palms, weaving and overlapping from start to end in maple trees and birdsong. And despite it all, the grass still bent in the shape of their forms, and even when the dust would settle, it would have been worth it.

They knew that when their world went quiet, the only sound left the gentle crackle of the hearth, the stars would still remember.

He didn’t know it now, but he’d never felt more whole than he did at this moment.