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Chapter Text

The tinny earworm of a jingle played from the TV, the vitamin supplement’s holiday commercial running in the background as Thomas ate breakfast, with poorly animated dancing snowmen in the corner as the overly cheery woman went on and on about the benefits of consuming the equivalent of three oranges’ worth of Vitamin C in a single gummy. It wasn’t something he would’ve heard on the radio, but it was vaguely familiar. 

“Hey guys, where have we heard this?” he turned to his Sides, who were all, save for Logan, sprawled out on the couch in their Christmas sweaters watching the TV as it cycled through classic holiday movies. The teacher was sitting like a normal person and fervently writing down factoids about Vitamin C from the commercial (for the purpose of researching which ones were true later) while the others swayed to the beat of the music.

“Gosh, I’m not sure,” Patton responded, a whipped cream mustache from his hot cocoa above his lip. “But I know that we’ve heard it before. It’s on the tip of my tongue…”

“See, that’s what I was thinking!” Thomas agreed, gesturing excitedly with his spoon. “It’s so distant, though…I probably haven’t heard it in like a decade or something.”

Roman took his hand out of his bowl of kettle corn so he could stroke his chin in thought and appear appropriately pensive. He rolled the melody in his head like one would a mint on their tongue, trying to absorb why it was so familiar. Meanwhile, the TV returned to its regularly scheduled programming of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer , and he couldn’t help beginning to hum “Silver and Gold” as he struggled to remember.

“We should use that app that tells you what stuff is when you play it. Marvel or some shit,” Virgil commented, hanging upside down with a bag of sour gummy worms on his chest and doing his best to ignore the voice in the back of his head that was screaming about how he was going to choke. Realistically, yeah, it was a choking risk, but he also couldn’t die so maybe the voice should just pipe the fuck down for once.

His suggestion would have been a bit more helpful if the song was still playing.

“Oh, I’ve got it! We’ve sung it before!” Roman exclaimed as his brain struggled to grasp at the vague memory like a racoon after trying to wash cotton candy. He could almost feel the cheap fluorescent lights, the bumping shoulders of kids crowded together, the dormant muscle memory of (Thomas) singing it. “I bet the best Bugattis in Bulgaria that it’s from a school concert.”

“Aw, now I wanna see it! Maybe if we look up the lyrics on the Google and learn the name, I could find the memory and play it?”

“That’s not a terrible idea, Patton. Remind me what the lyrics are? I’ll type them into my phone, since I’m already using it,” Logan offered, busy cross referencing those new facts on ascorbic acid with various sources. 

“Sure! Are you bringing…something pleasantly…uh…waiting…” Patton began to trail off as he realized he couldn’t quite remember most of the words, no thanks to the commercial lady that had been talking over them and the movie currently playing, just the faint melody that was dancing in his head. “Wait, Roman, what were the lyrics?”

“Um…let’s see…hanging my stocking…gold decorations…on the Christmas tree?” Roman stumbled through the song as the lyrics got jumbled by the words from the movie. “It was such a catchy tune…so why, for the love of cocoa and Kris Kringle, can’t I recall anything about it?

Virgil snickered at their struggling while fishing in the bag for the last few candy worms, getting the sour powder on his sweater. Though, now that he was thinking about it, it was kind of odd. Most of Thomas’ performances were kept fresh in his mind by Roman’s constant bragging about them, even the small kiddie ones. Why couldn’t they remember that specific performance? What happened during it? Did something go wrong? Is that why they couldn’t quite remember it? What if it was locked away in the Subconscious, secretly affecting their lives? What if that performance was the reason why Thomas couldn’t cook?

“We gotta find that memory!” he blurted out, his mental spiral spilling out of his mouth. He then started coughing on the gummy worm that had slipped into his throat, and quickly flipped over to sit up and punch himself in the chest as he hacked violently. Patton immediately leaned over to pound his back, rubbing his friend’s shoulders after the emo fished the worm out of his gullet and stopped choking.

Logan set down his phone and offered Virgil a glass of water, which he gratefully took and downed like he hadn’t just nearly aspirated. “I doubt that it’s anything to be concerned about, Virge,” he reassured as he took a swig of his coffee. “Our inability to remember is most likely a result of what is known as synaptic pruning.”

Virgil tried to look relaxed, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that the matter still weighed on him.

“However, if it would make you feel better, we can definitely attempt to search for this song in the Memory despite not knowing its title or a substantial portion of the lyrics.”

“Thanks, Teach,” Virgil wheezed, his throat still sore from coughing. He took another sip of water and wiped his lips with the sleeve of his hoodie, which he was wearing over his sweater despite the fact that he lived in Florida and Florida doesn’t really have a winter and he was overheating terribly. What? The weight is comforting, and he never claimed to be a master of good decision making. Get off his back.

“Yes, let us go in search of this confounding ditty!” Roman announced, as if it was some epic quest for the Holy Grail, rising to his feet to pose heroically. It wasn’t just the prospect of finally figuring out the song. He was almost bursting with excitement to watch one of Thomas’ early performances, both so he could reminisce on how good he was even then and so he could enjoy how much he had improved. He impatiently pulled Patton up by the hand, the movement inadvertently dumping the blanket that had been on his lap onto the floor. “Come on Padre, to your room we go!”

“If you want to,” Virgil added, remembering the last time they had gone into Patton’s room against his wishes. Not wanting to get yanked out of his seat, he decided to get up on his own accord, setting the bag of candy on the side table. It would disappear from reality when he stopped thinking about it.

“Of course I want to, kiddo! I mean, the chance to freshen up a childhood memory? Count me in,” Patton gushed, making sure to look him in the eyes so there was no doubt he was being sincere. The anxious Side smiled hesitantly in acknowledgement. 

“Wait, I’m confused. What does Patton’s room have to do with all this? I thought you were going to look through my memories?” Thomas asked, getting up to prepare for whatever wacky adventure his Sides were about to take him on. He wondered if the memories would be orbs like in Inside Out , or if they would form a maze of movies like they did in Osmosis Jones.

“Patton and I both have access to the Memory through our rooms, since it is connected to our functions as your Morality and Logic. It’s the same way that Roman and Remus enter the Imagination from their room,” Logan explained as he gathered the cups and bowls from the coffee table and brought them to the sink. It wasn’t like it really mattered, since they had also been summoned and would thus disappear, but it felt like the proper procedure. 

“The twins share a room? That cannot be going well.” He couldn’t help but imagine the space divided by a line of chalk or duct tape, Roman’s elegant red and white juxtaposed with Remus’ chaotic green and black, the petty arguments that would ensue if one of their creations fell even a hair over the border.

“Oh believe me, it’s not,” Virgil muttered. “But I guess your brain didn’t feel like making another creativity segment or whatever, so here we are.”

“While my jurisdiction is over semantic memory,” Logan continued, “Patton is in charge of your episodic memories.”

“It’s a very exclusive club; glasses only!” Patton joked, jiggling his glasses.

“Yeah, I didn’t understand a word of that. So am I coming with you or…will that break my psyche or something?” 

“No, but you should google it while you brush your teeth. You need to go shopping for Aunt Pattie’s Christmas present, remember?” he reminded, pointing to the sticky note he had stuck to the fridge almost a week ago. The only reason it was there was because his Logic had convinced him it would keep the task in his mind. Evidently, it didn’t. It just got lost in the clutter of takeout menus and other reminders.

“That’s why you're the memory guy, Logan!” Thomas praised, giving the Side a thumbs up as he stacked his empty bowl of oatmeal with the rest of the dishes. Unfortunately, it was real and he’d have to actually wash and put it away.

“I’m not the memory guy, I’m one of the memory guys. I just dictated this to you.”

“Whatever, Egghead, he’s confused enough. Let’s go!” Roman waved his hand flippantly before sinking down to Patton’s room. The others shrugged and followed suit, leaving Thomas as he awkwardly waved goodbye to them. Met with an empty living room, he signed and climbed to stairs to start getting ready to go out for holiday shopping, hoping that nothing too awful would happen with his Sides rifling through his memories. 

***

The Sides rose up into Patton’s room, taking a moment to blink at the warm golden light that flooded his room. The fatherly figment led the others to what appeared to be Thomas’ front door, the main differences, other than the fact that it wasn’t in the real world, being the taped paper sign labeling it “Memories :)” in crayon bubble letters and the bright white light that emanated from it when he pulled it open. 

“Ow, holy shit!” Virgil flinched, his nocturnal habits making his eyes barely able to withstand the lights in the living room, let alone the blinding glow escaping the doorway, reminiscent of depictions of Heaven in various TV shows. That or a white room torture chamber. Roman, apparently unaffected, charged ahead, disappearing into the whiteness as if he had walked into a blizzard. Virgil almost started to panic at this, worried that the Prince wouldn’t be able to find his way back, or that he would somehow be absorbed into the harsh light, but before he could he heard him call out, sounding dozens of yards away despite having only been gone for a moment, yelling about all the stuff he’d found. At Logan’s nod, silent reassurance that all would be fine, he stepped through the door, the teacher and dad not far behind.

***

Stuff was right. Virgil was vaguely reminded of that one episode of Spongebob , but more chaotic. And, you know, without a bunch of sentient sponges racing around. Instead of rows of computers and file cabinets, sticky notes were haphazardly scattered everywhere and cardboard boxes labeled with sharpie scrawl were precariously stacked to create the walls of a labyrinth. At least it gave him something to look at other than the blinding white.

“You really ought to sort this all out,” Logan noted as he began to look around. He wondered if he could convince Patton to use a filing cabinet. Probably not. “No wonder Thomas can't remember that song.”

“I have a system!” Patton protested as he lugged a large cardboard box full of CDs, with “songs” and several music notes scribbled on the side. “See? This is where I keep all the music Thomas knows.” That failed to alleviate Logan’s concern, since the discs were just tossed in all willy-nilly, no hope for organization in sight.

“God, this is going to take forever,” Virgil groaned as he sat down and began digging through the box. He paused when he found a Panic! At The Disco CD. “Hm. Maybe this isn’t terrible.”

Patton clapped and, like magic, a few CD players popped into existence on the floor around them. He sat on the floor next to Virgil with a handful of CDs and gestured for the others to join them as he popped the first disc into the device. “Tainted Love” began to play while the memories tied to the song showed up on the tiny digital screen.

“It’s probably best if we only play the songs we do not instantly recognize,” Logan suggested as he knelt on the floor. “And if we stick solely to Christmas music,” he added, tossing away a CD of “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” Well, not tossed. Gently set down in what would become his discard stack. This is Logan we’re talking about, after all.

“Aw…” Roman whined as he reluctantly put down “It’s Raining Men.”

***

Even with four Sides and eliminating any familiar or non-holiday music, it still took hours to comb through all the songs (which was predictable, given Thomas’ profession, but still, ugh). Their discard piles towered over them, threatening to topple over with how they swayed like palm trees (or more appropriately palmettos, this is Florida) in the breeze. Also, music was beginning to sound less and less like music, as if their brains had grown too fatigued to keep track of a beat.

“Any luck?” Patton called from behind his wall of CDs, struggling to place “Frosty the Snowman” at the top from where he sat. He’d accidentally built a barrier between him and the others. 

“Nope.”

“Nada.”

“No, unfortunately.”

“Gosh, I don’t know where else it could be!” Patton frowned as he fished the last CD from the box. Smash Mouth’s “I’m a Believer.” He tossed it away in frustration, and then immediately felt bad for doing so. He gave it a small pat as an apology. “I mean, we remember it, so it has to be here somewhere.” 

“Well, it could be somewhere else…” Virgil suggested offhandedly, not thinking before he spoke. His mouth wrenched into a frown when he realized what he’d said, which raised more questions than his words.

“Really?” Patton’s face immediately lit up. He couldn’t think of another place memories could end up other than Logan’s section or forgotten, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t in either of those. “Where?”

“Uh—the semantic stuff?” he blurted, obviously coming up with the answer on the spot.

“No, a song wouldn’t fall under the fact-based information that I store,” Logan informed him, already trying to put the CDs back into the box in a manner far more organized than how they had originally been stored.

“Forget what I said,” Virgil laughed nervously as he waved the idea away like an annoying gnat. “We don’t need to know, anyway.”

“Why not?” Roman questioned, looking up from where he was trying to decide what song he wanted to play. “You were the first one to want to find the memory.” He sulked when Logan confiscated his discs to put them away. 

“I was wrong, I…” he slowed as he saw Logan look at him with a concerned combination of pity and disbelief. He knew . He knew he had somewhere else in mind. He sighed in surrender.

“It’s probably in the Subconscious.”

“The Subconscious?” Patton parroted. He was beside Logan, trying to help him sort the CDs. He really was attempting to work with his system, or at least stack them neatly like he was because he didn’t quite understand what the teacher was going for no matter how many times he explained it, but he was very much struggling against the temptation to throw them all in there at once like he had before. “I didn’t even know we could access the Subconscious.”

“We can’t . It’s in Janus’ room.”

“So? What’s the big deal? We just sneak into that slippery serpent’s room, slip into the Subconscious, and bada-bing-bada-boom we’ve got that memory! I don’t know why I said that last bit like I’m on The Sopranos but yeah!”

“It’s not that simple. Janus’ room is, for lack of a better word, locked. Hell, deadbolted, since even Thomas can’t get us in there.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound fair,” Roman grumbled, peeved that his plans for an epic heist had been torn away from him. Did the scaly sophist have to ruin everything?

“I don’t know what to tell you man, it kinda defeats the purpose of hiding all his secrets if Thomas can just ‘open sesame’ his way in. We’re gonna need his permission to get in.”

“Then what’s the problem, kiddo? I’m sure Janus would be glad to let us take a peek.”

“Are we sure we’re talking about the same Janus?” Roman whispered to Logan, who asked what other Janus he could possibly be talking about.

Patton scratched his neck nervously. “Maybe if I ask? He likes me.”

“I know,” Virgil muttered, sounding oh so happy about that fact, his expression souring at the reminder of his friend’s newfound companionship with his enemy. Logan, he might be able to understand at least a little bit (and even then he’d still be upset). Not only did the teacher never quite understand the Dark Side/Light Side split, but he was pragmatic. He’d probably let Remus cut his hand off every other Tuesday if it meant Thomas stuck to a regular sleep schedule for the rest of his days. But Patton? He couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

“Whoever’s gonna ask him, unless Remus drags him out or Thomas needs to lie to a Target employee, we’re probably going to have to go to his room,” he carried on. Janus, valuing both his privacy and his blood pressure, tended to avoid the others and the common room. He preferred to lock himself away in his room and…plot, presumably? Look for blood in the water and read his Thomas Hobbes?

“Isn’t that what we’ve been discussing?” Logan’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion. He had finished sorting the box of CDs and was now looking for its appropriate place amongst the chaos.

“What? Oh, no, I meant his bedroom ,” he clarified.

Roman suddenly gasped and leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially in the emo’s ear. “You mean,” he murmured, giving way more eye contact than Virgil preferred, “we’d have to go to the Dark Side of the Mindscape?”

Virgil looked at him oddly, slowly stepping back to create more space between them as if the Prince was a rowdy drunk singing too loudly. “I guess?” He wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

“Ooh, what’s it like?” Patton rocked back and forth on his heels with excitement. “Is it in the Mindscape basement?”

“No? It’s down the hallway,” Virgil replied, putting a hand on his shoulder to get him to chill a little bit. Was it even possible to have a Mindscape basement? It wasn’t like there was ground underneath. And wouldn’t it be an attic? They were in Florida, he doubted Thomas’ mind would default to a basement. “You guys are acting super weird about this.” 

“Because we’ve never been there before, Rudey Gloom!” Had he really not shown any of them his bedroom since he’d been accepted? Huh. How had this not come up earlier? “What’s it like? Dark, creepy, teeming with spiders and filled with the screams of the tortured damned?”

Geez.

“Please don’t talk about the creepy crawly death eaters,” Patton pleaded, looking around like they might swarm him at any moment.

“Uh, there’s a few spider decorations near my room, but that’s the bulk of it. Marcus stays in my room, so you should be fine Pat,” Virgil said, and the blood seemed to return to the moral Side’s face. “Where do you guys think we live, the Haunted Mansion?”

The other Sides looked at each other.

“Kinda?”

***

The Sides made their way down the Mindscape hallway, led by Virgil past all their bedroom doors until they were met with a large red velvet curtain. He knelt down to unfasten the knotted golden rope that kept the curtain flush to the wall, muttering to himself as the others stood awkwardly behind him, unsure if they should help or how to do so. There really wasn’t room.

Something about the curtain felt strangely familiar to Roman, who reached out to feel the soft fabric between his fingers. “Is this the curtain from the Mind Palace Theatre?” he asked, not sure how he felt about that. He’d been the one to summon the theatre setting, so, if he was feeling really petty, it was technically his.

“Yeah, it’s Janus’ little souvenir from his grand premiere.” That, and Janus was as much of a thespian as the rest of them, but he figured the Prince wouldn’t want to hear about any similarities between him and the snake. Not like he was the one to compare lying to acting in the first place…

Despite his animosity towards Janus, Roman couldn’t help but to admire his choice of a trophy. “I always assumed it was a window curtain,” he admitted.

Behind them, Logan snorted with amusement and twisted to whisper to Patton. “It’s a wonder he hasn’t dramatically swept it away to stare wistfully into the distance.”

“Pfft, yeah,” he agreed. Roman would likely jump at any opportunity to pretend to be in a musical having his “I want” song moment. “It’s a shame windows don’t really work in the Mindscape.” As a metaphysical concept, there wasn’t anything beyond the Mindscape walls, so if there was a hole for a window, they weren’t sure what they’d see. A void? A net of neurons? Gray matter?

“By Avogadro’s number, you’re right.”

Virgil cursed under his breath at the Gordian knot, half tempted to go the Alexander the Great route as his efforts threatened to break his nails. Normally he’d just rise up on the other side of the curtain, but the others would struggle to follow if they didn’t have a good idea of where they were going. “Right now I wish we still had the cardboard wall Remus made,” he grumbled.

“What?” Roman sputtered in bewilderment before tentatively kneeling down beside Virgil and reaching around to help him loosen the rope, careful to not risk his recent manicure from Fairy Godmother. 

Virgil laughed. “Oh, yeah, your brother went full Looney Tunes and duct taped a cardboard wall painted to look like the end of the hallway,” he explained while he looked for the loosest part of the knot. “It fucking sucked and would fall over if you breathed on it too hard, but it somehow managed to keep you guys out.” The Duke hadn’t even bothered to keep the duct tape on their side of the hallway, and half the time it wasn’t fully stuck to the wall, so how they’d never notice the “end” of the corridor tilting was beyond him. 

“Keep us out? Why?”

“It wasn’t anything you did,” he said, trying to ease his concern, and it was mostly true, or at least he was pretty sure it was. He wasn’t exactly going to fault him for steering clear of them, not back then. “It’s just…you guys were always with Thomas ‘cause he needed you all the time, so we sorta formed our own clique.” He barely managed to keep the “because you were wanted” out of his voice. They were always in the Mindscape, never summoned, so while Thomas worked with his Logic and Morality and Creativity in the real world, his Anxiety, Deceit, and Creativity spent a lot of time together in his head. And one day, Janus had locked the door behind them. Eventually the two groups drifted apart, the initial wedge of distrust incrementally driven in by years of separation, growing to actively avoiding each other. “It’s not like you guys were our biggest fans.” He finally got the knot loose and tore the rope out of the hook holding the curtain to the wall, frustratedly pushing it away to reveal the Dark Side’s half of the hallway.

The corridor was shrouded in darkness once the curtain closed behind them, the only sources of light being the one overhead light flickering above Virgil’s door, which was decorated with a mess of caution tape and various spider stickers, and the Jack-o-lantern lights hanging around the doorframe. They could only properly see about a yard in front of them, the dimness and a thick fog obscuring their visions. The air stung to breathe, forcing coughs out of their sore throats.

“Ooh, is your room the only one with light because you’ve joined our side?” Roman asked, cheekily elbowing Virgil as he covered his mouth and nose with his sash. The anxious Side rolled his eyes and lightly pushed him away.

“Uh, no, Remus threw a ninja star at the ceiling and fucked up the wiring. It’s been like this for a couple weeks,” Virgil corrected. “Janus said he’d figure out how to fix it, but as you can probably tell”—he gestured to the lack of light around them—“he was lying.”

“I’d be more than willing to fix it for you,” Logan offered, groping the wall as he walked. Virgil nodded his silent thanks to him and kept leading them down the hall. Above them, fake spider webs crept across the ceiling, the cobwebs reaching from Virgil’s room to the other end with felt spiders clinging to the cotton. He’d unfortunately forgotten about those when allaying Patton’s arachnophobia. Hopefully it was too dark for him to see them.

Virgil kept his gaze away from the walls, not daring to look at any of the photos hanging on the wall. It was nowhere close to how many were on the Light Side, where Patton had filled almost every empty space with pictures, from candids and headshots to family photos and old doodles (or diagrams, in Logan’s case), but it used to be closer. A lot closer. Before the others had taken down every photo of him. Before they’d torn him out of group photos where they could and removed the ones where they couldn’t. Before he’d left.

Sometimes he wished he could have his old photos, or at least the scraps, but for all he knew they had burned them.

He nudged Patton along before he could fully take one in. He didn’t want him to ask why the bottom left corner was ripped off.

Despite it not being much of a distance, it was still difficult, especially when they approached Remus’ room. They had to dodge the weaponry and viscera that the Duke left lying around his door, and even when Roman summoned a flashlight to illuminate their way, the haze kept them from being able to clearly see what littered the floor.

“What’s with all the fog? It’s a bit late in the year to be keeping that creepy fog machine going, isn’t it?” Patton questioned, stepping around what he hoped was a replica bombshell.

“One: don’t let the others hear you say that; it’s always Halloween over here,” Virgil grinned. Really, it was more that he and Remus kept up the spooky vibes year round and the other Dark Sides couldn’t be bothered to stop them, and frankly fake fog barely stepped into creepy territory when you had the Duke to contend with. “And two: it’s not fog, it’s smoke.”

“That’s worse,” Logan stressed. “You do realize that’s worse, right?”

“There’s a perpetual stream of smoke spewing from Remus’ room ‘cause he keeps setting fires. It’s just been exceptionally bad ever since he realized he could add relighting candles to his bonfire, and he refuses to destroy his ‘masterpiece’ no matter how much we yell at him,” he explained, making air quotes as he scanned the floor for obstacles. He hopped over a puddle of…something. “Actually, he’s had to stay out of his room lately because he keeps suffocating, so watch out for the Remus Box.”

“The Remus Box?” Roman asked, obviously baffled. He grimaced when he accidentally stepped on a few thumbtacks and had to stop to pry them out of his sole.

“It’s a coffin he drags out into the hallway when his room becomes too inhabitable even for him. Not super annoying, since it’s at least easy to see and not trip over. The main problem is that he sleeps naked, so…” he kicked an animal skull out of his path “...hopefully you won’t have to scratch your eyes out.”

They managed to cross the sea of trash scattered outside of Remus’ room and reached Janus’ door, dark ebony wood with an ornate golden doorknob and a gilded snake holding a knocker in its jaws. Virgil inhaled, apprehensively gripping the knob, hoping the liar had forgotten to lock his door so he wouldn’t have to deal with the mortifying ordeal of asking permission to come in. “Just…be prepared.”

“Why? Is it scary?” Patton fretted, awkwardly patting his friend’s shoulder in an effort to ease his anxieties. He knew the two didn’t get along, and he could only assume that this was all making Virgil feel uneasy. Remorse for possibly pressuring him into an uncomfortable situation began to eat away at his stomach, and he was considering offering that they could always turn around and forget the whole song thing when the emo’s response pulled him out of his thoughts.

“What? No, it’s just ridiculously humid,” Virgil replied, carefully turning the knob so that it didn’t click and slowly opening the door, listening for the slightest hint of a creak as he cracked it open. When nothing happened, he opened it wide enough to step through, waving the others in after him. As soon as they entered, Virgil motioned for them to be quiet and press themselves against the door.

Chapter Text

“I’m just saying, why the fuck didn’t you just tell Thomas to talk to Lee and Mary Lee about the callback?” They heard Remus’ voice from within the room, and they carefully peeked around the intimidatingly tall dark oak bookshelf that was barely hiding them from view to get a better look. 

Even though they were only just past the entrance, they could feel the full weight of the humidity, giving the room a heavy tropical atmosphere. It was dim, with a fringed standing lamp in the opposite corner and a red heat lamp on the nightstand not doing much to illuminate the room. Virgil was half tempted to flick on the harsher overhead lights. From what they could see, the room was a strange combination of corrupt lawyer’s office and antique bedroom. In addition to the bookshelf, which was filled with a few odd, pretentious trinkets and books, half of which Virgil was pretty sure Janus hadn’t read and only owned to look smart, there was a leather armchair, a couple potted plants, and a Victorian style bed, with the head and foot of its frame composed of wrought iron twisted to look like vines and snakes. The Duke was flopped over the foot of said bed, his neck bending at an odd angle where it met the floor.

He was also only in his boxers.

“You want me to tell him to tell the truth ?” Janus asked incredulously, sprawled out under his blankets with a satin sleeping mask over his eyes. He removed the mask as he sat up to look at his friend, rolling his eyes at the sight of just his legs being visible. “That absolutely can be comfortable.”

“Oh, it hurts like a bitch, believe me,” Remus spoke gleefully as he arched his back in an attempt to get the metal to stop pressing into his spine, his voice strained by the stretch of his neck. “You really need to clean up around here, by the way,” he mentioned, gesturing to the floor around him, where random junk and what Logan was pretty sure was his old tie were scattered, as if Janus could actually see him. The Sides held their breath, hoping that he wouldn’t twist around to face their direction. Luckily, the Duke was too busy messing with an extra glove he’d found, maneuvering it to form various obscene gestures.

“Are you really in a position to talk?”

“Hey, my room is clean save for the bloodstains. And the spikes. And the huge fuck you bonfire,” Remus protested, shrugging awkwardly in the position he was in.

“Is that true?” Patton whispered as quietly as he could to Roman.

“No idea. I didn’t even know where his room was until like five minutes ago,” Roman admitted under his breath. “His lair in the Imagination is rather neat though. Says the clean space gives him room to think.” Unfortunately, in Roman’s opinion anyway, he mainly thought about how to make a monstrously massive mess.

A loud crash sounded from within the room when Remus fell off the bed, landing in a contorted somersault. His eyes landed on the Sides, who silently stared at him, waiting to see what he would do. Patton waved nervously at him, a forced smile across his face.

“S’up bitches.”

Remus moved without a care for anatomical limitations, unfolding himself into a standing position and grinning ear to ear as he extended a hand to the group. Behind him, Janus glared from his bed, watching them with suspicion. 

“Don’t touch that,” Virgil advised bluntly, blocking Patton’s hand from taking the offered handshake. Remus pretended to pout, crudely mocking puppy eyes by popping his out of his sockets. Virgil looked at him expectantly while he shoved them back in, wondering what the boorish man was planning to do.

“Antsy In Your Pants! Long time no see!” The Duke grabbed his head and wrestled him into a chokehold, laughing raucously as he noogied him.

“You see me all the time, dumbass!” Virgil coughed, struggling to breathe for the second time that day. He tried to pry Remus’ arm away from his throat until Logan saved him, pulling the royal pain away and holding him under his arm like a particularly foul smelling football. He’d have to sterilize his clothes after they got this over with.

“Yeah, but not here,” Remus responded, making a sweeping gesture towards the rest of the room. He clawed out of Logan’s hold enough to lean forward and get Patton’s attention, bringing his hand to the side of his mouth to pantomime whisper even though he talked in the same obnoxious volume as always. “Locks himself away in his room all day. Fucking teenagers, amirite?”

“I know, right?” Patton agreed and began to ramble about how he always found his dark strange son hiding away in his room, blasting his music in his headphones far beyond the recommended decibel level. He sounded like a commiserating parent at a PTA meeting, except he was talking about an adult man.

“For the last time, we’re the same age!” Virgil protested, not bothering to fight the hermit allegations (he knew a lost cause when he saw one. Hint: every cause can be a lost cause if you just give up and go to bed.). It wasn’t his fault that his aesthetic was associated with angsty adolescents. His face did a decent imitation of Roman’s sash and he stepped away, further into the room and, incidentally, closer to Janus, who was now coiled up at the front of his bed and swirling a glass of wine in boredom.

Remus twisted to look up at Logan, his spine making an odd cracking noise as he did so. “Hey Teach, what would your stripper name be? I’ve been thinking about Green Gobblin’ for me. Thoughts?” The logical Side almost dropped him, both out of shock and spiteful temptation, but he held strong. It didn’t help that the performance names for exotic dancers usually involved some form of wordplay. He pointedly avoided eye contact.

“Why is everyone in my room?” He hissed grumpily, glaring at the newcomers (and one oldcomer). Patton smiled in his direction, and he conceded a small smirk in return. What? He might be a coldblooded bitch, but this is Patton we’re talking about. Honestly (gag), if the dad was the only one darkening his doorway right now he probably wouldn’t be that perturbed. 

“Not everyone ,” Virgil argued, perching at the foot of the bed out of habit. Of course, back when he used to hang out with the snake, he would never sit on the part of the bed made to be occupied. “Where’s the other guy?”

“He’s stewing in his room,” Remus yelled back. Roman eventually took pity on his brother and pulled him from under Logan’s arm, subsequently dumping him on the floor when he realized he smelled like he had spritzed himself with a perfume of gym sock sweat and dog drool. He stood up and dusted himself off, continuing the conversation like nothing had happened. “I threw a stick of dynamite in his room, and let’s just say he maybe kinda sorta blew up on me.” He punctuated his statement with loud explosion noises, mimicking his head exploding with his hands. Patton chuckled softly at the pun.

“Wait, who the bibbidi-bobbidi-boo is ‘the other guy?’” Roman asked, confusion clearly written on his face.

“I’ve said too much,” Remus and Virgil simultaneously blurted out right before their hands slapped over their mouths.

Janus sighed, the same exasperated sigh that the Duke had heard a million times before, the type that claimed he was so lucky that they knew way too much about each other to ever leave but didn’t have enough ire behind it to back that up. He downed the remnants of his glass and poured himself another, tilting the bottle in an insincere offering gesture before placing it back under the nightstand before anyone could accept. “You wouldn’t remember him,” he drawled, smirking with the satisfaction of knowing something they didn’t. That was part of the problem with talking to Janus. He didn’t just lie; he made his speech so muddled by sweet lies, harsh truths, and bitter sarcasm that the most reliable way to tell fact from fiction was to just know what was right beforehand, but the deceptive Side made a habit of knowing what others didn’t. “He hasn’t left his room in years.”

Remus ripped his hand away from his mouth, never able to be silenced for long, and grinned, turning his neck like an owl to look at Virgil. The Light Sides shuddered at the unnatural movement. “Whatever, are you coming to movie night or not?”

Virgil glared at Janus until he released him.

“Huh?”

“It’s gonna be Christmas Eve? We’re watching The Nightmare Before Christmas ?” Remus said as if it was painfully obvious.

Virgil’s face scrunched in confusion. “You guys still do that?”

“Uh, yeah? You’re not the only Burton fan, Spider-man.”

“You’ve been watching The Nightmare Before Christmas without me?” Virgil began hysterically shaking the Duke, who let his eyes cartoonishly roll around in his skull like bingo balls in their cage. The others stared at the two, puzzled by the interaction.

“Were you not watching it?” Remus questioned, voice shaken by the violent movement. He really didn’t mind, it was actually a bit fun.

“Oh, no I definitely still watch it, obviously,” Virgil said, letting him go. He could already feel the glitter contaminating his hands. “I just thought you would’ve upgraded to, like, Krampus or something.” The film had been added to the Light Sides’ annual holiday movie montage, but he still watched it by himself every midnight on Christmas Eve in the comfort of his room.

“I don’t understand anything that is happening right now,” Roman murmured. It was odd catching a glimpse of the Dark Sides’ former dynamics, seeing them talk “just like old times” as his twin once put it. It was especially weird watching Virgil interact with them without almost no hostility, only looking mildly annoyed instead of apoplectic. 

“We’d watch it every Halloween,” Janus began, having no problem with exposing Virgil’s past (and his too, but only tangentially so whatever). It was one of the few Halloween movies that Thomas knew, since most spooky films were rated as too mature for him back when he was a kid. “And one Christmas Eve he was stressed so we popped it on to calm him down. And then we watched it the next Christmas Eve, and the next, and the next, and the—”

“He gets stressed every festive season,” Remus interrupted. “So it’s tradition now.”

“Whatever,” Virgil muttered, cutting the conversation short as his ears tinged pink. He didn’t want to talk about the past, certainly not in front of his new friends. “What are you doing here?” It wasn’t like it was strange for the villainous pair to hang out, but usually they were both out of bed.

“Kept passing out in the damn hallway so I came in here,” the Duke explained flippantly. “Even dragged in the good ol’ Remus Box, see?” Remus lifted up the blanket to reveal the coffin hidden under the bed.

“How the hell did you get that in here?” Janus sputtered. Now that he was thinking about it, he didn’t remember Remus coming in, just suddenly talking to him. 

“You were still in your cold coma, don’t worry about it.”

“Cold coma?” Logan inquired, evidently curious. Janus had flashbacks to when the teacher had repeatedly snuck up on him and touched his face to confirm his theory that he didn’t excrete slime. Because simply asking would have been far more awkward, of course.

“Yeah, it was like 55° last night so you were out ,” Remus laughed, either unaware of Janus’ frown at one of his weaknesses being exposed or having too much fun to care. His face was now as hot as the red bulb above him from embarrassment. It wasn’t like the others didn’t know about his…problem with thermoregulation, but they didn’t need to know that it could knock him out. “I poked you like a flat squirrel on the side of the road and not a twitch. You looked dead, so I turned up your heat lamp until you thawed.”

“But 55° Fahrenheit isn’t that cold, even for us and we’re from Florida,” Roman pointed out. The snake angrily slapped the Prince’s hands over his mouth, shaking with annoyance like the rattle on, well, a rattlesnake.

“Enough about my morning!” he demanded, stretching as he got out of bed, accidentally kicking a discard stick of red lipstick across the floor. His vertebrae popped loudly because of how much time he had spent lounging in bed. He released Roman from his control and nodded towards Remus. “Just be glad I made him summon some clothing.”

Everyone (save for Janus and Remus) cringed.

Now that he was up and out from under his blanket, they could better see the snake’s anachronistic sleepwear, a Victorian era nightgown that was black with yellow buttons and a matching nightcap that he was readjusting on his head. Roman snickered, imagining him gripping a candle holder to complete the Ebenezer Scrooge impression.

“You wear a hat at night, too?” Patton queried, eyebrows furrowed with concern. “You really oughta let your scalp breathe every once in a while, bud.”

“ No …” Janus replied, slightly weirded out by the dad’s excessive worry. People were normally nervous about what he might be planning, not how often he covered his head. “It goes with my pajamas.”

“Are you bald?” Roman cheekily chirped up from behind Patton, messing with the fronds of the potted plant next to him. His antagonistic relationship with Janus kept him close to the door, making him uncomfortable at the idea of stepping further into his private space. It wasn’t out of respect, he didn’t hold Janus in any regard, but more because of the uneasy feeling weighing on him, like he had just walked into the wrong room and everyone was staring at him. Except it was just one snake dude who hated his guts (and that he hated in return). Logan, lacking social tact and a personal conflict with the serpentine Side beyond being silenced, felt more than comfortable plopping himself down onto the shiny leather armchair and pursuing a novel he had taken from the shelf.

“...You’ve seen the top of my head.” Janus raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the Prince. Could one not just have a motif? Though, now that his mind was on his outfit, he realized he wasn’t wearing his gloves and surreptitiously pulled his left sleeve down to cover his scaly hand. He considered snapping himself into his usual outfit but, frankly, he was probably going back to laying in bed and doing nothing after dealing with whatever they’d come to his room for. You know. For self care.

“So, traitor, what brings you here?” Remus flung an arm around Virgil, his smile unnaturally wide as the other Side elbowed him in an effort to escape his grasp. He had grown bored of watching the others talk for the past minute (look it’s Remus he can only be quiet for so long), and besides, he was actually curious. Virgil hadn’t gone into either his or Janus’ rooms ever since he’d been accepted.

“Ugh, this shit again?” he groaned as he rolled his eyes at the other’s teasing, not bothering to pry the Duke away from him. Logan watched apprehensively over his borrowed book, troubled by the thought of the Dark Sides deriding Virgil for leaving on a regular basis. To his relief, he seemed as unfazed as he could be with Remus clinging to him like a barnacle.

“Do you have any idea how fucking bored I’ve been ever since you left me alone with him ?” He gestured at Janus, not caring that he could easily see him doing so, pointing at him with his thumb like a hitchhiker. “The stupid machiavellian mamba never wants to do anything fun; he's so stuck up.”

“For the last time Remus, I have far better things to do than taste test cleaning solutions with you, like study philosophy, or the dishes, or scheme, or literally nothing else.” He looked longingly towards his cane, where it was leaning against the wall in the small sliver of space beside the bookshelf. His Disgrace noticed and responded very maturely by throwing him the bird. The next time he went into the Imagination, he was going to make a royal decree that all the imaginary denizens were to pelt Janus with tomatoes on sight.

“Says the guy with over a dozen puppet accounts on Twitter,” Virgil smirked. He had taken the opportunity of Remus being distracted to escape his grip. Roman took pity on him and tossed him a bottle of sanitizer from his pocket. They were a great thing to keep around when one was frequently in contact with the evil twin, who could be guaranteed to be covered in an unknown myriad of unsavory substances.

Janus frowned, unamused by his comment (causing internet strangers to hate each other over what’s the proper way to peel a banana is a perfectly respectable way to spend one’s free time, thank you). He hummed nonchalantly. “Whatever. At least now I only have to deal with one of you absolute creatures.” As if to prove his point, the two blew raspberries at him. It was a faint echo of old times, when they used to work together as harbingers of chaos.

“You are the only one of the three of you that possesses animalistic features, though,” Logan pointed out, puzzled by the comparison. Remus cackled and began poking the scales on Janus’ face, ignoring the weak slaps to his hand and snickering “he’s got you there!”

The snake tutted and turned to his newest friend, pretending like nothing was happening. “Patton, sweetie, I do think I thank you enough for taking him off my hands,” he remarked, conspicuously eyeing Virgil, who scowled in response.

“Hey now,” Patton cautioned, remembering the advice Virgil had told him when he’d learned about Janus’ and his visits. The nicer he sounds, the meaner he feels.

“Really, he’s calmed down significantly ever since he turned coat,” he continued. “Especially when compared to when he was a teenager. Would you like to see pictures?” He smiled, not bothering to hide the glint of malice in the expression, but Patton was too busy eagerly nodding his head to notice. The fatherly figment always thought that the scrapbook pages of their younger years had an unfortunate lack of Virgil (and the other Dark Sides, too, he guessed, but this is his dark strange son we’re talking about). He regretted not getting to know him earlier, avoiding him over something as silly as being a little spooky, and there was no way he could pass up the chance to see what he used to look like in his peak edgy teen era. It wouldn’t make up for how many memories he’d missed, but it was something.

Virgil swallowed hard, realizing that Janus had kept his photos, that he hadn’t shoved them through a shredder in revenge. Would he give them back if he asked? They were solely of him, it would be pretty weird if he refused.

That was a problem for Tomorrow Virgil, he decided. Or Next Week Virgil. Whichever Future Virgil that could be bothered to deal with it.

“You are not showing Dad my baby pics,” Virgil interrupted, stepping in front of Janus when he reached for a small box on his bookshelf. He already had to deal with flashbacks to his cringey teen years every time he laid down to sleep, there was no way he was letting Janus embarrass him even further with snapshots of them (hey, it wasn’t his fault every scene kid decided to fry their hair).

“Of course I’m not going to show him your baby pictures; no one could have taken them. No, I’m going to show him the grainy pictures I took of you writing angsty poetry in the dark before you could stop me. Obviously.” When it was clear Virgil wasn’t going to let him through, he theatrically sighed and walked away from the box, melodramatically muttering about what a shame it was that Patton was being denied the ability to see his best bud’s early years (because it’s not just parents that can guilt trip).

It’s not just parents that can embarrass, either. “He was such an emo menace, believe me,” Janus groused, pointedly ignoring Virgil’s glare as he talked to Patton. “Always had his music bleeding through the walls at unholy hours.” Unlike his many secrets, he made no effort to hide how much amusement he got from watching the anxious Side grow more and more embarrassed. 

“Oh, like I can’t say the exact same thing about you and ‘Material Girl,’” Virgil retorted, smiling when he caught the hint of pink staining the human side of Janus’ face. “Mr. ‘Bitch I’m Madonna.’”

“You’re just mad because you’ll never find eyeshadow black enough to match your wretched soul.”

“Well at least I don’t constantly hog the bathroom.”

“Baths help with my shedding!” he objected, bristling when he heard Roman snicker behind him.

“You don’t shed every week, Marat!”

“Bitch, since when do you know who Marat is?” he complained. Years of being told “no I don’t care about some random old dude that thought too much,” but now he was name dropping political theorists? He really must be making use of how much time he spent hanging out with Logan.

“Are you gonna stab him like the real one?” Remus butted in, always happy to instigate violence. He summoned a knife and held it out to Virgil, nodding encouragingly. Instead, the other Side grew pale and flinched, the absolute spoilsport.

“How do you know how Marat died?” Logan questioned. Not to figuratively judge a book by its cover, but the Duke didn’t really seem the academic type.

“I like collecting random death facts, duh!” he responded, waving around the knife in a way that would definitely lose him a merit badge. “Oh, did you know forensic scientists use bugs to figure out how recently someone’s kicked the bucket?”

“Yes,” Logan answered bluntly. Normally he’d encourage the sharing of knowledge, but this topic combined with Remus’ ...excentricities promised everything but a good, wholesome, educational time.

Patton and Roman eyed each other nervously as the arguing continued. If they wanted Janus to give them access to his room, getting into a verbal spat with him really didn’t seem like the best idea. Also fighting just made Patton upset in general. So, Roman did what he did best.

He boldly stepped into the middle of everything and called attention to himself.

“Ladies, ladies, you’re both pretty,” he cut them off, narrowly avoiding having his sash slashed by his brother’s blade. “Okay, one of you might be prettier than the other. Sorry, Janus.” Because apparently along with being Prince of Creativity, he was also King of Putting His Foot In His Mouth.

The look Janus gave him was venomous.

Before anyone could start actually trying to kill each other, Patton cried out, “Boys, play nice!” That barely got a glance over in his direction, the four of them too busy arguing to notice. “We came here to ask something, remember?” That, however, piqued Janus’ attention enough to make him step back, away from where he had been pointed a scaly finger at Virgil. People didn’t really ask him for stuff; talking to Janus tended to make bargaining with the fae seem like an everyday grocery store transaction.

“Really?” Janus asked, looking a bit too much like the cat who got the cream. If they needed something so badly that Virgil had been willing to take them to his room, well, that just put all the cards in his hand, didn’t it? He sidled up to the bespectacled Sides, inspecting his gloves as if he had not a care in the world, every now and then looking over to see how the fight was progressing. The hair pulling had already begun. “And what might that be?”

“Finally,” Logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had long gotten tired of the others being distracted from their original goal (nevermind the fact that he could have brought it up himself, he probably would have been ignored if he did anyway). “We could not find the memory of one of Thomas’ elementary school performances among the semantic memories. Virgil mentioned that it may be stored in the Subconscious, which we have recently heard you have jurisdiction over.”

“I don’t …and I assume you aren’t here to ask if I’ll let you in?” he replied, picking lint off of his gloves as he weighed the pros and cons of letting them into his room, let alone the Subconscious. He considered the idea of a tradeoff, something that would, ideally, benefit him far more, but he quickly waved the idea away. No, the best option was to just get them out of his hair. Any attempt at striking a deal would just be met with furious haggling, and he simply couldn’t be bothered with that. Besides, the less he made it look like he was hiding something, the less likely they were to look around.

“If you don’t mind!” Patton piped up, always one to (try to) be considerate. Or at least try to be. Plus he had planned to be the one to ask. Roman stopped tackling his brother, instead ending up awkwardly piggybacking him, to wait for the answer. If he said yes, they got to see one of Thomas’ old performances and it would be all fine and dandy, but a no would mean that he’d spent unnecessary time with the Dark Sides (that weren’t Virgil, and thus cool with him), and that would suck more than a whirlpool with a bendy straw. Remus staggered with the momentum and grumbled at the sudden burden on his shoulders, but had the smallest modicum of sense to stay quiet. Virgil eyed him warily, gripping one of the brass bedknobs to ground himself..

Janus was all too happy to draw out the tension. He pantomimed thinking it over, hemming and hawing and taking a small delight in how their expressions grew more and more expectant. Only when their faces began to fall with disappointment did he relent.

“I suppose I could slip you in.”

Chapter Text

The others couldn’t sense it, but something in the deceptive, self-centered part of Thomas’ mind clicked. Janus instructed them to think of untruths, the sky is red, down is up, Myspace is going to make a comeback, etc. He then turned to his partner in crime, who’d begrudgingly snapped himself into his outfit, and asked conspiratorially, “Remus, care to do the honors?”

The Duke smiled his too-toothed smile. “On it, Half-and-Half!”

His brother started to worry what the Dark Sides could possibly mean by “the honors.” Last he checked, they had none. Zip. Nada. All out. 86’d on integrity.

He sank out of the surreptitious serpent’s bedroom and found himself in pitch black, as if someone had cast Darkness on the area. He blinked rapidly, his eyes struggling to adjust, pupils wide as they hoped to capture light that simply did not exist.

Ah. That’s what they meant. Great.

“You don ’t live like this?” Patton questioned as he squinted around the room, shocked when the lie was forced out of him like a hiccup. “What was that?”

“A side effect of my room,” Janus answered, apparently unaffected, steadying himself after the unusual experience of rising up. God why did he try to do that? Now was not the time to practice. 

Virgil grumbled his displeasure, only to grow even more displeasured when that too was twisted.

Patton continued feeling around for something to catch his barings, disorientated by the sudden nothingness. He found something and began sliding his hand over it, wondering if the fabric was a curtain or a couch. Logan awkwardly pulled the dad’s hand away from his shirt.

“And of course not, I’m not that committed to the whole ‘villain’ schtick,” he continued, touching the furniture around him to figure out where he’d appeared. “I simply don’t feel like letting you get a glimpse of my room. Like, you just saw my bedroom, that’s more than enough for today, thank you.” Once he was pretty sure he knew where in the room he was, he turned himself to face what should be the door to the Subconscious. He started walking, summoning his cane to detect any obstacles in his way. “Just follow my voice and everything will be fine.”

“You saying that doesn’t do the exact opposite of making me feel better,” Virgil complained, pulled back to a time when he used to go to the snake for comfort only to leave feeling even worse, realizing that all the reassurances were false as soon as they stopped, leaving him to deal with the now even more heightened anxiety alone since he couldn’t just collapse back into Janus’ arms like a complete loser. Patton at least believed it when he said everything would turn out alright, no matter how delusional it sometimes sounded to the anxious Side, and besides, he put enough love in his hugs to surpass the soothing weight of three pairs of arms. Logan seemed to know every grounding technique in the book and then some, and once he was out of his panicked mindstate he always had a helpful statistic or quote from someone with a doctorate to explain why he needn’t worry so much or what might be causing him to be so stressed. And Roman would offer to cut his enemies and all that caused him strife down, which was nice even if his “enemies” were the grocery store and getting struck by lightning. It was good to know he cared enough to draw his sword on his behalf.

The Sides followed Janus and the sound of his cane hitting stuff to the door, holding on to each other and walking in a line like mountain climbers so they wouldn’t get lost in the abyss. Luckily, Thomas had apparently gotten home from the store, because from what they could tell the room was in the form of his living room. They all crashed into each other when he stopped suddenly, groaning at the pain when their heads bumped into each other.

Janus took a key from his pocket and slid it in the lock with a click. “Welcome to the Subconscious. Don’t touch anything, no liquids over 3.4 ounces, keep your hands inside the vehicle, blah blah blah,” he rattled on as he opened the door and gestured them inside, the faint glow from inside backlighting him in the doorway.

***

There was barely any landing before they found themselves on a narrow spiral staircase, creaking old boards between cold, stone walls that were claustrophobically close together, forcing them to all walk single file. Oil lamps hung from the ceiling lit the way as they descended, giving them just enough light to see the various record sleeves stuffed into the gaps in the bricks and the golden plaques labeling what they recorded in fancy swirly script. Janus reassured them that it couldn’t be too far down, seeing as it only took a bit of music for the memory to come trickling back, and continued leading the way down the steps, sliding his hand against the wall for balance. The Sides read the small signs as they went, searching for anything about a Christmas song or school concert. 

They had been wandering through the cellar-like part of Thomas’ mind for a good while when Roman cheered from the back of the line, “I found it!” He had to squint to see the words, but there was no doubt in his mind that they said “Fifth Grade Holiday Concert.” The others had missed it, sitting high up on the wall and only catching the Prince’s eye with the glint of lamp light on the gold.

Now there was just the problem of getting to it.

The record was too far up above them for there to be any hope of reaching it. Not from where they stood, at least.

Remus turned around to face his brother, poofy sleeves scraping against the wall as he did so, and smiled, his waggling eyebrows barely visible in the dim light. Roman groaned, understanding what he meant through the power of twin telepathy or a byproduct of being split or whatever nonsense. The Duke picked his brother up by bear hugging his legs, who gripped his head for balance with one hand as the other reached for the record. He carefully pulled it out of the wall, whooping in celebration when he succeeded and holding it above his head like a trophy. Patton jumped up and down and cheered with him, causing the wood to groan painfully and filling Virgil with a sense of dread, while Logan politely clapped like he was watching golf. Remus set his brother down and gave him a proper bear hug in his excitement, making him gasp for air until a final faint kick to the shins convinced him to let go. Once free, Roman bowed like it was curtain call.

Roman led the way back up to Janus’ room, jovially singing “Heigh Ho” as he marched up the stairway. He dramatically swung the door open and skipped into the pitch black room, falling over when he crashed into a table.

***

After shutting the door and locking it, Janus snapped his fingers and teleported them to the Mindscape common room. He summoned a gramophone as he took the record from Roman. He placed it on the platter and dropped the needle, and the memory projected from the brass horn onto the wall, grainy like an old movie. 

“That’s not at all how a gramophone works,” Logan pointed out. “And vinyl records don’t store video.”

“I just like the aesthetic, okay?” Janus sighed, exasperated. “Just forget about the logic of it all. This isn’t the real world, everything’s allowed to be imaginary and cartoon physics-y and honestly I just don’t care.”

“Forget…logic—you do know who I am, right?” As if they didn’t forget him enough to begin with.

“Shut up, nerds, the memory is starting!” Roman hypocritically shouted as he flopped onto a beanbag he had summoned. The others followed suit, finding a spot on the couch or a cushion on the floor to sit on. Patton was bouncing on the edge of his seat as he watched Thomas and his classmates file onto stage, while Logan leaned his head in his hand hoping all this effort would be worth it. Roman treated his beanbag like a luxury recliner, leaning back with his arms behind his head and his legs crossed like the men in those sexist sixties advertisements. Remus was beside him and conjured a knife to gut his beanbag like a fish, letting the beans spill out as he got comfortable. He summoned a bowl, and instead of filling it with something normal like popcorn or pretzels, he started breaking off ceramic pieces and snacking on them like candy, filling the room with unnerving crunching noises. He held it out with an offering smile, blood staining his teeth. There weren’t any takers.

Virgil sat on the floor with a purple cushion under him, slumped against the corner and apparently trying to become one with the couch behind him. He leaned his head back, accidentally knocking into Janus, who was sat cross-legged behind him, and felt his hair be ruffled from sheer force of habit. And he remembers gloved hands carding through his hair as he’s told it will all be fine, remembers six arms providing comforting pressure as he’s told he’ll be okay. He remembers trying oh so hard to believe it’s true. He remembers how much of a fuss Janus put up when he came back that one New Year’s Eve, complaining that he was undermining his job. He remembers the arguments, the cold shoulders, the withering gazes.

The hand left his scalp.

He moved his head to actually lean against the couch.

The concert began, the visuals marred by static because of how aged and forgotten the memory was. Thomas was on the bleachers with his class, waiting for their cue as the recorded instrumentals led them in. His music teacher, wearing a Santa hat, pointed to them and they started singing. Virgil watched with anticipation for what must have gone wrong, what made the memory hide away in the Subconscious. Maybe his voice cracked and everyone turned to stare, or he skipped a verse, or his pants fell down?

“Zat you, Santa Claus?” his classmates sang, off-key and out of sync like a child choir ought to be. 

“Google that, google that!” Roman urged, leaning over his brother to jostle Logan’s knee and make him pull out his phone faster.

“Don’t you have a phone? Just do it—fine, fine, I’ll do it, just stop shaking me!” He surrendered and typed the lyrics into the search bar as they were sung.

He announced the results. “‘’Zat You, Santa Claus?’ by Louis Armstrong.”

The Sides stayed quiet as the rest of the memory played out, watching a dozen or so ten year olds in cheap, felt elf hats squeak out the jazzy Christmas song. And then the next. And the next. And then the singing stopped, the music faded out, the parents clapped, and the class shuffled off stage. The memory ended and the needle lifted from the vinyl.

Nothing happened. Nothing interesting or traumatizing occurred, and Logan had to poke Remus awake so his raucous snoring wouldn’t give him a headache.

“So, everything was fine?” Patton asked, confusion written all over his face. “Why was it in the Subconscious if we had no reason to repress it?”

Their eyes turned to Janus, whose human face flushed slightly at the sudden unwanted attention. He tried to laugh it off, to no avail.

“Fine, I just liked the song. Sue me.”

“So you just took it? Didn’t think to ask in case we’d also want to remember it?” Virgil complained, twisting around to glare at him.

“You’ve met me, Virgil. No, I didn’t care if you wanted it.” He rolled his eyes and waved his hand flippantly, smirking at the emo as he scowled in response. “Besides, you weren’t going to watch it. Look how boring it is, I’m pretty sure Thomas yawned in the middle of ‘Jingle Bells!’”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Logan groaned. So much time wasted.

“You never said why you wanted to see it,” Janus retorted as he inspected his gloved nails. “How was I supposed to know you were looking for some sort of disaster?”

“Why can’t we be friends? Why can’t we be friends?” Patton sang under his breath.

“Whatever, this was stupid. Thanks for interrupting my scheming.”

With that, the snake sank out, presumably to resume sleeping in his bedroom, flashing the bird to the rest of the room as he phased through the floor.

“But you weren’t scheming?” Roman called after him. “That guy is infuriating to talk to, he huffed, getting up to grab the record.

It was now a CD.

“Woah, it’s like one of my memories now!” Patton exclaimed as he gently took the disc from the Prince’s hand, careful to only touch the sides so he wouldn’t get his fingerprints on it.

“I assume that now that we’ve watched it, the memory no longer belongs in the Subconscious. I wonder if Thomas experienced anything unusual when we played it.”

“You should eat it!” Remus blurted out, beaming at the weirded out expressions on the other Sides’ faces. “Or break it! And use the pieces to gouge out someone’s eyes!”

“I think I’ll just put it with the others,” Patton chuckled uneasily. “Thank you for the suggestion, though,” he awkwardly tacked on, not wanting to be rude. Maybe if he could learn how to allow the nasty thoughts to pass through Thomas’ head, he could learn how to deal with Remus shouting them out. Roll with the punches and all that.

“Boo!” Remus yelled as he got up from his deflated beanbag. “I’m gonna go microwave my soup,” he announced with a look in his eyes that said anything but “this soup is a normal soup with only the purest FDA-approved ingredients.”

“Isn’t that thermos metal?” Logan questioned, referring to the dinged up thermos now in the Duke’s hand. It was leaking…something.

“Yeah?” he responded with a foreboding lack of concern. “Bye-bye, fuckfaces!” he vulgarly farewelled them, making a face at Roman as he sank out, who returned the gesture with a raspberry. Patton bit his tongue in order to stop the fatherly instinct to tell him his face would get stuck like that: Logan had informed him it was a myth, and frankly Remus would have probably started trying to get his face stuck in a horrifying grimace.

A beat of silence passed through the room.

“So, how’d you like ‘the Dark Side of the Mindscape?’” Virgil asked, sarcastically wiggling his fingers like he was telling a ghost story. “Spooky enough for you?”

“Uh, we’re sorry for thinking you all lived in the basement. Or the void. Or a grim, terrifying hellscape,” Roman apologized, fidgeting with one of his epaulets. The others looked away with embarrassment. With nothing to base their guesses on, their hypotheses had gone a bit wild. Virgil’s sardonic hand movements had done nothing to make them feel any less foolish.

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” he shrugged. “I mean, you’ve seen my room and you’ve met Remus. I can’t exactly blame you.”

“Still, it wasn’t exactly…charitable,” Logan admitted, adjusting his glasses as he met Virgil’s eyes. As upset as he was at how fruitless their endeavors had been, he would be more bothered if they’d ended up making him feel more alienated.

“Guys, it’s fine!” he insisted. “You can grovel at my feet at the next Monopoly game. This is just getting awkward as fuck.”

“But we’re sorry! And language!”