Work Text:
Let’s Go Out with a Bang
He didn't even say goodbye
Janus slammed the door to his room with a loud bang. The anger fueling him as he stomped into the dimly lit area without even a thought to flick on a light. The glow from the terrarium by the wall his only light source that cast looming shadows across the plain grey walls.
“You were gone for a week, Virgil, I am concerned! What if they had done something to you?”
His thoughts swirled angrily as he tossed his hat in a random direction as he continued his angry stomping.
Why Virgil took his concern as an attack, he would never understand. Why could his oldest friend not get it through his thick skull that he just wanted to protect him? Virgil had spent years being their defender, now it was Janus’ turn. Was it so bad that he actually cared?
He growled and threw open the door to his bathroom, the dull thunk of the wood against the wall barely went noticed as he made his way over to the sink. He was not gentle as he flicked the switch and the lights around the mirror lit up with a small blink.
A gloved hand rand through his hair and pulled slightly on the ends, sending small shocks of pain. He grimaced and let go after a second. His gloves were off after a small struggle with the button that kept them clasped around his wrist. He needed them off. He needed grounding.
The cold metal of the faucet paired with the sharp biting sting of the freezing water splashed on his face did nothing to calm the looming dread and retreating anger the swirled inside him. He let the sound of the faucet running wash over him as he tried to come up with some logical explanation for this sudden shift in attitude.
Janus just did not understand what Virgil’s new motives were. He had tried and tried against to understand Virgil’s sudden need to be around the three other sides. But he couldn’t. It made no sense to befriend the sides that rejected them all without much care. The very sides that continued to reject Virgil even though the stubborn, anxious side continued to go up there at Thomas’ every beck and call. The sides that disregarded his boundaries and fears as if they were throw away gags. So why, oh why would he defend them so much?
Why does he want them to like him so much? Weren’t they enough for him? Was it so bad down here that he would willingly subject himself to ridicule everyday for the rest of his life?
He thought back to the fight that had just occurred.
“You would say that. Making it seem like down here is some sort of fantasy world of happiness, just because you hate them,” Virgil scoffed.
“I don’t hate them!” Deceit hissed out, “They are the ones that hate us.”
That was a lie. He did hate them. He had many reasons to after all. A few of them he could not even talk about with anyone.
Deceit turned the sink off and looked up at his reflection. His human eye was red from the tears he had been fighting to hold back. His shoulders were slumped and his hair was stuck up in odd angles. In general, he looked tired.
The tension in the living room had been so suffocating; the worry and anger in him building into something he didn’t understand. Now he was starting to feel numb.
No not numb.
“Maybe they hate you for a good reason. Maybe they are right, and you are trying to hurt Thomas!”
He was feeling betrayed and abandoned. Lost and confused.
A tear finally escaped his best efforts and he looked away from his reflection in shame that his usually put together façade had cracked.
The past few months had finally broken him. Fights had become common every since Virgil had taken a chance to reveal himself to Thomas not long after the other three had shown themselves to their human. It has seemed a chance worth taking at the start but now Deceit wished he had never encouraged Virgil to try and introduce himself to Thomas. If that was what had started these constant arguments, this ungodly tension, then he would keep them all hidden for the rest of Thomas’ natural life.
But it was too late now. Things had gone too far; Deceit could see that now. His genuine concern had been twisted in his friend’s mind into some sort of plot. His fear for Virgil’s safety into a scheme. He had been fighting so hard to try and keep Virgil from falling into the shark pit that he failed to miss the giant boulder rolling straight for them.
“Why do we have to hide down here? If you are actually trying to help Thomas, you would be up there with them.”
“Because the other sides don’t like us,” Janus stared down at his hands as they laid against sink’s counter, “Their view of Thomas is structured around a very black and white mentality.”
“If you are essential to Thomas’ wellbeing you wouldn’t be hidden away. You wouldn’t be working from the shadows. You would actually look like every other side!”
He closed his eyes and tried to ignore how that statement had stung. He raised a hand to the left side of his face and felt the cool, smooth surface of his scales. He had never liked them when they first started to appear. Had even tried to pick them off like an annoying scab.
It had been Virgil that had encourage him to embrace them before. Had gotten him to stop trying to cover them up or disguising himself as Thomas.
His hand curled into a fist; the nails of his fingers curling into the scales and pulling slightly at their edges. The scream of his skin under them only added to the anger that was once again burning inside him.
“If you truly think that I am as ‘monstrous’ as you claim then why do you stick around? Why don’t you run off to your little ‘perfect’ friends?”
“Maybe I will!”
He let go just as he felt some give slammed his hand down on the cold counter of the sink. The vibrations raced up his arms and something began to roll down his cheek.
When he looked up at his reflection, Virgil glared back. A drop of blood rolled down the left side of his face and only seemed to add to the rage that burned behind the side’s eyes. There was no remorse. No caring. Nothing of the person that had once been his friend.
Pain is what broke the illusion. Janus’ shattered reflection stared back at him from the many cracks of the now broken mirror. The angry scream echoed off the bathroom walls before it slowly faded away. His fist stayed in place at the center of the impact point that shattered his bathroom mirror.
He was frozen in place. The only sound in the room was the drip of the faucet, the drip of his bleeding knuckles, and the sound of his breathing. The heavy pants seemed like a roar of a storm in his ears.
Then, another sound joined and shattered the moment. His head turned towards the open bathroom door and broke the spell just as the sugar sweet taste of lies coated the back of his tongue.
He waited.
And waited.
Only when the distant thumping noise stopped did he let his hand fall onto the counter and he turned his attention to the damages. A few small shards and pieces of glass stuck out of his hands. He only watched as the blood flowed out of the cuts and onto the counter and the floor.
In his mind he knew he should clean it and bandage it. He knew he should have thought of a better method of coping with his anger.
That is the funny thing, the mind can know lots of stuff, but the body will sometimes act on its own. Just like it was doing now as he sank down to the cold tiled floor and curled his aching had to his chest. More tears falling as the distant thump went silent.
“Maybe Remus is onto something.”
At that thought, he broke. Finally letting out all the emotions he had pushed back for the purpose of saving face.
He cried, finally taking a moment to be selfish and not have to worry about hiding his pain or fears. Hide from the pain from losing his first friend. Hide from the fears of what might happen to Remus at any given moment of the day. Hide from the hurt at the way his life had fallen into this dark path. To have a moment where he does not have to worry about someone’s safety.
With shaking breathes he reached for the box of tissues on the sink’s counter and wiped away the tears, only to have them replaced with more not a second later. But that did not stop the truth that his moment of selfishness could not last very long.
Even with tears falling he began to look through his drawers for tears and his first aid kit. All the while he did his best to pretend like he was not shaking as he stood upright. He did not dare look up at the mirror as he worked on removing the glass with unstable fingers.
The siren song of exhaustion called to him to bed as he carefully plucked out the pieces of glass, each one clattering into the sink. His head felt like cotton and his shoulders felt like they were weighed down by a ton of bricks.
Distantly, he heard shouting out in the hallway as he wrapped his hand up tightly. His feet dragging him out of the bathroom as he secured the loose gauze.
His body was moving on autopilot. A need to see what was wrong, to prevent something from happening, and to hopefully prevent more heart break from casting a terrible gloom over this day.
He got as far as his door, his good hand hovering over the handle before he took a step back and moved over to the bed. A careless wave of his hand changing his normal attire into pajamas.
Was it so wrong for him to be a little selfish? Was it so bad of him to not have the emotional capacity to get into another argument with Virgil? To deal with the aftermath of whatever had pissed off Anxiety and probably hurt the Duke? Maybe, if he slept long enough, he would not even notice any aftermath of whatever was happening in the hall.
He crawled into his bed and buried himself under his pile of blankets.
The shouting outside stopped and he distantly heard angry footsteps echoing down the hall until they disappeared.
He waited; only his eyes peaking out at the dim room from under his blanket nest. He expected something to happen; someone to come.
He continued to wait; muscles tense like a rattlesnake ready to strike, but one by one unraveling as time passed slowly. It left an emptiness in his chest that weighed him down to lay down on a pillow and fully hide under the warmth of the blankets. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I don’t care.” He told no one.
Janus did not have to see his walls to know the words had carved themselves into the gray paint in a bright, accusatory yellow.
“I don’t care if he who he hangs out with. I don’t even care if he goes and lives with them. He is a grown adult and if he wants to be bullied every day then that is his choice,” he hissed, “Honestly, it will be better down here without him.”
The sugar on his tongue was almost too intense and making him a little queasy. He closed his eyes tightly and buried his face in his pillow. He didn’t want to see every one of his words carve themselves because they were only lies for now, but he would find a way to make himself believe them.
The hard thump of something hitting a wall was back. Louder then what he heard while in the bathroom, possibly closer to his room.
“I don’t care,” he whispered selfishly. The room seemed to hum in disapproval.
“I don’t care,” the noise had stopped and the whole mindscape had seemed to settle into an unnatural silence.
Janus let the mantra dance in his head, hoping the more he thought it the more he would believe it. Yet, every time it passed his thoughts it made another carving into his wall. A stubborn reminder of the truth that he so desperately wanted to change.
He did not actually care about Virgil crying over the other sides changing him without permission, invading his personal space, or putting him in situations he was uncomfortable with. He did not care about the insults repeated to him in kitchen at three o’clock in the morning.
With a quite hiss he rolled over so his back faced the empty expanse of his room.
He didn’t care and this sudden change did not hurt. Virgil never mattered to him; he was just a companion forced on him by the circumstances that they lived in.
All pleasant memories were only bitter lies that he was oblivious to.
Janus’ wallowing was interrupted by a knock on his door, cautious and quiet but oh so loud to the snake’s ears. He opened his eyes and stared a head at the wall that was covered in bright yellow lies.
“Dee?” the voice was weak and scratchy, but unmistakably Remus’ nasally tone.
The door creaked as if someone was leaning up against the wood; the lock being the only thing holding back another dam of emotions that Deceit did not want to face.
“Virgil’s gone.”
The words were whispered but they seemed to have been shouted with a megaphone. Echoing around his mind as his eyes looked for a new scratched message on the wall near his bed that he knew would not appear.
Virgil talked a big game, but he would never actually move in with the other sides, right? RIGHT!?!
In a panic he sat up and looked around at his other walls. All that showed on the dull grey were the bright yellow light that he did not care.
He didn’t care.
He didn’t…
Tears fell before he could stop them. It took all his energy to cover his mouth and swallow the sob that wanted to free itself.
Virgil’s gone. Virgil’s gone. Virgil’s gone.
The doorknob jiggle but the lock prevented it from turning.
“Deceit? Please tell me you are still here,” Remus’ voice was shaking as he tapped on the door, “Please answer me.”
Janus took in shaking breath as he tried to calm himself. He could not lose control just because one of his oldest friends…
He bit his lip to keep back another sob.
“Dammit Janus, get a hold of yourself. Now is not the time to get all emotional.”
Remus needed him. That is what he had to force his thoughts to focus on.
Remus, who was probably just as hurt by this as him, needed him.
But what kind of help could a ‘monster like him’ be able to give when his limbs felt like lead. All efforts to try and move out from under the blankets did not seem to process into action as he continued to silently cry into his hand.
He knew it was selfish. And a part of him knew that ignoring the creative side would probably lead to another terrible situation. But wasn’t that what he was? Selfish?
Would it be so wrong to let himself have his own time to process this and not have to worry about fighting Virgil, keeping Remus safe, protecting Thomas’ self-interests, and hiding everyone else’s secrets just so they could turn around and scorn him.
“Jan please!” Remus’ voice broke him from his racing thoughts.
“Go away, Creativity,” he answered without a thought. Would it really hurt to be selfish just this once?
“Deceit?”
“I sssssaid go away, Duke!” You can’t see me like this.
Janus was shaking. He waited for Remus to respond back with stubbornness or even try to break down the door with all his dramatic flair. But all he got was a small “okay” that nearly crushed Deceit’s resolve, but he stayed firmly planted on the bed and listened to the fading footsteps as his friend walked away.
Only when he heard a door close down the hall did he allow himself to sob aloud. He hugged himself tightly and let the pain out. Virgil was gone and now he couldn’t even help the one person that relied on him because he was too busy wallowing in self-pity. What kind of side was he to put so much focus on himself when his job was to help Thomas focus on himself?
“Oh Thomas, what have I done?”
“Remus!” He wiped away the tear tracks as he scrambled to get out of the bed. The blankets tangled around his legs and tripped him as he hurried to the door. His fingers fumbled with the lock.
“I’m sorry. Please come ba—”
BANG!
The sound of a gunshot seemed to echo down the hall like a sonic boom. It froze Deceit where he stood with his hand on the doorhandle. The sound rang in his ears as he threw open the door.
Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion and he was not entirely sure he was breathing.
He knew he was running but the door seemed to get further and further away. It seemed to take decades before he could grab the slightly blood-stained handle and wrenched the door open.
The sight he was met with brought out a scream worthy of one of Remus’ B-list horror stories.
“No. No. Oh God! Remus No! Please No! NoNoNoNONONO!”
The body of the Duke was slumped over on a mess of sketches and notes that were scattered over the desk. Deceit could barely focus on the destructive and gory sight of the back of his friend’s head, the skull blown out and matting the brown hair down with blood and other chunks. The rest of the terrible remains were splashed along the dark walls of the room in a mixture of a dark red and grey matter.
In a limp hand was the gun that did the deed.
Bile rose up in the back of Janus’ throat as he moved closer to the remains. It was hard to remember that this state was temporary. Every time he found his friend in such a state it was a struggle to remember that this was not the end.
The jaw was broken, moved in an unnatural way. And if it wasn’t for the mustache on the upper lip it would be impossible to identify who it was. The explosion and the bullet had ripped through the top of the mouth and took the top of the skull with it. Nerves stuck out of where the eyes should be, the force of the gun having expelled them somewhere in the room, not that Janus was going to look.
His knees gave out from under him and he buried his face in his hands. The overwhelming smell of blood added to the terrifying image seared into his eyelids. He did not want to face the reality but his mind would not let him have peace even when he was looking away.
“What have I done?”
He could hear a taunting voice in the back of his head as he let his hands fall away and stared down at the dirty floor.
“Good job Janus, you tell the guy he can come to you whenever and then push him away for your own selfish little sad party.”
“Remus…” He pushed up against the floor but found his legs too weak to stand. He took a few deep breathes and tried to not let the smell of blood nauseate him.
“This is your fault.” The voice sounded too much like Virgil to be comfortable at this moment.
“Remus, I’m sorry,” he finally got the strength to push himself to his feet. With hesitant steps he finally reached the desk. His hands hovered over the corpse’s shoulder but did not touch.
He was not even sure where to start.
With the wrists it was tight bandages. With the pills it was seltzer and light broth. This…this he could not even fathom where to begin.
Did he need to scrape the skull and brain matter off the walls or would the side regrow it? Would it even matter if he tried to set the bones?
If Remus was human, all he would have to worry about is getting a coffin and making sure the funeral service was closed casket.
But that was not the reality they lived in. In this world, Remus was a facet of someone’s personality, so Janus could at least be relieved that the side would come back.
“I’ll be right back,” he rushed the words as he stepped out of the room, letting the battle worn door close behind him to block out the grim scene.
Once in the hall, he allowed himself to lean against the door and take a breath. So much had happened in the span of a few hours and letting all of it pile up on top of him would not help Remus. He needed to focus. Emotions could wait, right now he had to get a job done.
With another breath, and wiping some grime from his gloveless hands, he headed back towards his room. The cuts on his knuckles stung when he caught his reflection in the shattered mirror.
Had that only happened a few hours ago? It felt like a whole life time had gone by since the fight, since…
Janus shook the thought away and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He pulled open every drawer and took out all the medical supplies he had on hand; scattering them over his bathroom counter. Nearly half the draws in the double vanity held some sort of supplies.
He just hoped this would all be enough. He could not remember a time that the Duke had such extreme wounds, at least he was not aware of such a time.
With a shake of his head, he turned his attention to the room itself. While it was not an ideal operation room, it was better than the unsanitary conditions that Remus’ living space presented him with. Which meant he had to move the body.
With a deep breath, Janus waved his hand and the bathroom space expanded. The clawfoot tub sank into the floor and disappeared, along with the lush bath rug that laid next to it. A metal table replaced it, with a bowl and a wash cloth.
He glanced over what he had a second time before leaving his living space.
The second trip down the hall to Remus’ room felt much faster. It was strange how fear and dread made short distances seem like a mile. At least this time he knew what laid behind his friend’s door.
Even with that knowledge, it did not prevent the flinch he gave at seeing Remus so lifeless. If there was any fact about the Duke that seemed set in stone, it had to be that Remus was never still. Even when he slept he was moving around or mumbling to himself.
It looked so wrong. Janus could honestly say he never got used to it, and he hoped he never would.
Without so much of a glance to the corpse of his friend, he moved across the room and grabbed a nightstand. The various bottles, jars, and old soda cans tumbled off onto the stained floor. He set the stand down next to the desk where the corpse lay and summoned a bowl to place on it. Another wave and rubber yellow gloves covered his hands to prevent touching the biohazard that covered the room.
He turned and made a clear space on the floor with his feet before he summoned a gurney.
Only then did he turn his full attention to the corpse. The smell of iron only seemed to get stronger as he set his attention on the remains.
His stomach seemed to tie itself into knots as he moved closer to the body. He wanted to puke at the sight of the soulless eye dangling out of a shattered socket.
He turned his back to it before any other emotions could bubble up and overwhelm him.
“Focussssssss,” he whispered through his teeth.
He was too caught up in his emotions and self-pity. He had to lock all that up.
With a deep breath, which he regretted from the rotting smell that seemed to fill Remus’ rom naturally, he turned back around. He schooled his face into one of indifference as he moved the gurney as close to the body as he could.
After a brief observation, he lifted the body up and laid it flat on its stomach on the gurney. He did his best not to shudder when some of the contents in the broken skull sloshed down his front. Best to just put these in the ‘to burn’ laundry basket.
Janus let himself go into autopilot. He retrieved what remained of the shattered skull from the floor and wall, carefully picking them up with tweezers and placing them into a bowl. It was only when he placed the filled bowl on the gurney that he had no idea what he would do with them.
Did he even need them? Could a skull be fixed with such tiny pieces?
He wasn’t a surgeon and Thomas had never been too interested in the medical field for him to even have an idea on how to put a skull back together. He vaguely knew that sometimes metal plates were used to reconnect the skull, but how that worked was a mystery.
As he worked, he searched his mind and the shared knowledge of Thomas’ memories for anything that could help him. He let that consume him as he carefully began to wipe away the blood from the stone walls; throwing away any papers, posters, or drawings that were too covered to be salvaged.
The only idea that came to his mind was super glue, based mainly off of a porcelain music box Thomas was once given that broke when he was moving.
It was not a proven way but, he reminded himself, it was not like the super glue could hurt Remus any more. For one, they weren’t real and the guy already ate deodorant, claimed he was allergic to soap, and refused to bathe.
It was not the best plan, but it was all he had.
He removed the rubber gloves and tossed them into a trash pail with the rest of the disposables, replacing them with a new pair. As soon as the discarded ones touched the bottom of the bin, the contents burst into flames and turned to ash.
Janus glanced around the dim room to be sure he had not forgotten anything before he moved to the door. Without much thought, he peeked out into the hall, a motion that had become standard for times such as this.
It was only when he caught sight of the emptiness between the two bedrooms that reality crept back in.
“Oh,” his chest squeezed painfully with the fresh memory of betrayal.
Janus squeezed his eyes tightly and counted under his breath to try and get the façade of indifference back together. Maybe he should look for the positives about this situation.
“Good news, we don’t have to be sneaky anymore,” his voice cracked as he said those words and moved to the side of the gurney.
He looked down at the mangled form of his friend as if he expected any answer.
Janus placed a gentle hand on the broken jaw, avoiding the empty sockets where glassy eyes should be properly placed instead of dangling out. Without warning his grip turned to iron and he popped the jaw back into place with a loud crack. The bones protesting but the body making no sound of discomfort.
“Already looking better,” he lied. Somehow Remus looked more mangled than before, possibly because his jaw bone had shattered from the blast of the gun and there was no real way to reposition it properly. Just another thing he had to consider fixing.
With his head held high in false confidence he pushed the gurney out of the room and headed down the hall as if challenging the universe. Though he was not quite sure what he was daring the world to throw at him. Who would even be down here to see now?
He slammed the door to his room a little too hard after he pushed the gurney in. A burst of anger breaking through his carefully schooled face. It smoothed back over once he got away from the glaring yellow words that scattered over his walls into the safety of his bathroom turned operating room.
He locked it in place next to the metal table and prepared to start one of the most gruesome puzzles he would ever complete. If it could be completed, considering he was not one-hundred percent sure he had all the pieces of Remus’ skull in the bowl that rested beside the corpse’s leg.
But that did not mean he wouldn’t try.
He would never admit to how badly his hands were shaking as he cleaned, organized, matched, and glued the fragments together. His only indication of the time passing was the feeling of night wash over the mind scape and how his refusal to rest affected Thomas, but he could not stop until Remus was back together again.
Janus could not even be sure that he was breathing as he did his careful and macabre work. It was like the smallest of breathes would blow the whole thing down like a house of cards. It was only when the gauze was carefully but firmly secured around the skull that he let his lungs take in a healthy gulp of air.
He stood back to observe his work.
The top of Remus’ head was covered in white gauze, wrapped tightly to secure the glued together skull and keep the remains of the eyes in place where they belonged. He was not entire sure if that would help his friend heal faster, but there was no harm in trying. A scarf was wrapped around the head to hold the jaw in place, just like an old-fashioned corpse. Remus would be ecstatic.
His eyes scanned for anything else that he could do, but he knew that all that was left was the excruciating wait.
Slowly, Janus began to clean away the mess of bloodied towels and tools. Putting things away and glancing back at the still form of his friend to see if there was any sign of movement. Of course, there was none.
He threw off the blood-stained rubber gloves and flipped a switch that turned on the fan in the bathroom. Keeping the room cold should prevent any decomposition that may occur before the body began to reverse the effects. At least, he hoped it would, because it would make it impossible to keep a constant vigil.
With another flick of a switch the lights were off and he moved back into his bed room. It was only when the door was shut did the weight of everything crush down on his shoulders. It nearly took his feet out from under him as the morning sun rose over Thomas’ world.
“I’m alone,” he whispered and did not look to the walls for he knew that the words would not appear.