Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Virgil Sanders knew from the get-go that today was going to be a bad day. His alarm failed to wake him before the bus arrived, and he freaked out so much that he fell out of bed. Patton, his adoptive father, was still asleep in his own room, as it was finally his day off from work, so Virgil decided not to wake him. He rushed around his room, throwing on jeans and a dark purple hoodie before slinging his backpack over his shoulder and heading out the front door, a Pop-Tart half-shoved in his mouth.

He didn't even have time to take his meds. That totally won't come back to bite me in the ass, he thought to himself.

He began the hour long walk to school, the sun warming him under his layers of clothing. As uncomfortable and sweaty as he was, there was no way he was taking off the hoodie. He’d rather die from heatstroke.

By the time he arrived at school, third period was in session, and sweat dripped from his face, dampening the bangs that obscured his eyes. The lady at the front office gave him a look as he signed in (judgingyoujudgingyoudisgustingugly). He gritted his teeth and stalked to class, shoulders hunched and fists in his pockets. The cool, conditioned air of the school soothed him slightly, but already, he wished he had taken a sick day.

No, he chided himself. Dad needs a break from dealing with you.

He shook his head as he approached his math classroom door, as though he could shake the thought away. He put his hand on the cool handle and pushed the door open.

Immediately, he felt eyes on him. At least nine people stopped mid-conversation to stare at him (stopitgoawaydon'lookatme), and it made his skin crawl. He sneered at them and went to his seat, slumping in the uncomfortable plastic chair and trying to ignore the way they whispered (shutupshutupshutup) . The world was getting too sharp, but music always helped dull the edges. He reached for the headphones he usually had around his neck, only to come up empty, his hand grasping at air.

In his rush to leave home, he had forgotten to grab them.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath. “Just perfect.”

“Mister Sanders,” came the teacher’s voice from the front. Virgil looked up to see her standing with her arms crossed, glaring at him. “This assignment is an individual one. There is no need for you to be talking, do you understand?”

No need for you. Don’t talk. Nobody wants to hear you. Children are to be seen, not heard, remember?

Virgil mentally shook those thoughts away, putting on a face of disbelief and gesturing at the chattering students around him.

“Are you kidding?” His voice dripped sarcasm and irritation. The teacher raised an eyebrow.

“If the other students jumped off of a cliff, would you?”

Instead of a witty, sarcastic rebuttal, or any sort of dismissive denial of her condescending, absurd question, what Virgil said was…

“Yeah, at least then I wouldn’t have to come to this hell-hole anymore.”

A few laughs and impressed “ooh”s circulated around the room, and the teacher shook her head disapprovingly. She returned to whatever she was doing at her desk, and the students returned to their conversations. Meanwhile, Virgil stared at his desk as a cold sort of dread began to slowly spread through his chest.

He hadn’t said something like that out loud since before the hospital.

But it’s fine, he told himself, pulling his hood up and laying his head down on his desk, hiding behind his arms. I’ll tell Doctor Picani later.

Doctor Emile Picani, his therapist. It was Thursday, and Thursdays were therapy days. He would discuss it with Picani and it would be fine.

He would be fine.

Thirty minutes of leg-bouncing and barely-concealed stares (goawaygoawaygoaway) later, the school bell went off, and Virgil leaped out of his seat. His next class was English, and despite the previous events of the day, Virgil found himself looking forward to the class. After all, the work was easy for him, and it was the one class he shared with Roman!

Roman Prince was Virgil’s best and only friend.  A former bully, Roman was the polar opposite of Virgil’s quiet, dark persona; he was dramatic, he was loud, and he craved attention. Virgil had hated him in freshman year, as Roman frequently insulted him and made fun of him for, well, everything. But certain events (a hospital bed, bandages, a stuffed blue alien, so many apologies, confessions, tears) had them going from enemies to acquaintances, and then to friends. The two had grown close in the two years between the end of freshman year and the end of junior year, and Virgil was always excited to see Roman.

We can complain about everything together, and laugh it off, and it’ll be fine.

Virgil hoped he was right.

He was one of the first to enter the room, as usual. He nodded at his English teacher and sat in his desk, watching the door for the telltale sign of Roman’s red jacket.

He felt excitement bubble in his chest when he saw Roman, and shot his friend a grin when their eyes met.

Roman didn’t smile back.

Instead, he let his eyes focus on something behind Virgil and walked right past him with zero acknowledgement. Virgil spun in his seat and watched Roman sit with a group of people neither of them had ever talked to before. Roman, ever the social butterfly, immediately began a conversation that Virgil couldn’t hear.

Class began, and instead of reading his textbook to find examples of figurative language, Virgil stared blankly at the words on the page, his mind racing.

What was that?

Throughout the period, he heard Roman and his new "friends" giggling and chatting. Virgil didn’t look back. He didn’t want to see.

(unwantedreplaceablenobodynothing)

He had never wanted so badly to block out the sound of Roman's voice.

On the way to lunch, Virgil cornered Roman, who had just slammed his locker closed, all of his school materials inside of it so he didn’t have to carry them everywhere. They would usually walk to his locker, and then lunch, together.

Roman must have seen Virgil in his periphery, though, because he swiftly walked towards the cafeteria with a steely, guarded look in his eyes. Virgil matched his strides to Roman’s, walking beside him with an angry, hurt expression. Roman looked pointedly ahead, ignoring him. That just pissed Virgil off more.

“What the hell, Ro?” Virgil asked, his voice not raised, but harsh nonetheless. Roman didn’t look at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, cold and uncaring. Virgil scoffed.

“Bullshit. You know exactly what I’m talking about, Princey.”

Roman shook his head and huffed. “Go away, Virgil.

Virgil stopped short, grabbed the back of Roman’s jacket, and dragged him to the lockers. He gripped the lapels of the jacket and slammed Roman's back against the metal with a loud, resounding BANG.

The hallway went quiet, and the boys felt eyes on them, but all Virgil cared about was the boy in front of him. It was absurd, really; Roman had at least four inches on Virgil, but Virgil’s strength made up for his lack of height in the situation. Roman looked somewhere behind Virgil, his jaw set, his eyes guarded. Virgil didn’t care; he glared right into those eyes with fire and hurt apparent in his own.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on with you! You can’t just- just brush me off, like I don’t fucking matter!” Virgil was in Roman’s face, and the crowd chattered.

Fight, they whispered. They’re gonna fight! Ten bucks on red jacket. Fifteen on walking nightmare.

Roman’s voice was a dangerous growl. “Let go of me. Right. Now.”

Virgil didn’t seem to hear him. “I thought we were friends, Ro! Why are you being such a dick again?”

Roman’s jaw clenched. “I said, let go of me!”

Four things happened in the course of a few seconds.

One.

Roman’s voice broke. Roman’s voice only ever broke when he was upset. Roman’s voice had only ever broken around Virgil when they were talking in a hospital room, or when they talked about their pasts.

Two.

Virgil saw tears in Roman’s eyes, glistening in the fluorescent school lights. Roman never angry-cried. He only cried when something horrible had happened; failed auditions, failed tests, failed attempts to impress an uncaring father.

Three.

Virgil was on the floor in the middle of the hallway. Pain radiated from his elbows and his tailbone, but it didn’t matter, because…

Four.

“Don’t fucking touch me, freak!”

Virgil looked up at Roman, and for a second, it wasn’t Roman standing there, but someone from years past. He blinked the wet blurriness from his eyes, and the illusion passed.

Freak. Loser. Failure. Freak. Freak. Freakfreakfreakfreak.

Roman was just as frozen as Virgil, horror dawning on his features. His mouth moved, he must have been saying something, but Virgil’s pulse was pounding in his ears, too loud for him to hear anything else. He needed to leave before he had an attack here. He had to leave before he cried in front of all these people. He had to leave.

Virgil scrambled to his feet, not bothering to grab his fallen backpack. He couldn’t hear, he couldn’t breathe. He felt wetness on his cheeks as he ran away. Away from the school full of failures. Away from the teachers who hated him. Away from the students and their needle-sharp whispers.

Away from Roman.

Virgil didn’t run home. He ran the opposite direction, not knowing or caring where he ended up.

Look what you did, freak.

Nobody ever wants you, freak.

You should have killed yourself when you had the chance, freak.

Virgil kept running. He ran until his lungs screamed, until his legs gave out, until he fell forward onto concrete. His whole body hurt, and his palms and knees stung. He didn’t bother to check them; he knew they were bleeding, but he didn’t care.

Taking deep gulps of air, he sat up and looked around himself. He almost laughed when he realized where he was.

A neighborhood park.

Swings, a slide, monkey bars, and wood chips. Trees in the grassy area surrounding it, providing blessed shade from the mid-May Florida sun.

With school in session, it was empty, so there was no one to see him. Virgil pushed himself to his feet, groaning as his entire body protested the movement. He walked over to a tree and plopped down in the shade. He pulled up his hood and curled into a ball, shaking as tears slipped down his face, stinging the scrapes on his knees.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but when he finally loosened up, the sun was lower in the sky, his throat was dry, and his stomach was burning with hunger.

A spike of anxiety in his chest reminded him that the school would call Patton when he didn’t show up for his remaining three classes, and the man would be worried sick. He had left his phone in his backpack, so he couldn’t call Patton himself. After a few minutes of debating the pros and cons of staying under the tree until he was found, dead or alive, Virgil struggled to his feet.

His legs shook, sore and still feeling the after-effects of a two-mile run and one of the worst anxiety attacks he’d ever had. He stabilized himself against the trunk of the tree, hardly noticing the sting of the scrapes on his hands against rough wood. When he felt less like he would fall over, Virgil began walking home, thankful that he recognized some of the street signs in the neighborhood.

Halfway through the walk, Virgil decided it was too hot for his hoodie. The mix of hunger, dehydration, sheer exhaustion, and the sun’s rays was just too much. Luckily, the streets didn’t seem very busy, so he took off his hoodie, tied it around his waist, and crossed his arms over his chest.

The last thing he wanted was for someone to see his arms. Actually, scratch that; the last thing he wanted was for someone to see his arms and ask. The voice in his head was already screaming at him (UGLYFAILUREFREAKFREAKFREAKDISGUSTING), he didn’t need some stranger to ask him questions he couldn’t answer.

When he finally got home, the sky was turning orange, and Patton’s car was in the driveway.

Good, thought Virgil. His key, too, was in his backpack. He couldn’t handle being locked out, on top of everything else.

Taking a deep breath, Virgil approached the front door, grabbed the handle, and turned it. As he entered his home and closed the door behind him, he heard shouting.

“I don’t care, Logan! Check again, he might be- Lo, please -”

Virgil quietly walked into the living room just in time for Patton to turn towards the entryway. Patton’s jaw went slack, and Virgil almost didn’t recognize him; behind his glasses, his eyes were red and tear-filled, spilling a steady stream of water down his puffy cheeks. One hand was twisting and tugging his hair.

“He’s here,” Patton whispered into the phone. “I’ll call you later.” He hung up and dropped his phone on the couch before walking up to Virgil, who stood in the entryway like a deer caught in headlights.

"I... I know you're mad," Virgil began, dropping his gaze to the floor; he couldn't handle the look on Patton's face, so worried and heartbroken and so goddamn loving. "I didn't do anything- um. I-I didn't hurt myself- on purpose, anyways. I kinda fell? Got a little scraped up, but that's it." He took a breath.

"I didn't mean to run. Everything just got too big, and it was too much, and I- well, you know, fight or flight. But I swear, I didn't mean to-"

Virgil flinched when Patton raised a hand up, but was surprised to be pulled into a tight hug, encircled by shaking arms; the embrace of a frightened father. Patton's voice was gravelly and wobbled as he spoke.

"You're home. You're safe."

Virgil stood tense for a few seconds before awkwardly raising his arms to hug Patton back.

"I... I'm sorry. God, Dad, I'm so sorry for scaring you." Virgil buried his face in Patton's shoulder, shaking. "I won't do it again, I swear. I'll talk to Picani and- and I'll get better, and..."

He trailed off as Patton squeezed him, pulling him tighter into the hug.

"Virgil, kiddo..." Patton pulled back to see Virgil's face. Virgil was still staring at the floor. "You're home, you're safe, you're- you're alive. I'm not mad. I'm just so glad you're not… you didn’t..." His eyes fell down to Virgil's bare arms for a split second.

Virgil swallowed thickly as shame and crackling anxious energy scuttled under his skin.

"I thought about it. I wanted... I wanted to do it again. I swear, I was gonna talk to Picani about it! But then other things happened and I just-"

"Virgil-"

"-I just freaked out! You know how I freak out? I freaked out, and-"

"Virgil."

"-and I wanted to hurt myself so much, but I didn't wanna let you down- so much for that though, right? God, you probably hate me now-”

“Virgil Elliott Sanders!”

Virgil startled, his mouth shutting instantly at Patton’s shout. He looked up to see Patton, red-faced with tears falling down his face again.

Your fault, you made him cry, monster, FREAK!

Patton didn’t notice his son’s distress.

“Don’t you ever even think that, Virge. You are the best thing to ever happen to me. I could never hate you, and you could never let me down.” He barked out a single laugh, humorless and wet from tears.

“God, if anything I let you down! I didn’t know you had gotten this bad again, I didn’t notice, what if-” Patton’s eyes look into Virgil’s, full of tears and terror, desperation and hysteria.

“Vee, what if I lost you? What would I do if you had gotten hurt, if you…”

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, but the question weighed heavy on the air.

What would I do if you died?

Virgil hung his head. He hated himself for making Patton so scared. He hated himself more because Patton's fear wasn't unwarranted.

“Dad…” His voice was so quiet, so small.

“I’m sorry.” He shook so much, he looked like a frightened child, and maybe that’s what he was. A seventeen-year-old frightened child, scared of the dark that surrounded him. Scared of everything.

“I’m so sorry, I-” He hiccupped.

“I-it was just too much. There was too much happening, and I just couldn’t breathe.” He felt his face morphing, twisting with the agonous fear and pain he had been keeping down for longer than just today.

“I could feel it all chasing me and I just- I had to run before it killed me.” A hand wiped his tears. It smelled like cookies and laundry. It smelled like home.

“If I hadn’t run, I would have died.” Arms around him. Something under his legs… was he on the floor? When did he fall?

“Please, Dad, I don’t wanna die anymore, I needed to hide from it.” I needed to hide from me, he thought. Or maybe he said it out loud. He wasn’t sure. The arms tightened around him.

"Oh, Virgil," came Patton's voice in his ear, cracking and sad. Virgil buried his face in the crook of his neck.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorrysorrysorry," Virgil gasped. Patton shushed him, but Virgil couldn't stop apologizing. He was so sorry, for everything he had ever brought upon his father-figure, for everything he had ever done to hurt the man who adopted some broken, lonely kid, and he needed him to know.

So there they sat, on the carpeted floor of the living room: Virgil gasping and sobbing out apologies, Patton holding him and doing his best to reassure his son that it was okay. Eventually, Virgil cried himself out, and fell asleep.

When Virgil woke up, he was in his bed.

He almost got his hopes up, hoping that the whole day had just been one horrible nightmare, until he heard voices coming from down the hall. It sounded like...

Doctor Hart? And Patton?

He sat up slowly, steadied himself against a wall (when had he last eaten? He was so dizzy.) and walked out, finding himself outside of the kitchen, hiding behind a wall and listening intently.

"-going to be okay, Patton." Logan Hart, who had been Virgil's doctor when he was in the hospital, seemed to be attempting to reassure Patton. It was jarring to Virgil, seeing him in casual clothes, in his kitchen, with his dad.

"I know, Lo. I know. I just... I can't lose him. I can't." Virgil sucked in a breath at Patton's voice. He sounded awful. 

"I understand," Logan replied. 

"Do you?" Patton's voice was raised, clipped.

The kitchen fell silent. Virgil heard Patton sigh.

"I'm sorry, Lo. I didn't mean to snap at you."

Wood scraping tile. Footsteps. Fabric rustling and a small, choked sob. Virgil took a risk and peeked around the corner to see Logan wrapping Patton in a warm embrace. Logan, who had at least four inches on Patton, was resting his chin on top of Patton's. Patton had his face buried in Logan's chest, tears being soaked up by the black polo. He was shaking. Logan kissed the top of his head and spoke softly, lovingly.

"I know, dearest. You are under a great deal of stress, and you are tired. Why don't you finish your tea in your room and get some rest?" Virgil heard Patton take a breath to protest, but Logan cut him off. "I will look after Virgil, and I will wake you if anything changes, positive or negative."

Patton thought it over for a minute before sighing.

"Okay," came his muffled reply. He pulled away from Logan and linked their hands, looking up at him. Virgil only now noticed that only Logan was wearing glasses. Patton's must have been on the table, out of Virgil's line of sight.

"Okay," Patton repeated. "But you gotta promise that you'll come get me."

Logan's lips gently tugged into a small smile. He leaned down to kiss Patton's forehead.

"I promise, Pat. Go get some sleep."

Patton nodded, blushing a bit at the kiss. He picked up a mug and his glasses from the table and headed to his room. Virgil was, luckily, hidden enough by the shadows to avoid being seen. When Patton's door closed, Logan's voice called quietly from the kitchen.

"You can come out of hiding now, Virgil. I wish to speak with you."

Shit.

"I saw you watching. It is alright, I just want to talk."

Cautiously, Virgil stepped out from the shadows and into the kitchen. Logan's expression was unreadable, blank. Virgil swallowed.

"I-I didn't know you two were... a thing. Not that I mind or anything, I just..." He cringed. Why can't you just talk to people? 

Logan raised an eyebrow. "You just didn't expect to see me outside of your time in the hospital, much less in your own home, and certainly not being romantically involved with your father. Correct?"

Virgil nodded, tense. Logan sighed.

"In all honesty, I thought much the same. But that is a story for another time. For now," he sat in a chair at the kitchen table, gesturing at the chair opposite him. "We have more important matters to discuss."

Virgil sat across from Logan, still tense. "Aren't you gonna tell Dad that I'm up? You did promise him." He didn't want Patton to wake up, the man was clearly exhausted. But he knew Patton would hate being lied to.

Logan smirked. "I promised to wake him if there were any changes, yes. But I did not make any promises as to when."

Virgil sighed in relief, but it was short lived. Logan's expression was serious again.

"Now, are you going to tell me why you ran from school?"

Virgil scratched at the wooden table, his bitten-down fingernail catching on a small groove as he considered his response.

"It was... a lot of things." 

"Such as?"

Virgil sighed.

"Look, no offense, but I have a therapist for this. A therapist Dad will probably be sending me off to tomorrow."

"None taken, and you are correct. However," Logan leaned forward. "You and I both know that Patton deserves an explanation, and we also both know that you will not tell him everything."

Virgil shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I... I just." He shakes his head. "It's so stupid."

"No, it isn't." Virgil looked up at the conviction in Logan's voice. Logan looked at him with a sort of stubborn determination.

"According to Patton, the last time something like this happened, he found you half-dead and bleeding out in the bathtub. This was, what, two years ago? A little over two years? Virgil, Patton thought you were dead. He begged me to check every bridge in the city, over and over, until you were found. And not just driving by! No, he wanted me to get out and look over the railing to look for your dead body. It is not stupid, Virgil, for you to feel that way. It is terrifying."

Virgil stared at Logan, open-mouthed and in shock. Halfway through his speech, Logan had gotten much more passionate, as evidenced by his slightly raised voice and, even more shocking, the tears in his eyes.

Logan cleared his throat, wiped his eyes, and reigned himself in.

"My point is, you need to talk to someone who can actually, physically be there at a moment's notice. Therapy is good for relieving the mental aspects, but Emile cannot be there to catch you if you find yourself slipping into dangerous physical situations."

Virgil was quiet for a minute.

"...how do you know my therapist's name is Emile?"

Logan blinked. "He is my therapist as well."

"Wait, for real?" 

"Yes, but can we please return to the original subject?" Virgil didn't miss how Logan's eyes were suddenly guarded again, and dropped it.

"It was just a bad day. All the little things added up, and then there was just this one thing that happened and it all blew up. I needed to get away, so I ran."

"I see." Logan nodded, then tilted his head. "Tell me what all happened?"

Virgil relayed the story to Logan, who listened intently, nodding occasionally. Virgil was hesitant to talk about what happened in the hallway with Roman, but Logan coaxed him into it with questions. He described the odd, floating feeling he'd felt on the way back home, and the feeling of non-existent eyes on his arms, making them itch.

"...and then I came home to Dad on the phone with you. I..." he swallowed. "I've never seen him that messed up."

Logan nods. "He looked very much the same when I met him in the hospital, I'd imagine." Virgil winced.

"I'm sorry you guys didn't get a, y'know, cute, romantic meeting. I guess I kinda ruined that for you." Virgil laughed self-deprecatingly. Logan tapped his fingers on the table.

"Perhaps let's refrain from any more hospital visits, yes? And besides, we had our 'cute, romantic meeting' at a bakery three months ago. You ruined nothing."

Virgil smiled a bit and nodded, then yawned. Logan smirked.

"I would recommend you have something to eat before going back to sleep."

Virgil nodded again and stood up, steadying himself on the table before pulling leftover pizza from the fridge. Logan rolled his eyes.

"That is hardly nutritious, Virgil."

Virgil raised his eyebrows, grabbed two slices of pizza, and put one on top of the other, toppings facing inside. Without breaking eye contact, he took a bite.

"Pizza sandwich, bitch," he mumbled through the mouthful. Logan looked absolutely repulsed, but Virgil could see the humor in his eyes. He finished his abomination and stretched, yawning again.

"Go get some sleep, Virgil," Logan said, his voice oddly soft. Virgil smiled at him, smug.

"Keep talking like that and people will think you actually give a shit about me." He turned to leave the kitchen, choosing not to react to the words that followed him out.

"They would not be wrong."

Virgil flopped onto his bed and kicked his legs under his blankets. He stared out at his room. Specifically, at the plushie on his dresser. Roman had brought the real-life size Stitch, Virgil! to him during his stay at the hospital. A little bit of ohana for when visiting hours are over and yours isn't here, he had said.

For a few minutes, Virgil stared down the little blue alien. Eventually, he sighed and got up. He padded across the room and picked it up. He crawled back into bed, cradling it to his chest and burying his face in the soft fake fur.

He let himself relax, and fell asleep with ease.

Chapter Text

 Shortly after Virgil went to his room, the door to Patton's quietly creaked open. Logan, still sitting at the kitchen table, looked up with a small smile as Patton padded in.

 "I thought I told you to get some rest," Logan teased. Patton shook his head sluggishly as he sat in the chair across the table from Logan. He rested his arms on the table and laid his head on them, looking sideways up at his boyfriend, his glasses askew.

 "I heard you and Vee talking. You really weren't gonna come wake me?" Patton sounded a bit hurt, and Logan reached out to take Patton's hands in his, meeting those brilliant blue eyes apologetically.

 "Pat," he began, softly. "I apologize. I was going to wake you, but I knew that if I did, Virgil would not have talked to me. As much as I hated to betray your trust and break my promise, Virgil needed to talk to someone about what happened today, and I know he wouldn't have if I had woken you."

 Patton sighed and brought Logan's hand to his lips, gently brushing them along the knuckles.

 "It's okay, Lo. I would've done the same. I forgive you."

 Logan felt his cheeks heat up, but miraculously maintained his composure.

 "Alright. Thank you, Patton. Now, you really should get some rest, love."

 Patton nodded and stood, pulling Logan up with him by the hand.

 "Come cuddle with me?" He asked, looking up at Logan with puppy-dog eyes. Logan sighed, smiled, and nodded.

 "Of course, dearest."

 Sleeping beside Patton was, in Logan's personal opinion, the best way anyone could possibly sleep.

 Logan, being the tallest of the two, was often the big spoon; he loved holding Patton to his chest, burying his face in those beautiful short curls of hair, and smelling the mix of cookies, clean laundry, and coconut shampoo that Patton always carried. He loved feeling Patton's warmth seeping into his cold skin, warming him to his bones, giving him a sense of contentment he hardly experienced.

 Most of all, he loved the feeling that he was protecting Patton. As long as Patton was in his arms, Logan knew no harm would befall his adorable boyfriend. He would never allow it.

 Usually, Patton would fall asleep in minutes, and Logan would follow an hour or so later. Tonight, however, Patton's breathing didn't even out as it usually did.

 "Patton, love," Logan whispered into those lovely blond curls. "Is something the matter?"

 Patton sighed and shifted, turning over until Logan could see those beautiful blue eyes, perfectly illuminated by the moonlight peeking in through the curtains of the window on the opposite wall. It figuratively took Logan's breath away.

 "Are you okay?" Patton asked, quiet and soft. Logan smiled softly down at him.

 "Of course, love."

 "Are you sure?"

 The concern in Patton's eyes and tone had Logan propping himself up on one arm, lifting the other between them to gently stroke Patton's freckled cheek with his thumb. Patton leaned into the touch.

 "Alright, what's bothering you, Pat?"

 Patton sighed again, his warm breath tickling Logan's face. His sky blue eyes fell to Logan's chest, and he pressed a hand where Logan's heart was and spoke softly.

 "I yelled at you, on the phone. I made you look over the rails of every bridge in town, I didn't even think about what that could do to you." Patton's voice cracked a bit. "I yelled at you for not wanting to look more than once. I should've listened to you. I'm so sorry, Lo."

 The guilt in his voice made Logan's chest ache, right under where Patton's hand rested. He tilted Patton's face up so he could look into his eyes. They were shining with unshed tears.

 "Patton, sunshine, you have nothing to be sorry for." Patton opened his mouth to protest, but Logan spoke over him. "You were stressed and I was being difficult, your loss of temper was understandable. And as for the bridges..."

 Logan was quiet for a moment, thinking of what words matched his thoughts. It happened often enough that Patton knew to wait, despite the protests rising behind his lips. When Logan spoke again, it was quiet, but certain.

 "I was so preoccupied with looking for Virgil and being concerned for you, I hadn't even thought about my own previous experiences. But," he added, "Even if I had, you have done so much to help me improve my self-worth, and Emile has been such a wonderful therapist, such an incredible help with my mental health, that I do not believe I would have had the desire to jump. Besides, I am in a career that I enjoy, I have the man I love beside me, and my parents are no longer controlling my every move. I have the freedom to be a person now; I am no longer a pawn in their games, or a successor to a family business I have no interest in. I have much to live for now, Patton. It would be foolish to throw it all away."

 Patton smiled up at him with a sudden burst of pride, and Logan wondered if he could feel his heart speeding up beneath his hand, because damn that smile and the things it did to him.

 "Logannn, that's wonderful!"

 Logan blushed at the praise. "Thank you, Patton, but that is not the point."

 "Well it is now! I'm so proud of you, Lo! You're making so much progress!"

 Logan rolled his eyes, but he and Patton both knew he was happy, and maybe even a bit proud of himself.

 "The point, Patton, is that you did nothing wrong. And even if you had, you are forgiven."

 Patton huffed, but leaned in to press a soft kiss to Logan's lips. Logan, bright red, reciprocated the kiss, pulling Patton closer to him so he could blame the warmth on the contact.

 They parted with matching looks of content happiness and laid back down. Patton stayed facing Logan, who pulled him so that Patton's forehead rested against his collarbone. He buried his face yet again in those soft curls, whispering softly.

 "I love you."

 Patton hummed. "I love you too."

 Logan smiled and let himself drift off, soothed by Patton's even breaths. 

Chapter Text

 Virgil hated the hospital. He hated how everywhere he looked, there was blinding, headache-inducing white. He hated the shitty food. He hated how it smelled like chemicals, and how the chemical smell was covering up the smell of sickness and death.

 He hated hearing people crying at night. He hated being one of the people who cried at night.

 He hated that they were keeping him there for another week, just because he still wished he had died like he was supposed to.

 So there he was, sitting in his stupid, uncomfortable hospital bed, his arms heavy with bandages, waiting for Patton to come back from the cafeteria with whatever pitiful excuse for food the hospital was serving.

 He couldn't even draw, or read. His arms hurt too much for him to hold a pencil, or turn a page.

 It was infuriating.

 Instead of doing something he actually enjoyed, he was stuck watching Disney movies on Patton's laptop, which sat on the table beside the bed. It wasn't really all that bad, he didn't particularly dislike Disney movies, they were just... too high-energy for him.

 Just as Moana declared herself unable to continue her journey, Patton bustled into the room, a tray held in his hands and a smile on his face. Despite Virgil's foul mood, he smiled back as Patton rested the tray on his lap.

 "So, what's today's abomination?" He asked, and Patton giggled.

 "I think it's supposed to be salisbury steak and mashed potatoes."

 Virgil hummed and grabbed the plastic spork on the tray. He poked at the sauce-covered meat. It jiggled, the sauce so congealed that it seemed more like jelly.

 "Thanks, Pat," Virgil mumbled before taking a bite. He grimaced, and Patton laughed as he reached over to pause the movie.

 "Sorry, kiddo. I promise, when we're home, you'll have all the pizza you want."

 Virgil swallowed his bite with a shudder, then fixed Patton with a Look. "So, have you eaten yet today?"

 Patton smiled sheepishly. "Not yet, kiddo."

 "Patton."

 "I know, I know... I'll get lunch soon, promise."

 "Why not now? There's a Panera right across the street, you love Panera!" Virgil chose to ignore how he sounded like Patton.

 "Well, yeah," Patton conceded. "But I don't wanna-"

 "I'm not gonna kill myself the second you walk out of the hospital, Pat," Virgil interrupted. Patton snapped his mouth shut. "Go get something to eat. Hell, stay the night at home for once. I know you sleep in your car in the parking lot. You can't just... do that."

 Patton was quiet for a moment, and Virgil took another bite of his disgusting meal. Finally, Patton broke the heavy silence.

 "But what if I come back, and you're... gone? What if, as soon as I leave, you hurt yourself again?"

 Virgil felt his stomach squirm, from both the abhorrent hospital food and guilt.

 "That won't happen. I... I won't lie. I still wish I had done it." A sharp inhale from Patton, which Virgil continued over. "But I won't try again. I'm too much of a fucking coward to try again."

 He felt Patton's hand take his, and he realized he was gripping the spork so tightly that his knuckles were white.

 "Virgil, you are not-" Patton was interrupted by a knock at the door, and they both turned their head towards the sound. Virgil couldn't see the small window in the door, but Patton could.

 "Huh. Virgil, were you expecting anyone?"

 Virgil let out a single laugh. "Pat, I literally have zero friends. Maybe they have the wrong room?"

 "I'll go see." Patton walked over to the door and opened it. Virgil continued picking at his pitiful meal as he listened.

 "Hi there," came Patton's voice, kind and welcoming, even to a stranger.

 "Hello! I'm here to see Virgil? Virgil Sanders?"

 Holy shit. Holy shit. I know that voice.

 "Oh... um, one moment please! I'll see if he's up to it!"

 "Alright, thank you, mister...?"

 "Sanders! But you can call me Patton."

 "Right, thank you, Patton!"

 Virgil faintly registered the sound of the door closing and Patton coming back to his bedside.

 "No friends, huh?" Patton teased.

 "No friends," Virgil grumbled. "Only assholes."

 "Language!" Patton took Virgil's tray. "He has gifts for you, Vee."

 "I don't care. I know that voice. That's Roman Prince."

 Patton raised his eyebrows. "Roman Prince? As in the Roman Prince who's been bullying you all year?"

 Virgil scowled. "Yeah. Him."

 Patton hummed in thought. "Well, maybe you should talk to him?"

 Virgil snorted. "Oh sure, great idea, Pat. A suicidal kid and his bully alone in a hospital room? Fucking genius." He regretted the words as soon as he saw the hurt look on Patton's face.

 "Oh. Well, I can send him-"

 "No, Pat, I." Virgil sighed. "I'll talk to him."

 "Kiddo, if you don't want to-"

 "I do! I do. I wanna know why he did the shit he did. Plus, it's the perfect chance for you to go get some lunch, maybe hang out with Joan and Talyn for a while?" He smiled up at his dad, who was smiling proudly back.

 "If you're sure, kiddo. Have Lo- I mean, Doctor Hart call me if you need anything, okay?" Patton blushed at the slip-up, and Virgil smirked.

 "You gave him your number? Ooh, spicy." Patton rolled his eyes.

 "Oh, hush, you. I'll be back in three hours."

 "Five?"

 "Keep talking and I'll make it two."

 Virgil laughed. "Have fun, Pat. Sneak in a chocolate chip cookie for me?"

 "If you behave, then maybe." Patton ruffled Virgil's hair, then fixed it again. "I love you, kiddo."

 "Yeah, yeah, love you too, whatever," Virgil grumbled.

 Patton chuckled softly and carried Virgil's tray with him to the door. There was muted mumbling, a final "Bye, kiddo!", and then, Virgil was alone with Roman, who stood at the end of his bed in a red jacket, flowers and a blue stuffed "animal" in his hands.

 At least he has the sense to look sorry, he mused. And Roman really did look sorry. He and Virgil both avoided eye contact, and the room was filled with an awkward silence so thick, it almost rivaled the salisbury steak sauce. Finally, Virgil spoke up.

 "So, uh, whatcha got there?" He nudged his shoulder towards the things in Roman's hands.

 "Huh?" Roman said intelligently. "Oh, right! Sorry, I had this whole speech planned out, but now I'm nervous- stage fright in a hospital room, that's- that's sad, huh?" Roman was red, and Virgil reveled in his discomfort.

 "Not as sad as being in a hospital room for a suicide attempt," he said with a smirk. Roman blinked and stared. "It's a joke, Princey."

 Roman nodded frantically. "Right! Right, a joke, ha, sorry, I'm-"

 "Oh my god," Virgil interrupted with a groan. "Okay, sit down, you're stressing me out." He nodded at a chair beside his bed. Roman sat obediently, and Virgil resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

 "Okay, now breathe. Calm down. I'm not gonna bite you..." he paused for effect. "...probably."

 Roman let out a single laugh, and did as Virgil had instructed. Once he was sure he was calm, Virgil spoke again.

 "Okay, now tell me what the hell you're doing here."

 Roman took a breath. "I am here to apologize for my behavior."

 He probably had more to say, but Virgil couldn't hold back a humorless laugh.

 "Oh, I get it now. You damn near bully a kid to death, so you think saying sorry and bringing flowers and a stupid stuffed whatever-the-fuck that is will clear your name? That's fucking hilarious, Princey."

 Roman winced, and his eyes fell to the items in his hands. "That isn't..."

 "What? Isn't what you wanted me to say? Sorry, let me correct myself." Virgil cleared his throat. "I forgive you for calling me a freak, and useless, and stupid, and a walking nightmare, and all that other shit. I forgive you for telling the entire fucking school I'm trans, just because you saw my deadname on a fucking attendance chart. Happy now, your royal bitch-ness?" Virgil snarled. Roman flinched away from him, and for a moment, he looked afraid.

 Which piqued Virgil's interest. For a few seconds, it was silent again.

 "I am not asking for forgiveness," Roman whispered. "I am not trying to clear my name. I only wished to apologize, and perhaps explain... why I was so cruel to you." He flicked his gaze up to Virgil's, and Virgil was shocked to see that those stupid red-brown eyes were leaking genuine tears.

 "But if you do not wish to hear it," Roman continued, "I will leave you alone."

 Virgil considered it, weighing his options. He could be bullshitting me, he thought. But... I really do wanna hear what he has to say.

 He settled back into his pillow. "Okay, Princey. Let's see what you've got to say."

 Roman exhaled. "Okay."

 "First off, I brought you these." He set the flowers down on the bedside table; soft violet starbursts of petals formed bell-shapes at the end of three stems, tied together with a thin, dark purple, satin ribbon. "They're hyacinth. Purple means apology, at least that's what my mom told me." Virgil let out a small hmph. 

 "So you're doing this because your mommy told you to?" He asked, not bothering to hide his snark. Roman shook his head.

 "No. She's been dead for nearly nine months."

 And damn, if that didn't make Virgil feel like an ass."Shit. I'm sorry, I didn't know." Roman gave him a small, sad smile.

 "Don't apologize. Nobody knows. Anyways," He held up the stuffed creature, which was covered in shiny, fake fur. "This is Stitch. You know, from Lilo and Stitch?" 

 "Haven't seen that one," Virgil said. Roman gasped, looking offended.

 "Seriously? We simply must change that!" Virgil rolled his eyes.

 "Tone it down, I still hate you."

 "Ah, right, my apologies. Anyhow, I brought you a Stitch, because... Well, I thought you could use a little ohana when visiting hours are closed."

 "Ohana?" Virgil questioned.

 "Ohana means family," Roman quoted. "Family means nobody gets left behind, or forgotten."

 "Gross."

 Roman scoffed, but before he could say anything further, Virgil talked over him.

 "Thanks and all, for the gifts and the apology, but like... That's not an explanation."

 "I know," Roman said, nodding. "I'm getting to that."

 "Well, get to it faster."

 "Right."

  Roman took a deep breath, and spoke.

 "I never meant anything I said, not truly. I was taking out a lot of things on you, things that were not your fault. My own insecurities, I put on you. I allowed my jealousy of you to blind me, and my rage at situations beyond me to be directed at you." He set the Stitch doll down on Virgil's bed. "You see, since my mom died, my father has been very... withdrawn. He lost his job, and because of the cost of my mother's treatment, we've been low on money, so I make as much as I can working part-time. He's been stealing it while I sleep and spending it all on liquor." He sighs shakily, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm angry at him for that, and I'm angry at the world for taking my mom away, and I'm just so angry, all of the time. But I can't be angry at home, and I can't be angry at work, so I allow my anger to come out at school. Unfortunately, I selected you as the target."

 "I was out of line," he continued. "I was unnecessarily cruel, and I was, and still am, a huge asshole. And I am sincerely sorry, Virgil, for causing you so much pain. I'm so sorry for being a large part in your reasons for attempting suicide. If there is anything I can do to make it up to you, or anything you want or need, please tell me, and it will be done."

 Halfway through Roman's speech, Virgil had pulled Stitch into his lap, and was running his fingers through the soft fur. The room was quiet as Virgil processed everything.

 "I accept your apology, but I don't forgive you," he finally said. Roman brightened.

 "That is already more than I could possibly ask for. Thank you, V-"

 "Shut the fuck up, Princey," Virgil snapped. Roman did as he was told. "Your dad is an ass, and what happened to your mom sucks, but that doesn't mean you get to be such a dick. I had shitty parents too, but you don't see me going around making fun of some random kid for something they can't help. Like, okay, you wanna rag on me because you've got shit goin' on at home? It isn't okay, but I get it. But what you did was so much worse. You outed me to the whole school, do you even know what some of those kids did?" Roman shook his head, looking reasonably afraid.

 "They beat the shit out of me. I didn't try to kill myself because of you. I tried to kill myself because I got sick of it. That last day? The day I did it? They cornered me after school. I had gym seventh period, and they caught me in the locker room. They..." Virgil stopped, wondering if he really should be telling Roman Prince, his tormentor for a year, about this, but one glance at Roman's shock-pale, sickened face made his decision.

 "They wrote my deadname on my forehead, in permanent marker. Two of them held me from behind, and the third wrote it. And then they threw me to the ground and hit me and kicked me, and they didn't stop for thirty fucking minutes. All because you saw my fucking deadname and told the whole fucking school that Virgil Sanders is a fucking tranny. So after they left, I rode the bus home, limped my happy ass over to the bathroom, and, well-" he slightly lifted his arms, the thick bandages only slightly paler than his skin.

 Virgil's voice shook, and his eyes stung. He stared at the blue alien in his hands. "Patton found me just in time. He thought I was dead, but he drove me here anyways. Doctor Hart said that if Patton had been just five minutes later, I'd be dead." He felt the tears falling. "So no, I don't fucking forgive you. And I don't think a shitty home life gives you a reason to be a transphobic piece of shit."

 He heard Roman crying in the chair next to him and looked up to see him hunched over, hands pressed against his mouth, his face wet. Their eyes met, and he sobbed. Virgil found it ironic.

 "I-I'm so sorry, Virgil," Roman gasped. "I-I only told two p-people, I didn't know it w-would go that f-far."

 "Yeah, well. It did." Virgil hated, absolutely hated how his voice sounded when he cried. He was nasally and shaky and disgusting, and he hated it. "I don't forgive you. But I want to."

 "R-really?" Roman looked hopeful. Virgil shrugged, and lifted the sheet covering his legs to wipe his face. He hated it.

 "I'm tired, Princey. I'm tired of hating everyone. I'm tired of hating everything. Pat says holding grudges is a waste of energy, and I don't have energy to waste." He stroked Stitch's fur.

 "I'll let you try to prove yourself. I'll try to forgive you. But I still think you're an asshole."

 Roman nodded, smiling as though Virgil had praised him.

 "I-I promise, you won't regret it!"

 Virgil rolled his eyes as he watched Roman wipe his face on his sleeve.

 "Whatever." He looked back down at the small blue alien. "We've still got a few hours before Pat comes back... Wanna watch Lilo and Stitch? Knowing him, he's got it saved on the laptop."

 Roman nodded, still smiling. "That sounds wonderful!"

 "Cool," VIrgil replied. He reached out to grab the laptop, wincing at the pull in his arms. Roman wordlessly picked it up and set it in Virgil's lap. 

 "Fuck off, I've got it," Virgil snapped. He watched Roman's smile drop, and sighed. "Sorry. I just hate being helpless."

 Roman hummed. "I don't think you're helpless. You're just healing."

 Virgil stared at him. "Huh. Sure, that too." He carefully opened the laptop and typed in the password. He used the mousepad to scroll through Patton's extensive list of Disney movies before opening the file for Lilo and Stitch and pausing it. 

 "Mind hitting the lights, Princey?" Roman nodded, reached up, and switched off the floor lamp behind the chair. "Thanks." Virgil turned the laptop so that both he and ROman could see the screen and pressed play. Beside him, Roman whispered.

 "Why do you call me that? Princey, I mean?"

 Virgil smirked.

 "Because you're a self-entitled asshole and I hate you, much like every prince ever." Roman hummed and nodded.

 "Agree to disagree, but also, that's fair."

 Four hours later, Patton entered the room with a warm bag of Panera Bread pastries. He was surprised by the darkness of the room, and even more surprised by the sight that greeted him once he fully entered.

 Virgil was curled up on the very edge of the bed, a red jacked draped over him (he always did complain about how cold he was). His head rested on Roman's shoulder. Roman, now in just a short-sleeved shirt and jeans, was halfway out of his chair, one arm wrapped around Virgil's shoulders, the other keeping the laptop from falling. His cheek rested on top of Virgil's head. Both of them were fast asleep.

 Patton smiled warmly and set the bag aside. He picked up the laptop, and saw that they'd been halfway through Sleeping Beauty. He shut the laptop down and set it on the bedside table before leaning down to kiss Virgil's cheek. He wrote a quick note with his number at the bottom down on the small notepad he always carried:

 Roman,

  Thank you for apologizing to him, and for whatever you did to get him to finally fall asleep. I hope you two can be friends! If you ever need me, call me, okay?

 He set it down beside the Panera bag, where Roman would see once he woke up.

 With a final glance at the sleeping boys, he left again, knowing his boy was safe.

Virgil slept more soundly then than he had in the week he had been in the hospital, not that he would ever tell Roman that.

Chapter Text

 The day before all hell broke loose, Roman was sitting in his kitchen, doing homework. 

 It had been a typical Wednesday: He woke up at four AM, got ready for school, woke up his dad, made breakfast, woke up his dad again, dragged his half-conscious dad downstairs, stopped his dad from adding whiskey to his coffee, dodged the bottle aimed at his head, shoveled a few forkfulls of scrambled egg into his mouth, and went to school.

 He did his classwork, joked around with Virgil, and ignored the worried glances Virgil gave him when he didn't eat lunch. He did everything that was asked of him with only some complaining, all of it overdramatized, because ugh, math. 

 When he got home, he found the house empty. He made himself a sandwich and stared at his physics homework as though staring would magically make him understand. He scratched out a few answers as he ate, and about an hour later, at six-thirty PM, he heard the front door open. He shoved the papers into his bag, threw it into his bedroom, and went to greet his father.

 His father, who was leaning against the wall, huffing and grumbling, his white button-up and black slacks rumpled and stained. Roman sighed.

 "Dad, I thought you were going job-hunting."

 "I did," his father grunted. "Fuckin' assholes all turned me down." His speech was slurred, his voice gravelly.

 "So you went and got shitfaced again?" Roman couldn't help some of the exasperation slipping into his voice. "Dad, you can't keep doing this. Where did you even get the money?" Roman already knew the answer. His father chuckled, and it sent shivers up Roman's back. Danger.

 "Found your new hiding place, under the floorboard," Roman's father slurred. He stood up straighter and looked at Roman with a dark smile. Danger. "Found your little diary, too. Decided to do some light readin'. Know what I found, Roman?"

 Roman felt his blood run cold as his father reached into his pocket and pulled out the small composition notebook. DangerDangerDanger. He hoped and prayed that this wasn't about what he thought it was.

 "Found an interestin' little passage about that friend o' yours. Virgil." Roman hated the sound of his friend's name on his father's tongue. So much for hopes and prayers.

  "Funny thing is," his father continued, "You said something about liking him. Said you got a crush on him." 

 "Dad, I-"

 "Don't!" his father's voice boomed. He threw the book down on the floor with a loud thwack, and Roman flinched back, his heart pounding. His father glared at him, and like a deer caught in headlights, Roman was frozen.

 "Don't you talk to that boy again, you understand me?"

 Roman wanted to protest. He wanted to scream and cry and defy his father. Instead, he just stared at the small notebook on the floor.

 His father stumbled towards him and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him close. The smell of his father's breath was a dizzying combination of alcohol and vomit, and it made Roman's stomach turn as he looked into his father's face with fear in his eyes.

 "I asked you a fucking question!" his father snarled, and Roman flinched again.

 "D-Dad, he's my f-"

 "HE'S A FUCKING FAG!" Windows rattled at the volume of the man's voice. He tossed Roman to the floor, and Roman cried out when the back of his head hit the tile, hard. He saw stars. "He's a fucking queer, and I won't have him turning my son! And if I find out you're hanging around that boy, I swear to god, I'll fucking kill you and him both! I'll fucking find him, I swear to fucking god!"

 Roman had experienced many fears in his life. There was the fear he felt at his mother's diagnosis. The fear he felt when his nightlight went out in third grade. The fear he felt when the heart monitor went monotone. The fear of being up on stage, the fear of failure, the fear of rejection.

 But in this moment, under the burning rage of his father? Roman was more afraid than he had ever been in his life. He trembled on the floor as the fear crashed through him in brutal, endless waves. He grunted when he felt a sharp pain in his stomach, and again in his ribcage. He blocked his face with his arms, and they took a good few blows too. 

 When his father ran out of steam, he leaned back against a wall.

 "Now," he slurred, "What're you gonna do starting tomorrow?"

 "Av-void Vi-Virgil," Roman gasped out.

 "And if you don't?"

 "Y-Y-You..." Roman swallowed. "You'll kill us both."

 "Damn right. My son, a fag? I won't have it. Go to your room. I don't wanna look at your disgusting face anymore."

 Roman struggled to his feet and trudged to his room, quietly closing the door behind him. He hissed at every movement as he removed his clothing, until he was just in his boxers. He looked in the floor-length mirror beside his dresser, and winced at his reflection.

 His ribs, which stuck out a bit, were already sporting purple bruises, as were his slightly concave stomach and his lean, skinny arms. He turned away from the mirror and put on a t-shirt and sweatpants before turning off the light and curling up under the covers on his bed. Through the wall, he heard paper being torn, a match being lit, and the swoosh of a fire starting. He could smell two years of writing being burned to ashes in the fireplace.

 It wasn't until hours later, when he was sure his father had passed out drunk, that he allowed himself to cry. Every sob jostled the bruises on his torso, and he held back the bile that rose in his throat.

 He didn't want to lose Virgil. Virgil was his best friend, the boy he loved; he never wanted to lose him.

 But he would to anything to keep Virgil safe.

 Even if it meant hurting both of them a little bit in the process.

Chapter Text

 Virgil stayed home the Friday after the hallway incident with Roman. After breakfast, Logan kissed Patton's cheek (Virgil pretended to gag) and was on his way to the hospital, where he worked. Patton took the day off of work to stay with Virgil, whose protests went ignored. Later that afternoon, Logan stopped by the house and dropped off Virgil's backpack, which he had apparently gotten from the school.

"They said it was in the lost in found," Logan had informed them. "It had a sticky note with your name on it, so when I said I was there to gather your belongings, they just gave it to me."

After some brief conversation with Logan and Patton, Virgil went to his room and slung the backpack onto his bed. He dug through it, and was relieved to find everything intact, including his phone, which he immediately plugged in next to the bed. While it charged, he picked up his bag to set it in its usual spot beside his bedroom door. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a small flash of violet.

There, in the side pocket of his bag, was a folded piece of purple paper. He pulled it out and dropped his bag on the floor before plopping down onto his bed.

Virgil Sanders was written on the front, in a handwriting that Virgil knew immediately. Roman. He huffed and opened the note.

 Virgil,

 I know I don't deserve another chance, but I need to explain something to you. I should have told you from the start. Saturday night, at eight, I'll be stopping by your house. Don't text me or call me, DO NOT GO TO MY HOUSE. It's too dangerous. I'm sorry, but I need you to be safe more than anything.

 Please, let me at least tell you why I did this.

It wasn't signed with a name, but a small doodle of a crown. Virgil read and re-read the note, and as much as he wanted to be angry at Roman, he was scared. Roman had never considered anything "too dangerous", only "adventurous" or "ambitious". Virgil knew this had to be serious. He set the note on his nightstand, his stomach wriggling with anxiety, and took a deep breath.

"What's going on with you, Ro?" he asked his empty room.

 Patton didn't like this idea one bit. He loved Roman, but he'd almost lost Virgil twice due to Roman's mistakes. So one can imagine his concern when Virgil said he would be having Roman over Saturday night.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, kiddo?" he had asked Friday night, when Virgil brought it up. Virgil's shrug was not reassuring.

"No, but I know him. He wouldn't do this without a reason, and he wouldn't act so serious, even in a note." He was trying to sound nonchalant, but Patton saw how his hands lightly shook in his hoodie pocket. Logan, of course, chose that moment to come into the living room, a bowl of popcorn in his hands, dressed in flannel pants and a grey t-shirt. 

His first movie night with us, and Roman isn't even here, Patton thought morosely.

"Actually," Logan said as he sat down cross-legged beside Patton on the blanket-covered couch, "I side with Virgil on this." Patton shot him a Look, but he merely shrugged and passed the bowl over Patton, to Virgil, who smirked and snarfed a handful. 

"Logan, it's too risky! What if he hurts Vee again?" Patton couldn't believe this. Him? The voice of reason? The world was turning topsy-turvy.

"Patton, it would be risky if it were taking place at a secondary location. However, the interaction is taking place in your own home, while you are present in the house. Besides," he added, and something akin to protectiveness shone behind his glasses. "Neither of us have any intention of allowing Roman to cause any further harm to Virgil."

Patton sighed, and dropped it. "What movie are we watching first, Virge?"

Virgil mumbled unintelligibly through another mouthful of popcorn, prompting a laugh from both Patton and Logan. He rolled his eyes, smiling.

They ended up watching The Nightmare Before Christmas, Virgil's favorite, followed by WALL-E (Logan's pick), then Winnie The Pooh (Patton, of course). Virgil fell asleep halfway through the last movie, his head against Patton's shoulder.

 When the final movie was over, Logan noticed that Virgil and Patton were both asleep. With a soft sigh, he carefully stood up and turned off the TV. He removed the empty bowl from Virgil's arms and set it on the coffee table before gently rousing him.

"Virgil," Logan whispered as Virgil blinked up at him, still half-asleep, "You need to remove your binder before sleeping."

Too tired to protest, Virgil nodded and clumsily tried to remove his hoodie. Logan chuckled quietly and helped him get the hoodie and shirt off. He undid the clasps along the left side of Virgil's black half-binder, then turned away so that Virgil had some privacy to remove it entirely. He didn't turn back until he felt a tap on his shoulder. Virgil was back in his shirt and hoodie, his binder laying on the arm of the couch, and he was looking up at Logan with warm, bleary eyes.

"Thanks, L," he whispered. Logan nodded with a soft smile and covered Virgil with his favorite weighted blanket.

"Of course, Virgil. Sleep well."

Virgil hummed and leaned back against Patton. Logan removed Patton's glasses and set them beside the bowl on the coffee table. Logan took a moment to appreciate Patton's adorable face; round cheeks, smile lines, long, thick eyelashes... and, of course, his freckles. Logan was not one to fall in love based on appearances (not that he was one to fall in love at all, really, at least until Patton came along), but he was sure that those freckles had been what called him to Patton in the first place.

Well, his mind supplied, the freckles, and the fact that he burst into the hospital covered in blood and carrying his half-dead son.

Logan shook the thought away and leaned forward to kiss his boyfriend's cheek, Patton's eyes fluttered open, and he blinked up at Logan. He squinted for a moment, then smiled. Blind as a bat, Logan mused.

"Logie!" Patton mumbled, like a sleepy child. It warmed Logan's heart.

"Hello, my love."

Patton giggled lightly. "Lovey, lovey Logiebear. My Logiewogie!"

Logan felt his cheeks heat up, and he smiled lovingly at Patton.

"Yes, love. That's me. Go back to sleep, alright?"

Patton pouted. Adorable.

"Cuddle?" He reached out his free arm, grabbing at air. Logan took the hand in his and brushed his lips across the warm knuckles before gently laying it in Patton's lap.

"In a moment, dearest. Go to sleep, I'll be right back, I promise."

Patton smiled again and closed his eyes, his head rolling to fall softly onto Virgil's. Logan smiled and picked up the empty bowl. He took it to the kitchen, washed it, dried it, and put it away before heading back into the living room. He carefully sat back down beside Patton, removed his glasses and set them aside, leaned against Patton, and let himself gently drift off to sleep.

Perhaps, he distantly thought, this is what having a family is like.

 Saturday was full of anxious pacing, internal hypothetical conversations, and Patton's desperate attempts at keeping the normalcy. Or, well, as normal as it got in his house.

At breakfast, Virgil picked at his chocolate chip waffles, his stomach turning. He tried to listen to Logan and Patton's reassurances, but in the end, he had to excuse himself from the table to take a shower, let the warm water and strong-smelling lavender soap ease his nerves. It only kind of worked, but at least now he was clean.

By lunchtime, noon, he managed to keep down half of a PB&J before holing up in his room. When Patton went up to check on him, he was laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with his headphones on. Patton could hear the tinny music from five feet away.

He sat on the edge of Virgil's bed, and the teen paused his music and removed his headphones.

"Dad? You good?" He asked, sounding worried. Patton smiled at him.

"I'm alright, kiddo. Just... worried." He sighed. "I just don't want you getting hurt again."

He knew he was catastrophizing, and that Logan would tell him so, but Patton couldn't help it. What if Virgil gets hurt again? What if he and Roman get into a big fight? What if Roman hits him? What if they make up and it happens again? What if I come home one night and the house is too quiet and I go into the bathroom and-

"Dad," Virgil started, and sat up to wrap his arms around Patton's shoulders. "It's gonna be okay."

"But what if-"

"No. Look at me?" Patton turned to look at Virgil, who was boring into his eyes with a sort of determination. "I won't let anything go far enough that I get hurt. Remember what Logan said? Our house, our terms, and I'm not alone. It. Will. Be. Fine."

Patton searched his son's eyes for any sign of doubt, and was surprised to find none. He cracked a small smile.

"And here I thought it was me who comforted you," he half-joked. Virgil smirked.

"Symbiotic relationship. We help each other."

Patton shook his head and pulled Virgil into a proper side-hug.

"You're so smart, Vee."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Sure, Dad."

 As eight PM drifted closer, Virgil took to burning a hole in the living room carpet with his pacing. Patton was in the kitchen, stress-baking, and Logan was attempting to alleviate Virgil's stress. He would allow Virgil to speak one of his fears at a time, and would debunk them. 

"But what if I screw up and he hates me forever and I die alone with no friends and seventeen cats, and they eat my dead body until it's gone because I have no friends to look for me?"

Some of those fears were far-fetched. Nonetheless, Logan did what he did best: logical explanation.

"Well," he began slowly, "Roman is in the wrong, to start. It would not make sense for him to break off your friendship like that, considering how it clearly means so much to him. You will not die alone, because you can always make new friends.

"Your corpse will most likely not be cat food," he continued, "Unless you were starving your cats in life. However, even if it were, it would at least accomplish more than it would have had it been burned or buried."

Virgil nodded and breathed deep. He was wearing a clean pair of sweatpants and his usual hoodie, because Logan had suggested that the clothing would allow a casual feeling, and would likely be more comfortable for Virgil to move in.

Also, the loose clothing would be less likely to cause further distress in the event of a panic attack, not that Logan had voiced this.

They were just about to move on to the next fear when there was a knock from the front door. Virgil froze.

"You can do this, Virgil," Logan encouraged. "Just take him to your room and talk, yes?"

Virgil gave a small nod. Logan smiled a bit. 

"Okay. I'll go distract Patton, you sneak Roman into your room."

"Right. Thanks, L."

Logan nodded and headed off to the kitchen, and Virgil went to the front door. He took a deep breath before turning the handle and pulling it open.

 Roman knew he looked like shit. He hadn't taken time to look in the mirror before leaving his house, but judging by how badly his face ached with every movement, he figured it was safe to assume that he looked just about as bad as he felt.

So, he wasn't exactly surprised when Virgil's scowl turned to concern the moment he laid eyes on Roman.

"Jesus christ, what the fuck happened to you?"

Roman shrugged in response, and Virgil cursed again under his breath before stepping aside and fully opening the door.

"Get in here."

Roman did as instructed, and Virgil closed and locked the door behind him.

"Logan!" Virgil was shouting over his shoulder, towards the kitchen. Roman flinched at the volume, which made Virgil's concern grow. Roman never flinched. "Come be a doctor!"

"One moment!" A vaguely familiar voice. Logan, Roman presumed. Virgil walked him to the living room and flopped onto the couch, gesturing for Roman to do the same. Roman sat gingerly, gritting his teeth as his body screamed in protest.

"So, what happened?" Virgil was concerned, that much Roman could tell, even if he hid it behind a veil of nonchalance. Roman croaked out a response.

"Dad."

Virgil's eyes widened, and anger briefly crossed his face before a tall man in pajamas and glasses walked in, carrying a first aid kit.

"Roman," the man said as he crouched down in front of him, assessing the injuries on his face. Why did he seem so familiar? "I am Logan, Virgil's former doctor"--that explained why Roman knew him--"and Patton's current..."

"Boyfriend," Virgil finished. The man--Logan--blushed a bit as he began digging through the kit.

"I was going to say partner, but that works too." He got to work on cleaning up the blood and bruises on Roman's face. At some point, Patton came in with an ice pack, which Roman took gratefully and pressed to his black eye. Patton merely offered a pained smile and left, locking himself in his room. Roman didn't blame him. Once Logan was done with Roman's face, he spoke again.

"Roman, are there any other injuries aside from just your face?"

Roman looked over at Virgil, who nodded encouragingly. You can trust him, his eyes said. Roman took a breath and removed his jacket, wincing at the pain. Underneath, he had on only a short-sleeve shirt. Virgil gasped at the sight of Roman's mottled skin, all purple and sickly yellow. Logan schooled his expression into one of medical calm, but Roman could see in his eyes that he was anything but.

"Legs too," Roman mumbled. "Ribs."

"That bastard," Virgil whispered. Logan didn't disagree.

"Alright. Are you comfortable with removing your shirt? I can't do much about the bruises, but your ribs may be damaged, and I would like to examine them."

Roman shrugged and struggled to remove his shirt, quietly thanking Virgil when he reached over to help. Once his shirt was off, both Virgil and Logan seemed shocked. It occurred to him that maybe he was thinner than he thought, because he could see Virgil's eyes flicking between each individual rib.

"Jesus, Ro..." Virgil had tears in his eyes. Roman averted his gaze. 

Logan cleared his throat and got started with his examination. Roman let out a slight hiss when Logan prodded at his alarmingly visible ribs, muttering an apology. After a few minutes, Logan sighed.

"I don't believe your ribs are broken or fractured, merely bruised. However, I must ask," he fixed Roman with a piercing look. "Have you told anyone about this?"

Roman didn't respond for a few seconds. When he did, it was very quiet.

"No. I can't. But that doesn't matter." He looked back at Virgil, who seemed so sad and worried, it made Roman's heart ache. "I came here to apologize and explain. The rest can wait."

Logan nodded and stood, re-organizing the kit. "Very well. Virgil, Roman, I will be with Patton in his room if you should need anything."

Virgil looked like he wanted to protest, but decided against it. He stood up and helped Roman stand as well. He helped Roman back into his shirt, then led him to his room. Roman sat down on Virgil's bed while Virgil closed the door. His eyes caught on the Stitch doll, and he smiled a bit. Virgil sat down beside him and pulled the doll into his lap, hugging it to his stomach.

"Can we get this over with?" Virgil was tense, and it leaked into his tone. Roman nodded and began speaking quietly, his voice cracking.

He told Virgil about how his father had fallen into an alcoholic depression after his mother's death. He told him about his father losing his job, about how he had to be the adult of the house, how he hardly had time or money to eat.

He told him about dodging bottles, dodging blows. He told Virgil about his father's threat, and he told him about how his father had hurt him, over and over and over. He told him how he didn't want to hurt Virgil, but he needed to keep him safe, no matter the cost. 

"And earlier," Roman whispered, "before I came here, he caught me sneaking out. He got mad. I told him I was just going to work, and he believed it, but he still..."

Virgil nodded, and Roman realized his friend was crying silently.

"Vee, hey, what's-" he cut off with a grunt as Virgil launched at him, hugging him tightly. Roman ignored the pain and hugged him back, and realized he was crying too.

"I'm so sorry, Ro," Virgil choked out. "I-I didn't know, I d-didn't notice."

Roman shook his head. "No, Vee, I didn't tell you. Don't be sorry, please? It's gonna be okay."

Virgil sniffled and pulled away, looking Roman in the eyes sternly. "You gotta tell someone, Ro. You-you gotta tell the police, or the school, just- please, Ro, you have to get out of there, before it gets even worse."

As much as Roman wanted to dismiss Virgil's advice, he knew Virgil spoke from experience. So, instead of ignoring it, Roman took a shake breath and nodded.

"I will," he promised. "I'll tell the cops. I'll do it tonight."

Virgil smiled a bit and hugged Roman again. "Good. And me and Pat and L, we'll all be there with you, okay?"

"Okay. Okay, Virge."

 After they stopped crying, and after Virgil confirmed that he forgave Roman, they went to Patton's room. They found Logan holding Patton protectively. Apparently, seeing Roman in that state had triggered his memories of a past relationship, one he had, until that night, not told anyone but Virgil and his old therapist about. Once they got the go-ahead, Virgil and Roman told the adults about what Roman had been through, and why he had regressed to his old, cruel ways.

By the end, even Logan was holding back tears.

They all piled into Patton's car, and Logan (who was the most emotionally stable) drove them to the police station. There, Roman gave his statement, and so did Virgil. The station sent a few cops to Roman's house. Many tears were shed that night, and as they waited for the cops to return with Roman's father in cuffs, they all sat together in the receiving area, offering hugs and hands and words of comfort.

Roman thought Virgil looked adorable, falling asleep against his shoulder, his red jacket wrapped around his friend's shoulders, because he was cold. He sneaked a kiss onto Virgil's forehead, missing the knowing glances between Patton and Logan.

They would be okay.

 Epilogue

 "Are you sure you have everything, kiddo?"

"Yes, Dad. I've only checked five thousand times."

"Five thousand and one, my love."

Virgil shot a Look at Roman, who winked and took the box from his hands. He kissed Virgil's cheek as he passed by, carrying the box out the open front door to a bright red SUV outside.

Virgil huffed and turned back to Patton, who was fretting over the stack of boxes in the living room. "I just don't want you forgetting anything! Not that I would mind bringing it up to you..."

"Dad." Virgil places his hands firmly on Patton's shoulders. They were the same height now, so it was easy to fix him with a stern look. "The college is literally six hours away. You're not driving all the way up there to drop off something I might have forgotten."

"Not to mention how unlikely it is," Logan added, bringing a box in from Virgil's room and stacking it on top of another. "I assure you, Patton, Virgil has everything he needs or wants in these boxes."

"But how do you know?"

Logan smirked. "Because he's packed practically all of his belongings."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Way to back me up, Mom."

"I am not your mother."

"Technicalities."

Virgil felt arms snake around his waist and blushed as a pair of lips pressed themselves against the side of his neck. "Virgil, stop being rude."

"Thank you, Roman." Logan smiled at him.

"After all, that's no way to treat your mother!"

"You're dead to me."

"Logan!" Patton exclaimed, aghast. Everyone else burst into laughter before returning to the boxes. Jokes and quips and worries were exchanged as the family worked together to pile boxes into the back of the SUV in the hot Florida sun. By the end, both Virgil and Roman had their jackets tied around their waists, and Patton had gone inside to fetch some lemonade.

Virgil reached up to close the trunk, and Roman caught a glimpse of his arms.

In the two years that had passed since the end of junior year, when they had made up again and stayed the night in a police station, Roman and Virgil had become much closer, both as friends and, later, as boyfriends. Virgil had eventually come to trust him enough to let him see his arms. They had both cried that night, curled up together in Virgil's twin-size bed, as Roman traced the scars he knew he had at least partial blame for.

Now, Roman saw how Virgil's scars were so much less visible than before. He saw how Virgil didn't hide them in shame anymore, how he smiled so carelessly, even when nobody was looking, and he felt his chest swell with pride. When the trunk slammed closed, he pulled Virgil close and kissed his neck again. Virgil tried to squirm away.

"Princey, we are both covered in sweat, that's fucking disgusting."

"Yes," Logan piped up, glaring at the two. "Disgusting."

"Logan, we literally heard you and Patton fuc-"

"Who wants lemonade!" Roman's rebuttal was thankfully cut off by Patton, who arrived with a tray of glasses filled with ice-cold lemonade. They each took one and drank greedily, Logan avoiding everyone's eyes with a pink blush on his cheeks.

Once they were done, a heavy sort of silence fell on them.

"So," Patton began, "You'll call, right?"

"Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday," Virgil confirmed. "And we'll visit twice a month."

"And you'll be safe?"

"Worry not, Patton! I will keep Virgil safe and sound!"

"That had better extend to you as well," Logan added. 

"Logie's right. Both of you stay safe. And if you ever need anything..."

"I know, Dad."

Patton looked between the two, his eyes filling with bittersweet tears of pride and sadness. He rushed forward and pulled them both into a tight hug, whispering.

"I love you both so much, kiddos."

Both Virgil and Roman hugged him back.

"And we, you, Padre."

"Love ya too, Dad."

After a moment, Patton released them, swiping at his eyes. Logan stepped up to them and cleared his throat, avoiding both of their gazes.

"I wish you both a safe drive, and I hope you enjoy your college experience."

Roman and Virgil smirked at each-other and engulfed Logan in a hug of their own. (Unseen, Patton took a picture with his phone.) Logan stumbled back a bit, surprised, before hesitantly hugging back.

"Thank you, Papa," Virgil whispered. "For everything you've done for me. For us."

"We love you, Madre." Roman said.

Logan gave a wet chuckle. "I'm not your mother, either."

"You're a lot like her."

And damn, Logan didn't have a comeback for that. He pulled the boys--his boys, his brain whispered--closer, then released them. They all separated and wiped their eyes. Roman took Virgil's hand and smiled at him.

"Ready to go, my dark prince?"

Virgil rolled his eyes, but he squeezed Roman's hand. He looked back at the house where he grew up, the house Roman had moved into after his father's arrest, the house where he almost died and where he re-learned how to live. He looked at Patton and Logan, the two men who had done everything for him, given him everything he needed to become the person he was now. He let it set in that he was leaving. That he had made it, he had lived through his worst, and now he was going off to college with his best friend--his boyfriend--by his side. He smiled and nodded at Roman, who seemed to have made a similar revelation.

"Yeah, Princey. I'm ready."

With a final wave, and a few more tears, Roman hopped into the driver's seat, and Virgil in the passenger's, and they drove away, resting their connected hands on the console. Virgil smiled down at the Stitch doll he had insisted on carrying with him in his lap, the Stitch doll he had received years ago, in a hospital room, from someone he never thought he would love. He leaned his head on Roman's shoulder, and Roman smiled lovingly at him in the rearview.

"I love you, Virgil."

They would be okay. After all, they had already survived their worst. College would be a breeze compared to that, and if not? They would still have each-other.

"Love ya too, Ro."

And that would be more than enough.