Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Janus didn't know what he should have expected when he heard the knock at his door. If it had come earlier in the evening, he might have thought it was Patton, possibly coming to cajole him into more bonding. Or Logan, perhaps, with some possibly important matter that might conceivably require his attention, though such occurrences (while more common now, than before) were still rare. And Remus, of course, could appear at any hour and very frequently did, but Remus had never once knocked in the entirety of his existence. And as for Virgil-

Well. Once upon a time, a late night visit from Virgil had been something he might possibly have looked forward to. But it had certainly been a very long time...

And Roman, notably, hadn't even been on his list of potential guesses. In fact, if someone had asked Janus, just that morning, about his thoughts about who might drop by for a sudden visit, he would have confidently told them that Roman would no doubt have nobly bled to death rather than seek Janus's input, advice, or aid for anything (save, perhaps, in the unlikely scenario in which Thomas's life might have depended on it.), And yet here he was, nearing midnight, standing at his door, looking into the (admittedly harried-looking) face of the Prince himself.

So, quite naturally, his first instinct was to simply shut the door again.

"No, wait-"

Roman shoved back against the door, wedging his foot in the doorway to keep him from closing it. Janus glanced down at the offending shoe, then back up at the Prince. Their eyes met, and Janus raised an eyebrow, an unspoken challenge, as if to say 'Do you think that will stop me?' And for a moment Roman's eyes widened into something hilariously close to panic. And Janus slowly, slowly began to push back—just in case Roman somehow really hadn't believed that he would—only for Roman to bring him up short with a single, unexpected word.

"Please."

(Because, again, if he had been asked just that morning, Janus would have confidently said that Roman would rather cut out his own tongue than ever ask him for anything, much less say please.)

And Janus was stunned, but he did his level best not to show it. Sparing a moment to look over the Prince once again he took in the other's state, which he had noted only briefly before. He had assumed, at first glance, that it was merely the telltale signs of tiredness—the result of the breakneck overwork that both twins were prone to when strongly inspired, or else the rakishly applied signs of heroic wear that the Prince often wore like a badge of honor after a successful stint of adventuresome brainstorming in the depths of Thomas's imagination. But, upon closer inspection, Janus realized that Roman was not merely mussed, but noticeably disheveled. His clothes were not their typically pristine white, marred by far more dirt and damage than was usual from his returns, nor was his hair styled to the other's usual standards. His jacket hung oddly on his shoulders, as if his arm was being held close to his chest beneath it, and-

And there was blood on his boots.

Which...Janus could hardly say that was a sight he normally considered particularly shocking (dealing with Remus for so long had served to make him impressively difficult to shock), but it was certainly surprising coming from the usually pressed and presentable Prince.

Janus was, he could admit to himself, mildly concerned for the Creative side. But, far more importantly, now he was also curious.

"You have one minute," Janus said, letting up his pressure on the door.

He was...only appropriately amused watching Roman sag with relief.

"Thank you, I-" he cut himself off, his relief suddenly hidden behind a frown as if he were only just remembering who he was talking to.

And he might have taken further time to collect himself for whatever it was he had actually planned to say, but the tense silence, which had hardly even had the chance to settle, was abruptly shattered by...a noise. A noise that was, in a word, confoundingly out of place within the mindscape. A noise which, Janus was alarmed to realize, was coming directly from the misshapen bundle that was pushing out the fabric of Roman's coat beneath his sash.

And now Janus was shocked, because that sounded like-

"Is that-" Janus stared hard, actually squinting, but that didn't make the lump vanish, nor did it make the sound go away. "Do you have a baby?"

"Will you please let me explain?"

And there was that word again, practically dripping with frantic desperation. Resigned, Janus let out a sigh, opening the door slightly.

"Alright," Janus said, finally. "You now have five minutes. And this is definitely a conversation we should be having in the hallway."

From the gratitude he saw on Roman's face as he slipped through the door, Janus might almost have been deluded into forgetting that the two of them despised each other.

Once the door was shut, Roman pulled his jacket open, clearly so that he could hold the...child more comfortably. And Janus found himself staring, more disarmed than he could ever recall feeling in his life, as he took in the form of the very small infant nestled in the Prince's arms. The soft round cheeks, dusted with small, dark scales, the tiny squinting eyes hiding a golden glimmer-

And the long, black-scaled coils, flecked with green, that wound tightly around Roman's arm.

"What-"

"Logan talked Remus and I into collaborating in the imagination," Roman threw out in a rush, apparently taking Janus at his word regarding the time limit. "And everything was actually going great—I mean, things definitely got a bit...wilder, than they usually do when I'm working solo—but then we finally triumphed over the monster and then-"

And Roman broke off, staring down at the small creature curled up in his arms. He looked so lost that Janus could almost laugh. Not that he need continue, because Janus could all but picture it...

"Yes, a suddenly orphaned baby monster does sound like the sort of twist Remus would be amused to add," Janus reasoned, almost fondly.

"Anyway, we kind of got into an argument about it?" Roman continued. "About monsters, and...something he called the 'Baby Orc Dilemma'? And he said that if I really felt that strongly about vanquishing beasts, then I should just- Um. Kill it. But then he pointed out that even if I didn't, it was just going to die anyway if we left it behind, and I-"

"But why bring it to me?" Janus asked, cutting to the chase, because he did not particularly like the direction in which all of this was going.

"You know why," Roman said. "Do you think I know anything about raising snakes?"

"Do you think I know anything about raising a baby?" Janus asked in return. "Most reptiles don't even rear their young."

"Please?" Roman asked him again.

And Janus's eye twitched minutely, because no, this time, it wasn't going to work...

"It's your orphan," Janus said sharply, watching Roman wince. "Shouldn't this be your responsibility?"

"What am I going to do if Patton finds out that I orphaned a baby?"

He sounded absolutely terrified. And Janus supposed he couldn't blame him. He would hardly admit it to anyone, but though he still maintained an admirably strong tolerance, he certainly wasn't quite as impervious to Patton's disappointment as he used to be.

"One of the others, then?" Janus suggested.

"Logan would refuse to keep it a secret," Roman argued, "which would mean still having to tell Patton where the baby came from. And if I tried to pass something like this off on Virgil he'd probably implode just from the stress."

Which, sadly, Janus had to admit were both fair points.

"What about Remus?" Janus tried. "It was his plot twist, after all."

But Roman just looked at him, and Janus didn't bother to argue further. He hadn't had much hope for the attempt anyway. Of course, he doubted that Remus would actually hurt the child. On purpose. But he might easily let the responsibility slip his mind in favor of something else more exciting. To say nothing of what Remus might randomly deem appropriate for feeding the little thing...

Which brought to mind the question of what the creature actually was supposed to eat when they were this young. Examining the infant closely, he decided they were almost certainly too young to be chewing solid foods...and probably too small, yet, to be swallowing any sort of prey whole. On the other hand, it wasn't as if a snake mother was going to be able to give milk, no matter how fond of certain...phrases Remus had been once upon a time.

And then there was the related question of how long it had been since they had last eaten. The baby in Roman's arms seemed to be growing increasingly fussy during their discussion.

"Janus, please," Roman tried a final time. "You won't even have to take care of it forever. Just give me...maybe a week. Just one week to come up with some kind of solution, then we can send them back to the imagination. Okay?"

Still, Janus had every intent of holding firm on the matter, until Roman finally grit his teeth and added, flatly:

"And we both know this is the best blackmail material you're ever going to get out of me."

Which...Janus thought he still could have debated if he had a mind to. He thought that Roman was underestimating his own ability to get himself into predicaments, but he decided not to say so out loud. And he certainly couldn't say he wasn't tempted by the possibilities that having this kind of dirt on Roman might offer down the line. Rather than respond, he instead looked down to where the baby was trying, with surprising single-mindedness, to pull Roman' fingers into their mouth. With a sigh, he reached out and lifted the child into his own arms.

"You said this was one of Remus's monsters, yes?" Janus asked.

"Yes? Why-"

Janus gently lifted the baby's lip, revealing a pair of tiny, pearly fangs sticking out from their gums. Not quite the sort that you would find on a viper, not the kind meant for injecting venom, but they were definitely sharp. If he allowed himself the uncomfortable experience of thinking like Remus for only a moment, he thought he had the answer figured out. Holding the child securely he brought out his spare arms and, with a free hand, he pulled off one of his many gloves. He offered his finger to the fussing child, who pulled it eagerly into their tiny mouth...

And promptly bit down.

Though he was expecting the pain Janus still let out a soft hiss. Meanwhile, the child at last started to quiet as they began to suckle happily. Roman, for his part, seemed much more phased than he was. In fact, he looked rather sickly pale as he managed to process just what the child was doing.

"Oh, what the f-"

"You have one week," Janus said, shoving the Prince not at all gently toward the door.

And Roman was still so off-balance that he let him.

Once the door was shut behind him, Janus took the child and sat down in his chair. He glanced at the glass of wine he had poured earlier with deep and regretful longing.

"You're just lucky you're so devilishly handsome," he informed the child solemnly.

He gave the infant a soft boop on the nose with one finger while another hand dismissed the beverage from his glass with a wave, replacing the contents with cranberry juice instead. Between the loss of his wine and the sleep he was about to miss out on while caring for a child, Janus was about to be so irritable, and the other sides would deserve every minute of it.

It was all perfectly fine, though. After all, it was only going to be for a week.

Chapter Text

Any other side might have found it a challenge, keeping the knowledge of his newest acquisition under wraps over the course of the following week, but for Janus it was practically, well, child's play. After all, it wasn't as if he were of the habit of being social with most of the other sides. If his perspective wasn't needed on a particular issue then he wasn't going to hang about waiting for them to point out that it wasn't wanted either (as if that could ever matter). While he was often busy with a multitude of duties in the mindscape, his comings and goings within view of the others were typically sporadic, and he didn't make it a habit to offer information about his schedule to anyone. Though clearly disappointed, Patton had seemed understanding enough when his invitations to meet were turned down citing work to be done. And while Remus's attentions were unpredictable, he was also very easily distracted.

So Janus's presence wouldn't be missed if it were to become just a tiny bit more scarce.

On the occasions where his presence was needed, he had other ways of keeping things close to the chest. His ability to command silence within the mindscape didn't end with forcing the others to stifle their words. With his spare arms holding the child hidden under his capelet it was simple enough to keep the others from hearing any noises the baby might make for the duration of a short appearance, and if need be he could just as easily aggravate the others into welcoming his departure should things stretch on for too long.

It was hardly the first time he had kept a secret like this for himself, after all. Things often came to him that weren't wanted elsewhere.

Despite embodying Thomas's selfishness, Janus rarely had a direct hand in managing his desires. It was a bit funny if you thought about it, because one would think that those two functions should have been linked. But Janus had many duties in the mindscape, and for the most part wanting things for Thomas simply wasn't one of them. Far more often, that responsibility was split among the others. Roman, of course, safeguarded Thomas's dreams and his passions, and Logan his more concrete and practical aspirations. Virgil sought after security and Patton after contentment, while Remus embodied Thomas's most random and extreme impulses. Once a want was fully realized, however, the duty fell to Janus to push Thomas to see those desires fulfilled. It was his job to urge Thomas to reach out and take, and when the world turned around and tried to take from him it was Janus's job to remind Thomas that it was his right not to want to let go...

And yet...

Thomas's mind had created him as a serpent—a liar and a tempter—but it had also formed him with so very many arms with which to reach out and grasp and claim. No, Janus was not built to want but to covet. In the same way he often mirrored the other sides, it was also his job to hold a mirror up to the varied riches of others, asking the necessary question: didn't Thomas deserve the same?

Likewise, Janus did not truly want many things for himself, either, but what the others had he often envied. After all, he didn't get to call dibs on very many things. Patton usually had first claim on memories—golden or bittersweet or heartbreaking. Logan had priority access to most of the knowledge that Thomas was able to acquire. Often the twins would swoop in and snatch up one or the other, each always hungry for a bit of inspiration. And Virgil loved to collect the odd tidbit now and then, secreting away the occasional unsettling fact or awkward but pointless moment of social interaction to fixate on somewhere down the line. And there were other interests that got served before Janus as well...

But whatever was left afterward, unclaimed on the edge of the subconscious, that belonged to Janus, and he snatched whatever came within his grasp, greedily and without reservation. They nearly always came to him with holes in them, or perhaps a little wear around the edges—fragments of memory needing a bit of patching, incomplete facts riddled with blanks that needed filling in, half-formed musings that still needed shoring up by the bracing structure of assumption. But Janus was good at his craft, so that once he got his hands on them Thomas would never know the difference.

But many other things that came to Janus never saw the light of day again. Memories and thoughts that were too painful to dwell on were given to him to be shut away for safe keeping. Sometimes it was his job to bury them, and sometimes only to shelter them until the time had come to set them free...

(It had worked out so well with Remus, who had never wanted to be discarded again. It had worked less well with Virgil, who in the end hadn't wanted to be kept.)

Which was to say that, being experienced in the care of thoughts, figments, and full fledged functions, it wasn't difficult for Janus to adapt his schedule around his new ward. Granted, it was the first time he had ever cared for a baby, but he had taken care of Remus for most of Thomas's life, and next to that the disturbance an infant was capable of causing was practically nothing.

(Especially now that he had gone ahead and made handling Remus everyone else's problem as well as his own. As much as he cared for Remus deep down, that was a headache the others had escaped sharing with him for far too long...)

Not to mention, he now technically had Roman at his beck and call.

He tried not to abuse it—well, not too much—but there were things that it was far easier for Roman to get a hold of than Janus ever could. If he wanted Janus to safeguard his little oopsie-whoopsie from Patton's discovery then he was going to need to make sure Janus had everything that task required (as well as anything he could think of that could possibly be justified as making that task even the slightest bit easier). So far, he had asked for a crib outfitted with a gentle heating pad under the mattress and a couple of dense, soft toys filled with beans that could both soak up the warmth and withstand being coiled around tightly with a surprising amount of force for something so tiny. For good or ill, bottles weren't a necessity for keeping the child fed, but he had needed help in conjuring a pacifier both soft and tough enough for the infant to sink their little teeth into without destroying it.

Most of the basics he was able enough to handle conjuring on his own—blankets and little shirts, and a little knit beanie that had just a hint of a brim so the two of them could match. As well as all the band aids he was going through offering the child a bite. Lucky for him that he had so many fingers to spare, and that his gloves could keep the evidence hidden.

(Certain...hygienic considerations had required a consult, because while diapers would have probably been within Janus's means to supply, the child's form did come with certain challenges in their use. Fortunately, as the child was a product of the imagination, Roman was able to hand-wave the issue, which the Prince insisted should never have been an issue in the first place. Of course, while Roman had been the one to awkwardly play the stork in bringing them, the child had, ultimately originated with Remus, who naturally tended to spend more time fixated on messy inconveniences. Janus didn't understand how it worked, really, only that it did. And, like most hand-waves, it would only continue to function so long as he didn't question it.)

But, ultimately, a week was a period of time that tended to pass much faster than one expected, and, in spite of his added duties, Janus felt that the week that followed was no exception.

Of course, it quickly became clear that he wasn't the only one keenly aware of how rapidly the time was passing. Each time he spoke to Roman over the course of that week there was a tension, whether Janus raised the topic of the child and the Prince's promised solution or not. By the end of that week, the nature of that tension had taken on an almost hunted quality. It was plainly apparent—at least to Janus—that Roman either hadn't been as successful in finding a solution as he would have liked, or that his other duties had kept him from searching for it more actively than he had planned. And Janus certainly wasn't the most merciful side in the mindscape (on most days he would, in fact, proudly own his title as one of the pettiest), nor was he predisposed toward cutting Roman much slack (and certainly not since that disastrous trial) in this one instance he was willing to extend the Prince an inch or so to spare.

And so Janus very charitably hadn't brought it up as the end of the week crept past...

Nor the second week. Or the third.

And it was fine, truly, if Roman had forgotten...the longer he let it stretch out, the greater favor he could ask in return when all was said and done. The more he could mock him over the lapse...

(He wasn't, at all, secretly relieved with each day that passed that the child stayed with him.

And he certainly hadn't gotten attached.)

Of course, as was typically the case with all good things (and, most especially, the good things that made their way to Janus), this blissful period was destined to come to an end.

With few exceptions, it was always only ever a matter of time before the things he came to enjoy were taken away...or walked out on their own. Though he was unprepared for the new sense of betrayal when the disruption finally came. After all, he was used to having his toys reclaimed when it turned out Thomas actually needed them—his carefully patched memories finding their way into one of Patton's books, or when a half-retained piece of fact was suddenly needed for Logan to apply a temporary fix to a problem until more complete knowledge could be obtained.

(He had at least managed to convince himself that he had successfully moved on after Virgil had ascended to his figurative place in the sun.)

But Janus always kept his defenses up around the others when they came calling, because even when it was necessary he hated to part with the things that he treasured. This time, he had been aware from the start that the arrangement was meant to be a temporary one. And, with difficulty, Janus had tried to prepare himself for the inevitable day when Roman would come, ready to take the child to whatever permanent home he meant to find. The peace was never meant to last...

Still, ironically, he hadn't expected that Remus would be the one to shatter it.

There had only been so long that he was ever going to be able to conceal the child's existence from Remus. The other side was easily distracted, yes, but the two of them spent enough time together under more normal circumstances that the change in Janus's routine was bound to be noticed sooner or later. And what was more, Janus was the single audience that Remus could typically count on for many of his ideas. While he was getting better at digging up the occasional nugget of bizarre whimsy that might appeal to Patton or a peculiar enough musing to pique Logan's curiosity into dissecting it further, for the most part Janus was the one person who would listen to the broad spectrum of the nonsense he came up with. And so far Janus was the only one that Remus trusted (anymore) with any sort of opinions that touched on refinement or development of the rare ideas that Remus decided he actually wanted to hold onto...

So, yes, Janus's scarcity eventually had been noticed and, of course, Remus had inevitably come to bug him about it.

Four weeks and some change was an awfully long time to spend with no one but a very small child and a deeply inconvenienced Prince for company (no matter how funny the latter was). Neither had very much to recommend them as conversation partners (though he much preferred the child's scrunched up little expression of confusion to Roman's.

Though he would certainly never have admitted it to Remus out loud, Janus had actually missed him.

By the time Remus had arrived, Janus was actually somewhat relieved to have the snake out of the bag—at least so far as the Duke was concerned. But while Remus wasn't the most...subtle or circumspect confidante he could have chosen, there hadn't seemed to be any real reason to continue concealing the child's existence from him once he had come to inquire after Janus's absences point-blank. After all, both the infant and its late mother had been the Duke's creations to start with...

(Sadly, it had been Janus's foolish mistake to forget how rarely Remus bothered to get invested in his own ideas.)

It had actually started off pleasantly enough at first—Remus was, of course, tickled to no end by the thought that his little prank on Roman had gotten under his skin enough to ask Janus of all people to fix it.

"I'd have given both kidneys and my left lung to see that," Remus crowed as he paced about with glee. "Hell, consider that an open offer if you ever feel like reenacting it for me, J."

"I'll keep it in mind for the next time I'm in a meat pie sort of mood," Janus said, and got the expected snicker.

"Watching him beg must've been a riot," Remus said. "Still...a bit surprised you actually said yes."

Remus paused briefly in his pacing to look at Janus where he sat in his chair with the child in his lap. It was between time for feedings at the moment, and not yet time when he would be putting them down to sleep. In fact, he was grateful for Remus's timing. He could certainly do without the expected off-color commentary regarding the necessary feeding method, and he just knew that trying to soothe the child back to sleep after Remus's ramblings inevitably woke them up would have been a chore and a half.

"Yes, well, as Roman much too enticingly pointed out," Janus remarked, "he's basically at my mercy so long as he's unwilling to fess up to Patton about how the child came to be so...violently unhomed. Besides which, it occurred to me when he mentioned your discussion of the 'baby orc' issue that you might have had some sort of extended lesson in mind..."

"Nah," Remus said, gesturing carelessly. "Spur of the moment thing. But man it was funny to watch him standing there holding a baby and looking all awkward and sad while it's mom's blood was decorating his pretty boots..."

Somehow the image didn't get the chuckle out of Janus that he felt it probably should have. At least not naturally...he forced one, a tiny little fib of a laugh. Just for Remus's sake.

"Speaking of blood," Janus said, taking the opening, "and mothers and monsters for that matter, I've noticed this one has a rather unusual diet. What are they exactly?"

"Lamia-naga," Remus said.

"Ah, of course," Janus managed, because on one hand that did track, but on another... "Not your usual form when it comes to monster-making, though. In fact it almost feels a little..."

He would never dare say it in as many words, not out loud, but it was not just tame by Remus's usual standards, but the mashup also felt a little...derivative of a certain Prince's work. Remus, surprisingly didn't seem offended.

"It's pretty basic, am I right?" Remus acknowledged sourly, wrinkling his nose. "I mean, we were meant to be working together on that one, or at least that was Logan's point in talking us both into it. It was really sort of a trial run. He's not quite ready for my actual masterpieces just yet. I doubt I could have gotten Pissy on board for slaying the acidic snail with the heads of twenty screaming Karens. I had to play down to his level."

"Naturally," Janus said.

Inwardly, Janus decided he had never been more grateful for anything in his life than he was for Remus's improbable compromise regarding the shape of his dear little horror.

"Though, clearly," he observed lightly, "you didn't let it stop you from finding other ways of making him suffer."

Remus threw his head back, cackling.

"Yeah," he said, punctuating his explosion of mirth by wiping a tear from his eye. "Still, didn't mean for you to get caught in the crossfire, J. I know you've probably got a lot of boring serious people business going on, with the scheming and the plate-spinning and all that."

"It's hardly been that different from my usual duties," Janus said rolling his eyes. "If there's one thing I can say for the average level of maturity in the mindscape, it's that it's very successfully prepared me for the amount of crying, screaming and crankiness involved in caring for an infant."

"Eh, still, as soon as you get tired of it, I'd be happy to take them off your hands."

Janus let out a snort.

"Remus, while I appreciate the offer, I hope you understand why you would be the last on my list if I was ever stuck looking for a babysitter."

Remus let out a raspberry.

"Yeah, no," he said. "I bet you'd probably hand it over to V. Though, wouldn't that be its own kind of disaster to watch... Definitely popcorn worthy, like a beheading."

And Janus certainly wasn't prepared for the sudden swarm of conflicted feelings that rushed up at the thought of Virgil looking after the little snakelet for him. He stood with the child and started to walk with them, bouncing them lightly to offer a little bit of comfort.

(For the child. Of course.)

"But no," Remus continued cheerily, "I mean, if you want I can just get rid of the problem for you."

Janus halted in his tracks.

"You'd- What?"

Which unfortunately was the exact wrong thing to say.

"I know the rest of you guys aren't good at the whole 'alive and moving' thing like me and Bromato," Remus said him, "but they're still just imagination stuff like everything else we conjure. And I know you don't like it when I just leave stuff lying around, so if you want I can just-"

And Remus waved his hand.

It took all of a half-second for Janus to process Remus's intent with the gesture, but that was still half a second too late to stop him. Too late to act, too late for anything but the shocked and anguished sound of terror, of horror—of grief—that tore free from his lungs. And in that first, horrible second that followed, Janus was all but helpless against the shaking and the tears that were already beginning to fall from his eye-

And then that second had rolled past, and the child in his arms let out a piercing wail, terrified by his sudden shout, and Janus clutched them to his chest so tightly it very nearly silenced them again.

Janus stood there, shaking, staring at Remus.

Remus was staring back with a look of sheer, open, disarmed confusion. It was an expression so naked and guileless, so honestly, innocently surprised in a way that was utterly foreign to Remus. In any other circumstances he thought he might have managed to feel some sort of pity, but that shock wasn't the reaction of someone who had just tried to make a joke that hadn't landed.

Remus had fully intended to-

He almost had-

All that Janus could feel in that moment was a sheer, unbridled, roiling fury.

"Get out."

"Wait, Janus, did you-"

"Get out!"

"I didn't think-"

Janus didn't let him finish, not listening to a single word as he stalked forward, summoning his arms. And Remus was typically a very stubborn side in his way—he could be very difficult at times to manipulate or redirect, let alone banish from a place where he wasn't wanted. That he allowed himself to be dragged, bodily, from Janus's room just then was surely a testament to his enduring state of shock, but Janus couldn't find it in himself to care. Janus threw Remus from his room with every bit of force—every ounce of will—that he was capable of.

The door slammed shut and locked itself against Remus's return with such force and finality that everyone in the mindscape must have felt it. And once it was closed, Janus sank back against it, all strength gone from his knees as he held the child close in his arms, murmuring and hushing softly, nonsense flowing ceaselessly past his lips as he tried desperately to calm them.

(To calm himself...)

"Sshhhh, my lovely. You're alright. That's it. I'm right here. Papa's here... Everything's alright."

Chapter Text

"So...I fucked up."

Roman didn't jump at the words that were spoken, shrilly and without warning, just behind him, but it was a very near thing. Bracing himself with a slow breath, he continued working on the sketch in front of him—a concept piece for the location of an upcoming dream. Yet while he wouldn't give his brother the satisfaction of disturbing his work, he had come to terms with the fact that it was better, in the long run, to acknowledge the Duke when he appeared, only because the consequences of trying to ignore him were always much worse...

"Hello, Remus, nice to see you too."

Roman decided that he needed to come up with a special word just for describing one of his brother's visits. One that could encompass a spontaneity guaranteed to shock, and shock unsurprising in its consistency. Expectedly unexpected, predictably unpredictable.

Unfortunately, the only idea he was being granted for such a word was completely unusable, and Roman knew that his brother's sudden presence in his room was to blame. All sides were subject to contamination when entering another side's room, but because they represented different facets of the same function—because once, way back in their make up, they might have formed instead as a single side—that potential for contamination ran both ways. Just by visiting him at home, Remus managed to subtly bring Roman down to his level, and Roman counted his blessings every time that those visits were kept short by the threat of Remus experiencing the same, the two of them influencing one another, each of them tainted equally.

(Regardless, he knew that using "Remussy" in a sentence was a trap unsubtly laid by his brother's influence on his mind, and one that he would not be falling for, thank you very much.)

"Bro, I fucked up," his brother said again, hands coming down to grip Roman by his shoulders.

Though his fingers were digging in almost painfully, Roman refused to turn around.

"So? What else is new?"

Clearly wound up and not in the mood for being dismissed, Remus began shaking him violently.

"No, you need to listen to me!" Remus wailed frantically. "I fucked up and I desperately need your help un-fucking it, okay?"

And maybe his thoughts had been gently loosened by all the shaking, but...that actually managed to make him turn around at last. Because Remus was, in very many ways, nearly shameless, but that wasn't to say he wasn't without his pride.

Frowning, Roman turned his chair around to face him and suddenly felt his stomach sink. Because it was simple, on most days, to say that his brother looked like a mess—he was a mess, and often proudly—but usually he was an energetically bouncing, excited sort of mess, usually mussed from his ill favored wanderings down the darkest paths of Thomas's thoughts, and eager to share whatever twisted new imaginings he had managed to nurture from the darkest, most fetid soil of Thomas's subconscious mind. But the sort of mess that Roman found himself looking at just then was a foreign one—at least as far as his brother was concerned.

Remus was...tense, but it was not with his usual, pent-up energy, which was often like an over-wound toy waiting eagerly for a chance to spring. This tension was palpably heavier, weighing on shoulders that hunched slightly—a posture that was well at home on Virgil, but absolutely alien on Remus.

Oh, Roman thought, suddenly shaken.

Remus really had fucked up, hadn't he? And it must have been pretty severe if even Remus seemed to realize that it had been a mistake. And for him to have come to Roman...

"What happened?"

"So, you remember that funny little joke I played with the death-noodle and the scaly kid and all the crying—mostly your crying?"

Roman couldn't help the face he made at the reminder.

"Hard to forget..." he muttered sourly. "Why?"

"Well, I finally got bored and went to pay a visit to good old Snake-in-the-Box, and behold the shocking surprise that he's gotten a bit broody..."

Roman let out a snort.

"Tell me about it," he said, "he's basically had me on call for all his nursery furnishing needs..."

Remus let out a snort of his own.

"Well, that really sounds like a you-problem, Fisher Prince," he said, "but we've got bigger problems at the moment..."

Reminded of the desperation and urgency which had colored Remus's arrival, Roman tried to put his irritation with the Blackmailing Mamba aside.

"Right, so I'll ask again. What happened?"

"Well," his brother began—also beginning to pace, "you know how Janus is all 'self care is important' and 'don't interrupt my spa day' and 'go away and bother someone else'-"

"I think that last one is pretty much an everyone thing with you-" Roman interjected, but of course his brother ignored him.

"After stumbling upon him with his little swaddled snakelet it crossed my mind that the kid might be cutting into that 'me time' he loves so much," Remus said. "So I offered to do something about it-"

"No offense-" Roman cut himself off. "No, actually, every offense, Remus, but you're not exactly babysitter material."

Remus let out a wet noise, waving even the suggestion of it away.

"Yeah, no, of course I'm not," Remus said. "But it was my joke, and so I thought if he wasn't laughing anymore, I'd just dismiss the little bean back into the ether..."

And Roman had been fishing for a comeback about just how funny he thought his brother's "joke" was, but at those words he felt every thought in his head come screeching to a halt.

"You-"

And he was still stuck just trying to process what his brother had said, but his processes didn't seem quite ready to handle it because the minute his thoughts hit a speed bump they decided to swerve instead.

"Wait. If you could just...do that, then why didn't you then?" Roman asked—or tried to ask, as in that moment the ability to compose a fully formed question seemed to elude him. "If you could- If you'd- If it wasn't...important enough for you to keep around, then why not- Why hand it off to me?"

Remus stopped in his tracks to stare at him for a moment, as if it were obvious.

"Because I was trying to teach you a lesson?" Remus said. "Also because it was funny seeing you get all worked up and taking it seriously. Like, 'Oh, no, consequences! My one true weakness! What will Papa say?!'"

Which, when he put it that way, he supposed that it was obvious. And also a dick move, but that wasn't exactly saying anything new. Though both were really beside the point...

"It seemed like Janus was taking it pretty seriously as well," Roman said quietly.

All of the mirth dropped abruptly from Remus's expression, that dread resurfacing with the reminder. Which didn't surprise Roman as much as he might once have thought that it would. But as much as his brother thrived on the outrage of others, if there was one thing that could put him in the mood he had arrived in then it was the thought of having Janus genuinely upset with him.

"Yeah," Remus managed, a little forlornly. "Shit."

Roman didn't know exactly how to feel about it, if he was honest. Most of the figments that he and his brother conjured weren't precisely real—not even as real as a side could be said to be. They could react as if they were, at least to whatever extent they put thought and effort into giving them those reactions, but for the most part they weren't...enduring, living in the same way a side was. There were exceptions—characters that he and Thomas had invested a significant amount of time developing together had a sort of presence of their own, but for the most part, the majority of the figments they created were...ephemeral. Like the fake Valerie he had called into being for a video a long time ago, or the puppies he had summoned once for Patton—they were there when they needed them, but then once they no longer needed them they...weren't. And it wasn't that they entirely ceased to exist—so long as the idea of them existed, they could always be called again, but...

Well, that wasn't really the same as being alive, was it? And who could know for sure that they really were the same figment if you summoned them a second time?

The sides were not technically "alive" or "real" either, but they at least endured. As far as any of them knew, they would all live for as long as Thomas lived—or at least as long as he continued to indulge the belief that they were there. Or as long as he didn't somehow realize that not believing would kill them all as dead as Tinker Bell in the original play, which-

(His thoughts were definitely starting to get more than a little bit morbid, which was a sure sign it was past time to get his brother out of his room.)

Still...

"Did you really just...dismiss the kid?"

Because that was such a softer way to think about it, wasn't it? Dismissed. Sent away elsewhere, not...unmade entirely. Because this wasn't a puppy conjured up for a few hours to brighten Patton's day, or an effigy of one of Thomas's friends to rehearse a few ideas with. This was a kid that Janus had seemed...surprisingly committed to taking care of for what Roman was just realizing must already have been over a month now.

"I tried," Remus said slowly, staring Roman down. "That's the interesting bit."

Roman frowned, staring back.

"Tried," he echoed, confused. "Wait, tried as in...failed? Tried as in it didn't work?"

"Bingo," Remus said, shooting him finger guns.

"That- That doesn't make sense," Roman said. "It's a figment. It should obey our whims over Thomas's imagination. Especially yours, since you're the one who made it."

"Only if Thomas fully believed it was imaginary," Remus reminded.

"But Thomas doesn't even know the kid exists-"

"No..." Remus said slowly. "But Janus does. And Janus-"

"Controls...Thomas's unconscious suspension of disbelief," Roman managed slowly, suddenly realizing. "And Janus has been feeding his little foster-figment his blood..."

Which was potentially huge when, more than anything, what any of the sides actually bled was symbolism.

"Double Bingo," Remus said. "Janus holds what Thomas does or doesn't believe wound up in his coils, so the fact that the kid's been suckling at his scaly snitties for over a month is kind of insane. But still, none of that matters if I can't even get close enough to explain it to him. Or, you know, apologize and then explain? Because he's kind of locked all the doors for me, and I wouldn't be surprised if he's electrified a couple fences, and even if I did manage to show up, I think there's a very good chance he still might murder me-"

If his brother's uncomfortable imagery hadn't forced Roman to grimace already, the reminder would have been enough.

"Hard to blame him at this point," Roman muttered.

"Psh, like that isn't just a Tuesday for you," Remus said. "But for real—the realest you'll probably ever get from me—I need your help."

"Why me, though?"

"Because he hates you slightly less than usual lately," Remus said, "and he hates me significantly more than usual. I need someone he's not going to kill on sight to get him to let me apologize, and it's not like I can exactly go to any of the others. Virgil's right out. And the Blue-balls Brigade would both want to know why I need to go prostate myself in the first place..."

Roman didn't bother to correct his brother toward the end of his statement. That was another trap, and right now it really wasn't worth it.

"I'll do it," Roman said. "And not just because Patton...really doesn't need to know about any of this. I'm pretty sure that you making an apology is some kind of historical event..."

"Great," Remus said. "I'd say I owe you one, but I think you and I both know that I'll probably forget-"

"Of course," Roman said. "Now get out."

And Remus did him the favor of doing exactly that, sinking out through the floor of his room like a stain vanishing into the rug. Roman sighed, sitting back in his chair. He was already beginning to feel a headache coming on, and he wasn't sure if it was from the conversation that had just happened, his brother's prolonged presence in his room, or the thought of what was to come...

Chapter Text

When the first little tug of a summons came, trying to snag his attention, it was so grimy with the Duke's influence that Janus almost didn't recognize that it wasn't him. But he knew he had every avenue of direct contact locked down tight. Furthermore, he had witnessed Remus coming home in gleeful triumph from a raid on his brother's room too many times, still reeking of Roman's whimsy, not to know the difference. Even faintly corrupted, Roman's summons was far too warm, and...left a vaguely sweet and floral flavor on the back of his tongue, like one of those pretentious rose candies. Of course, the fact that he recognized that it was Roman wasn't enough to stop him from ignoring the summons anyway.

Janus was surprised that Remus had gone to his brother, though he supposed he probably shouldn't have been. Roman was already involved in this mess, after all, and Remus was more than smart enough to realize that his aid might place the Prince, for once, in a better position of gaining Janus's non-hostile attention. As well, he would realize that involving anyone else in the situation would only needlessly complicate things.

Of course, because it was Roman—who was decidedly more persistent and less distractible than his brother, though that in itself wasn't saying much at all—Janus was forced to keep ignoring his summons for an excruciatingly long time.

And, just when he thought he had won out—just when the summons had quieted and Janus thought he might appreciate a moment's peace—that was when his phone rang.

He had half a mind to dismiss it then and there, but while it was a rather common item, the complicated way it interacted with other, similar objects in the mindscape meant that one of the twins had been needed to contribute to its creation. There was a chance, if he dismissed it, that he could recover it afterwards. Still, he might wind up having to ask to have it returned to him if he couldn't do so himself, which considering the two sides he was currently attempting to avoid, would ultimately be rather embarrassing.

Naturally, his second impulse was to simply turn it off, but he thought that would likely escalate the situation further. At minimum, Roman would go back to attempting to summon his attention, because he hadn't forbidden Roman or the others from contacting him outright the way he had Remus. He didn't know if Roman had tried his front door, but he had taken the effort to muffle the sounds there regardless once it had approached the little one's bed time.

It had taken a lamentable amount of time to get them hushed and settled after- After the disaster of Remus's visit. And Janus's nerves were still well and fully wound, despite his best efforts to calm himself as well—he really didn't want to think about what would happen if the child began crying again now.

So Janus could turn off the phone, and he could ignore Roman's summons, but either one would only prolong his self-isolation for so long. And if he didn't address the situation soon then there was always the risk of Roman—of he and his brother both, actually—trying to find other more...creative means of breaching Janus's solitude.

The headache he had now was more than enough. Might as well get it over with before he was dealing with two.

Janus summoned himself a cup of tea and sat down, then he cleared his throat and answered the phone.

"Princey, why are you calling me?" he answered with Virgil's voice. "Just send a text like a normal person."

"Sh- Oh, sorry V. Wrong number."

"Whatever."

Janus took a sip of his tea as Roman hung up and waited. The phone swiftly rang again.

"Hey, kiddo-"

The speed with which the connection closed on that one actually made him chuckle.

The phone rang again.

"Is it even possible to misdial?" Janus asked, this time in Logan's voice. "I presume you keep our contacts programmed properly into your phone. No doubt with one of your droll little nicknames so that you can tell each of us apart..."

"Janus, I swear-"

The mounting frustration was audible in his voice, but so was his effort at keeping it restrained. Janus decided to be...relatively merciful.

"I assume you're calling for a reason?" he asked. "And I'm going to take a stab and say it has something to do with your brother. In which case, I'd like you to give me one good reason not to make that stab literal."

"He wants to apologize," Roman said.

"Did he tell you why he needed to apologize?" Janus asked acidly, unable to keep the returning anger from his voice.

"He did," Roman said. "I wouldn't be bothering if he hadn't. Janus- He asked me to help him apologize. I think that's about as serious as it's possible for Remus to get."

And Janus hated it, but he knew that Roman was right.

"After a stunt like that," Janus said, "I don't know if I'm going to be able to forgive him."

Which was a lie, through and through. As disastrous as his success would have been, his actions hadn't been malicious, merely thoughtless, and Janus knew better than to expect much more from the Duke by now. In fact, he thought he might already have forgiven Remus. He just wasn't done being angry with him, and he wasn't sure when he would be...

(If his attempt had succeeded, then he had no doubt it would have been a very different matter, but...Janus very much did not want to spend any amount of time thinking about that, for more than obvious reasons.)

Janus let out a sigh.

"If you can guarantee nothing like that will ever happen again," Janus said, "then I would...consider talking to him in the morning."

"We can," Roman said quickly. "Remus wanted to explain it, but we definitely can."

That "we" was reassuring. While it wasn't impossible—at all—for Roman to be mistaken about his own capabilities, Janus knew he would never co-sign something his brother had been involved in lightly.

"Very well," Janus said. "Tomorrow morning. And tell him I'm sleeping in late."

He doubted that he actually would sleep in any later than usual, but he would be taking whatever time he liked preparing himself for the conversation, and Remus would just have to deal with it...

Come next morning, Janus did, in fact, take his sweet time with pretty much everything he could justify, and even afterward dithered about with several things that, arguably, were less justifiable, but that was really nobody's business but his own. But finally, Janus was forced to admit that he couldn't delay a second longer.

Preparing himself, Janus turned his chair around to face the door and sat down with his child in his arms. And then, taking a slow breath, he snapped his fingers and removed all the layers of restriction he had placed around his room.

The door immediately flew open and, just as abruptly, Remus fell forward, landing face-first onto the floor.

"I suppose literal groveling is a good start," Janus said, "but I'd say your form needs a little work."

Remus pushed himself up from the ground and onto his knees in an awkward push-up, staring up at him from the floor.

"I would, you know, if I thought I could do it without making it weird," Remus said, sitting back on his feet and picking at a bit of the carpet.

Janus nearly failed, but he managed to tamp down the snort of laughter that threatened into something that sounded like a sigh.

"Well, whatever you were planning, I suppose you'd better start then," Janus said.

Remus just nodded, saying nothing at first. It was a twitchy sort of silence, a familiar one—the kind Janus knew meant that everything was trying to happen all at once behind his eyes so that nothing really made it properly to the front. That, or, very rarely, it meant that he was actively holding back on the first several things trying to make it to the front—which was not something that Remus had ever been good at, nor truly even bothered with most of the time, save for when he actually felt it was important.

And it was often difficult—or, scratch that, nearly always difficult—to guess what might be going on in the Duke's head, but there were some situations in which Janus had gotten rather good at least falling within the rough ballpark. It was a useful skill to have, one that occasionally helped him to stay ahead of Remus's nonsense on a good day, and on average at least gave him a head start in making his plans for how to deal with it. And given how fixated Remus had been on offering his apology—or so his brother's account had led him to believe—Janus had thought he knew a few different ways that was likely to go...

Of course, an actual, thought out and heartfelt apology from the Duke was already an unheard of event, and so he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised when he was wrong.

"What's their name?" Remus asked him at last.

Which caught Janus off balance, because he at least thought Remus would have something to say first.

(But also, because it wasn't a question he had expected to hear from anybody just yet.)

"They haven't got-"

"No need to bullshit me of all people," Remus said. "Maybe you haven't said it out loud, but I know you gave them a name."

Silence drew out again, this time expectant and...vulnerable. Janus hated that. He hated the knowing look that Remus was giving him, and he hated the discomfort squirming in his gut at the thought of sharing. Because he hadn't spoken it out loud, not to himself and not even to the child, let alone to-

But the longer he waited, the more he hesitated and delayed the more obvious it would be how much it mattered, and the worse it was going to feel, when...

"Jake."

He looked down at the child as he said it. Because they deserved to be what he saw the first time he said it, and not at all because imagining Remus's reaction made Janus want to throw him out of his room a second time.

"Jake..." Remus repeated, drawing it out slowly.

"Hush."

"Nah, it's cute, honestly J-"

And then, suddenly, Remus was no longer in front of him on the floor but behind him, looking down over his shoulder.

"Hey there, Jake the Snake," Remus said. His voice was an odd attempt at a coo, though he had never managed to soften it for a moment in his life. "You'll forgive your Uncle Dukey just the once for trying to murder you, right? He's very, very sorry, and he promises it'll never happen again."

"It had better not," Janus said flatly.

And he was uneasy, for just a moment, when the expression that met his eye when Remus looked at him just then was the most terrifying and excited variety of grin.

"Oh, I couldn't actually if I tried," Remus told him gleefully.

"What?"

"I mean, I did try," Remus reminded pointedly, "and look where that got me, huh?"

Fortunately—for both of them—Janus was too confused trying to understand what Remus was trying to say to get swept up by either anger or horror at the reminder.

"You gave them a name, J," Remus said. "I mean, you've been feeding them your blood this whole time and that comes with a whole lot of wacky symbolism of life essence and substance and what not, too, but you gave them a name. And I know what names mean to you..."

"You mean-" he paused, still confused.

"They're real now," Remus said excitedly. "I mean they're, real-er. Mindscape real. I couldn't banish your little lamiabean any more than I could banish my brother, and you know I'd do that if I could..."

And Janus could follow what Remus was telling him, though perhaps only barely. He wasn't sure he understood it, not entirely, but every part of his words...rang true in a way few statements ever did. Remus, as one half of Creativity, was making a statement about the nature of the mindscape, and his words went far deeper than simply being a truth spoken. What he was saying was fact in a way that worked like physics did in the real world. Something that—unless Thomas himself changed in some fundamental way that might cause him to dispute it—couldn't be denied...

"But wait, what does that actually mean?"

"I dunno," Remus said, wiggling a finger in front of the tiny, squirming infant, "but I guess we're all going to find out, huh?"

The child was real—or as real as any of the sides. They weren't about to be returned to the imagination or to the nothingness of the subconscious from which all ideas came. And that was bound to have repercussions down the line, he knew it, but in that moment all Janus could think about was what else it meant...

And there was a lot of feeling caught up in his realization of the fact—relief, elation—but then another suddenly arrived and took both of those emotions out at the knees. Because if the child—his child, his Jake—was going to be a permanent fixture around the mindscape, then he wasn't going to be able to keep them to himself forever.

Sooner or later, he would have to introduce them to everyone else.

Everyone else.

"Shit."

Chapter Text

Janus wasn't nervous. He was certainly feeling a lot of things in the time leading up to Jake's introduction to the wider mindscape, and maybe some of them came with nerves included, but overall he wasn't nervous. There was nothing at all to be nervous about, after all. Why, indeed, should he have been nervous?

He was simply going to go out and introduce his child to the others.

To Logan, who was unlikely to see the merit in investing so much attention and energy in what was, essentially, a bit of fantasy. To Patton, who would no doubt be over the moon having an actual child in the mindscape—a child that he might be a father to, regardless of the fact that they already had one. To Virgil, who had made it clear that he found all of Janus's past efforts at care wanting-

To Thomas, who could ask him to give up the thing he most treasured, and Janus knew he would do it. He would do it without hesitation and even still love him afterward—how could he not. And he wanted to say that he had faith that Thomas would never ask it of him, but all Janus could think about were the countless other things he had been required to surrender or abandon or destroy in Thomas's name. This was the first thing that Janus had found himself afraid of losing since he had made his own introduction to the person that would always—would always have to—matter to him the most. He wanted to believe that Thomas would never make a demand like that, not knowingly...

But a part of him feared losing anyway and, even worse, having to wear a mask of willing acceptance of the inevitable while, as always, deep inside the loss would be tearing him apart...

(So, no, you see, he wasn't at all nervous in the slightest... Janus was terrified.)

He didn't force himself to go forward with it that same day, of course. In fact, he had successfully talked himself out of making introductions at all by mid-afternoon. That had, quite naturally, lasted just until bedtime, during which he found himself lying awake the first hours of the night thinking about all of the circumstances under which the others might learn about Jake anyway, and all of the ways those could go wrong, until he had convinced himself once more to go through with making introductions as he originally had planned.

And, still, he had needed to choose an appropriate opportunity for it, and he had necessarily weighed his options. Going to each of the sides and Thomas one by one would make it easier in some ways to try to manage the reaction he got—and much easier for him to try to brush off that reaction if it turned out unpleasant. On the other hand, telling the others as a group might make it more difficult for the worst reactions he feared (perhaps needlessly) to happen without pushback. Yet, at the same time, it might put him at risk of being ganged up on if the reactions of the others were united in their unpleasantness... (Unlikely, given the inability of most of the sides to agree on anything, or Thomas to come to a conclusive decision if the opinions of his sides were significantly divided). And, in the event of that unlikely and yet nightmarish scenario, Janus could solidly count on Remus to have his back, and Janus could hardly imagine a better excuse to call upon the leverage that the Prince's involvement in Jake's existence had given him if he needed it.

(Probably best to get it done with all at once, really. He couldn't imagine a way he might approach Virgil on his own that wouldn't exacerbate the other's hostilities, and that certainly wasn't how he would ever have wanted that meeting to take place. At least if the encounter happened in front of the others, Virgil shouldn't feel cornered by it...)

And if he did want to lay this particular batch of cards out on the table for everyone at once, then he also needed to find a time when there was nothing too pressing going on. A time when Thomas would be freed from obligations in the wider world and, hopefully, freed from any others that Logan might insist couldn't be put off for the space of roughly an hour (probably less, but never let it be said that Janus underestimated the ability of any of his compatriots to cause an unnecessary fuss). Ideally, it should also be at a moment when Thomas—and therefore Virgil, by extension—wasn't under any undue stress that might sour the conversation unexpectedly. And perhaps an occasion in which no unplanned contact with Nico was likely to occur, if he wanted to ensure Roman and Patton's full engagement in the moment...

At a certain point, Remus had pointed out that waiting for a truly ideal moment would have him scheduling it firmly on the 25th of Never. He had also, very rudely, advised him to just suck it up and get it over with.

Still, Janus had done what he could with finding the most opportune time to make his move. He waited until things were...relatively quiet. He waited until the usual suspects had all gathered together with Thomas, doing most of the work for him. And there were disagreements being had, naturally, but they hadn't been discussing anything more important than how Thomas should spend his Sunday afternoon that coming weekend, because with an eventful Saturday planned and a busy and potentially harrowing Monday afterward, the one thing everyone had already agreed was that Thomas should take the day in-between to himself in order to recharge.

(In other words, futile planning, since whatever plans they made, each of them knew deep down that Thomas would probably wind up binging whatever comfort show had the right vibes that particular night...)

Janus didn't even bother calling attention to himself when he arrived, simply stepping out of his shadows and attempting to settle in quietly. Jake was...just a bit fussier than usual, though that was probably down to Janus's own mood making them a bit restless. It was anyone's guess what sort of anatomy any of them had going on beneath the surface—save for Remus, who had been the only one willing to brave either the risk or mess involved in taking a look. Janus didn't know if he had a heart, technically, but he had blood and a heartbeat. Whether it was due to their eating habits involving the former or simply through a snake's affinity for vibrations, Jake had proven to key in sharply on the latter.

Of course, certain others were acutely tuned in to other aspects of Janus's presence, and so his arrival did not go unremarked upon for long.

"Hold up just a second-" Virgil said, lifting his hands and bringing the flow of disagreements around them to a halt.

The others all looked confused for a moment at the sudden interruption. If they had even noticed Janus's arrival, then they must have, either consciously or unconsciously, dismissed it, still more focused on their discussion as he hadn't yet seen fit to add his voice.

"Not that I care," Virgil asked, looking directly his way, "but did you actually come here with an opinion, or were you just showing up to lurk?"

Which prompted all of the remaining expected reactions as the others all finally acknowledged his presence.

Thomas, of course, startled, having only just realized that Janus was standing in his recently claimed position beside him. Before he had shared his name it had been difficult for Thomas to even perceive Janus unless he was first acknowledged by one of the others, or unless he did something that couldn't easily be ignored. This time it was simply a matter of Janus trying to be subtle—and Virgil, of course, was practically allergic to subtlety. Logan simply regarded him with mild curiosity—which was roughly Logan's neutral expression for anything that wasn't actively frustrating him in his own efforts (Janus could relate). Roman was wary, of course, though given his awareness of recent events and the surprising amicability with which they had managed to handle arrangements ever since, his wariness was nowhere near as hostile as Janus had previously come to expect. And Patton seemed to take his arrival as some sort of pleasant surprise...

(And Janus wasn't about to feel guilty for brushing off his most recent invitations to meet. Not until he knew where things stood after this meeting, at the very least.)

"As riveting as the topic is," Janus said, "I'll admit I don't have much to add on the subject, Virgil. There is another matter I'd like to discuss, however I was politely waiting for the opportunity. I'd hate to be so rude as to interrupt things mid-discussion..."

And he absolutely wasn't stalling.

The reactions to this statement were all just as predictable as the first wave in their own way. Virgil, naturally, only grew more suspicious, eyes narrowed on him watchfully. Some of that wariness found itself mirrored in Thomas—not all of it unearned, Janus supposed, his occasions for appearing before the group had overwhelmingly not been the most pleasant. Both Patton and Logan at least looked somewhat interested—Janus had little doubt that the previous topic, as frivolous as it was, had begun to grow tiresome for Logan, and he supposed it was possible that Patton might be genuinely curious about what he might have to say. Roman also looked wary, but Janus thought that he, too, looked somewhat curious. No doubt wondering whether he was about to speak about their recent collaboration with his brother...

(And concerned, no doubt, with how his involvement might ultimately reflect on him.)

"I- We weren't really talking about anything important," Thomas said uneasily. "Is something...wrong?"

"Not at all," Janus was quick to assure him, "in fact, I'd go so far to say that things are going well enough lately, all else in the world considered."

"Then why are you here?" Virgil asked, cutting to the chase.

(That is to say, the chase to get Janus out of his hair.)

"Don't worry, I shouldn't need your attention for too long," Janus said, "but there is one...tiny secret that I've decided it might be best to finally share with all of you."

Which wasn't even a lie, really. Janus would prefer not to draw this out, but he was sadly aware that how long this whole circus actually ran wouldn't ultimately be up to him.

"A secret?" Thomas asked, again, sounding more than a bit wary.

Janus decided it was perhaps best to take mercy on him—and, ultimately himself—and finally get this over with.

"A harmless secret," Janus assured him, again, "but perhaps its easiest if I just show you..."

And with that Janus relaxed the silence with which he had been covering the baby's soft little noises and pulled his capelet aside.

Jake squinted as they were brought out from the protective shadows and gave a sudden sneeze. Smiling, Janus shifted them up into his main set of arms and allowed his spares to fade as Jake's lower body wound itself securely around them.

When he finally dared look back at the others, their reactions were predictably varied. Logan leaned in with sudden intrigue, his curiosity quickly blowing past any concerns he might have had (or any other personal feelings he might have wanted to pretend he didn't have). Patton seemed to be teetering with indecisive confusion between unease and soft awe, no doubt held up by the colliding impressions of sleek scales and adorably dimpled cheeks. Roman, of course, was attempting to feign some sort of surprise, though if you asked Janus he was far too concerned with reading the room for the other's reactions for the effort to feel truly authentic (though, fortunately for Roman, everyone else was far too distracted to notice). And Janus would have simply been doing his job if he claimed he wasn't the least bit entertained watching Virgil's hostility leak straight out of him in favor of sheer, disarmed bafflement.

(Thomas, meanwhile, seemed frozen, so totally at a loss in the situation. And that was unlikely to improve until at least a few of his sides moved past their own respective shock...)

"What is that?" Virgil asked, wide-eyed.

"This," Janus said, steadily meeting Virgil's eye, "is my son. Jake."

Given both their anatomy as well as their young age, there were few clues available for discerning the baby's sex, and they were certainly far too young just yet to possess any notions of gender. When he had still been occupied with fooling himself that the child's placement with him was temporary, Janus had avoided speculating further. Still, by the time he realized that the stay was going to be permanent some part of his mind had already settled on the term—perhaps not before deciding on the name Jake, but most likely soon after, he thought. Clearly, some part of him had acknowledged that he had grown hopelessly attached rather early on, even if the rest of him hadn't quite been prepared to admit it, and that part—whether it was intuition or simply a whim—had just as clearly liked the idea of a son. If Jake decided differently once they were older he would, of course, respect it, but for now Janus thought he liked the way the word felt and sounded...

(It left no room for the others to doubt that Jake was his.)

Of course, he knew introducing them thus would still come with a lot of questions...

Or it would, certainly, just as soon as anyone managed to articulate them properly.

"Your...your son?" Thomas managed at last, still confused and perhaps even somewhat alarmed. "How did- How does that- How?"

"Wait," Virgil said, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "Is this why you've been so cagey all of a sudden?"

"How dare you," Janus said with a sound of exaggerated offense, "I'm always cagey."

"Yeah, but you've also been in a weirdly good mood," Virgil said sourly. "I was sure you were busy hatching plans or something."

"I mean, it looks like he was busy hatching something else," Patton said, looking starry eyed now as he smiled down at the child in Janus's arms.

And Janus decided he needed to be quick to nip that one in the bud before anyone at all got the wrong idea...

"No, that- That is absolutely not what happened," Janus said. "They were... I suppose you could call them a gift of sorts."

Janus saw Roman grow suddenly tense from the corner of his eye.

"Remus created them in the imagination," Janus explained, "as part of a recent scenario. Afterward he thought I might like to keep them..."

It even managed to be...more or less the truth, though it certainly skipped over a few crucial steps in between. Beyond Patton, Janus saw Roman finally relax.

"But why insist on keeping their existence a secret?" Logan asked.

"Well, Remus's creations aren't always the most stable," Janus said, flicking an eye to where the side in question now stood—summoned, perhaps, by his name—in uncharacteristic silence. "It would have been a shame if anyone got attached if they weren't going to be sticking around."

From the brief twitch of the Duke's grin into a grimace, it was clear that the message was received. The dig was perhaps a bit petty, but while he was no longer in a rage over the incident, he knew it would still be a while before he truly stopped being mad about it.

"But it's been a solid month so far," Janus was quick to say once he noticed the others' growing unease, "and it seems like this little one is here to stay."

(And if he held Jake just a tiny bit closer as he said it, well, the reminder was certainly grounding.)

"Can I hold them?" Patton asked.

And Janus might have, perhaps, held his son just a little bit closer when he heard those words as well. They shouldn't have come as any surprise—and they hadn't, not really. He knew that from the moment Patton had finally registered the tiny, fussing little bundle of coils in Janus's arms as a baby that it had been all but inevitable, really. But that didn't make Janus any more eager to let go of his son...

(To give him over to arms that were no doubt much warmer—and far more practiced at offering comfort and affection—than his own...)

"Of course," Janus managed reluctantly.

And though not technically a lie, the sweetness he managed in his answer was so very false that he still felt the telltale spice of it on the back of his tongue. It took an unpleasant amount of willpower to pass his child over—and even more, at Patton's adoring coo, not to immediately snatch him back.

"Have a care," Janus warned, just as soon as he saw Patton wincing, "their grip is rather strong. Also, I'd advise not letting them get your fingers in their mouth. They bite."

For the first time, Remus made a noise loud enough to draw attention to himself in the sound of a disappointed huff.

"Killjoy. Take all the fun out of it, why don't you-" Remus said. "I was at least hoping to see blood..."

Patton paled slightly, his arms already wrapped tightly in Jake's coils, but Janus took pity on him.

"I fed them before coming out here, so they shouldn't get too aggressive about it," he said, with a reassuring smile (and only the expected amount of amusement), "but I'd still mind your fingertips unless you want to get nipped..."

"Knew there had to be a catch..." Virgil mumbled with a glance—a glare—toward Remus, who grinned excitedly back.

Patton, meanwhile, recovered quickly.

"You sure are cute, though," he said, managing to free a hand long enough to wiggle a finger teasingly at the baby's side.

Which had the predictable result of squirming coils and a hiccuping laugh and the grip that Jake had secured for themself around Patton's arms winding up even tighter. Janus, meanwhile, was suffering from unpredictably conflicted emotions at the sight. His jealousy was strongly at odds with the sudden, unexpected warmth he felt seeing the other side accept his son so readily. Despite their appearance, despite their origins, despite whatever...unwelcome traits might yet wait to be discovered. And he felt a pang of something like regret—something with the shadow of the resentment he might once have felt instead still clinging to it—that it couldn't always have been like this. That it hadn't been so easy for himself or for the others so long ago...

It was a good thing, though, he decided to tell himself. Surely, it was only a sign of things improving. That what they couldn't have before might be within reach now. After all, none of them had known just how to be who they were now back then, and if any of them had been the same people they were years back, none of them would be here, now would they?

It had to be a good thing...

(Though he would do himself the favor not to examine whether or not that was a lie...)

And for a moment Janus feared he might have failed to keep his conflict from showing, because Patton looked up at him suddenly, the smile slightly dimmed on his face. But rather than disapproving—as Janus also, briefly, feared—his expression was, instead, a bit sheepish. And perhaps, Janus thought, just the slightest bit relieved.

"I'm glad-" Patton cut himself off, hesitating. "I just- I know you've been saying you were busy a lot lately, and- I mean, I've been trying not to be too much of a bother, and to...uh, try to be understanding when you- When you're probably being less than honest about things, because- Well, you know. I mean, I believed you, mostly, but I-"

There was so much hedging and so little actually being stated in his ramble that Janus hardly had a chance to catch a hint where he was going with any of it, let alone discern truth or lies from among the words.

"Breathe, Patton," Janus said, because at some point in his ramble the other side seemed to have forgotten that was an important part of talking.

Patton did so, looking a little dizzy for a moment before he continued.

"I guess what I'm trying to say," Patton offered a little uncomfortably, "I'm glad you really were just busy. And I'm glad it was for this kiddo. I just- I didn't like to think I might have done something wrong, or...or that maybe you got sick of me."

"Patton," Janus said with a slight gasp, affecting shock as he lifted a hand to his chest. "Are you saying you were jealous? Of a baby? I'm honored."

"No, I- I wouldn't say I was jealous," Patton was quick to deny. "And I didn't even know about this little scutey-pie. I just-"

"He's teasing you, Pat," Virgil broke in, a note of warning in his voice as his gaze was directed at Janus.

And wasn't it just...cute how protective Virgil was of Patton.

(As if either one of them truly understood the first thing about jealousy...)

"Of course I'm teasing," Janus said with a wave. "Well, except for the honored part. I, ugh, truly am flattered, Patton. It means...something to me that you value our meetings so much."

Even that tiniest bit of sincerity felt unpleasantly astringent on his tongue, but it did the chore...the reaction was short-lived, but he could tell that Virgil was taken briefly by surprise.

"So..." Thomas managed at long last, having clearly managed to process at least some of all of this. "This isn't a joke, or a trick, or like...some kind of metaphor, right? You just...have a son now?"

And he sounded so genuinely confused that it felt almost ridiculous how nervous Janus was made by the question.

"Yes," he managed to answer.

(Hopefully not too guardedly...after all the effort he had gone through to build up trust, he would hate for Thomas to think that Janus was wary of him.)

"Okay, that's...a bit weird," Thomas admitted, plainly very confused, but at least not seeming to hate the idea. "I just guess I never would have thought of you as the parental type."

"Most wouldn't," were the words Janus caught being muttered under Virgil's breath.

(And with so much of his attention focused on Thomas it wasn't hard to play it off as if he hadn't heard, but that of course did nothing to blunt the sting.)

"Still," Thomas continued, "it really seems to suit you. Virgil's right, you've seemed...happy. And- If this really is the reason, then I kind of love that, if I'm honest."

It took nearly all of Janus's strength to keep his composure at Thomas's words. As far as it went he was unsure of his success, caught breathless for a moment and at a loss for words—just a moment too long to have fully gone unnoticed.

(And clearly Thomas had gotten lax again about the dust from the embarrassing way his eyes were threatening to water.)

"Well, you know I'd much rather you weren't," Janus managed at last, affecting a dramatic sigh. "But alas we all have our flaws..."

Which was neither his most original nor his wittiest rejoinder, but it had actually gotten Thomas to smile, so it obviously must have been his best, regardless.

The remainder of the meeting with the others was nowhere near so emotionally fraught as its start—thank God. Predictably, Logan had his numerous questions about the child and their origins. He was incurably curious about the ways in which Jake's serpentine traits interacted with their more human ones, and about how those traits compared in practice to Janus's own. For the most part, Janus had only possessed so many answers for him—most of them being deflected toward Remus, who unfortunately answered with a shrug. Eventually that had devolved—again, predictably—into an argument between Logan and both twins on the viability of hybrid creatures, and Janus had wound up ignoring them. And he had finally been required to rescue his son from Patton's fawning embrace when the loss of feeling in the other side's hands required him to rescue Patton in return from the grip of the child's coils.

Jake, meanwhile, had gotten very interested in all the activity around them, excitedly making noises as if trying to join in on the argument themself. That, at least, had drawn all of them away from debating the literal and metaphorical "coolness" of reptilian metabolisms at long last, and Virgil, visibly discomfited by the silence (and still, also, visibly discomfited by the presence of a baby) had tried to bring topic back to the original purpose of the meeting.

Which came to a summary conclusion when Patton suggested that Saturday would be the perfect time for Thomas to indulge in a marathon of some comfort cartoons from his childhood while the sides held a belated adoption shower. It was deemed a satisfactory solution all around—if less stimulating than Logan might have liked, perhaps, and certainly less...emotionally challenging than anything Remus would have suggested (not that anyone had asked), but something comfortable and familiar would certainly soothe Virgil's thoughts, and Roman was always willing to revisit old favorites, while Janus was simply satisfied to see Thomas engage in something wholly self-indulgent...

And if all of the other sides were truly so eager to bury his son in gifts, Janus certainly wasn't about to complain.

Chapter Text

The meeting had adjourned with surprisingly little fuss, all things considered. Though the original issue had been resolved, Janus had been anticipating a lot more questioning from the others before he would be allowed to return to his room and to his business. Fortunately, it seemed he had been blessed this day by an uncharacteristic amount of patience and restraint from all the sides—no doubt owing, in part, to the fact that the two most bombastic sides in question had already had their typical hunger for drama sated days prior, at least where his son was concerned. Janus was sure he still had plenty of fussing to look forward to from Patton—who, though he seemed to have decided to give he and Jake their space for the moment, would no doubt be eager to see more of both of them—but he had hopes that most of it could be held in reserve for whatever nonsense Patton decided was necessary for the adoption shower on the weekend...

Regardless of its success, however, the introduction had been rather stressful. Fortunately, Janus had more or less anticipated as much, and had already done himself the favor of getting as many of his duties as he a. could manage and b. absolutely needed done that day out of the way ahead of time so that, afterward, he could wind down with a very short (and hopefully quiet) night.

(His hopes were, therefore, all but guaranteed to be dashed, but better that happen after than beforehand, certainly.)

Once Jake had been fed and settled into bed, Janus had brewed himself a cup of tea and sat down with a book, hardly expecting much progress, but giving himself something to focus on until he actually felt like sleeping.

It wasn't quite late, but it certainly wasn't early when the knock sounded at his door.

Janus didn't know, when he answered the door, what he should have expected. If it had come earlier in the evening, perhaps Patton hoping for suggestions or requests relating to the adoption shower. Or Roman, coming to ask for ideas of what he could possibly bring for Jake that Janus hadn't already gotten out of him. Remus still never knocked, but the Duke was going to be walking on egg-shells around him for a while, and knowing that Janus was bound to be wound up after today's introduction, he more than likely wouldn't be bothering him tonight. And as for Virgil-

Unlike Patton, Janus had never had the audacity to see himself as a parent to the sides in his charge, though they had been his responsibility, all the same. Perhaps something more akin to an older brother—one willing to step in, not to protect and provide for so much as advise and encourage. An occasional confidante and confessor, one with a willing and nonjudgmental ear, ready to listen to the fears and frustrations all of them had shared having been hidden away, together, in the dark.

Once upon a time, Virgil had known that Janus's door would always be open to him, but he hadn't stopped by in a very long time...

If someone had asked Janus, just that morning about his thoughts on the matter, he would have guessed it was about fifty-fifty whether, in the unforeseen event of a horrible accident, Virgil would even bother to check if Janus was still breathing, let alone stop by for a visit of his own free will. And yet here he was, standing at his door, already emotionally drained (and uncharacteristically speechless) looking at Virgil himself.

He thought he could be excused the silent stretch of time that it took him to recover from his surprise.

"Good evening, Virgil," he managed at last. "How might I help you?"

He kept the expression from his face, but internally he winced at how, even in his best attempts at civility, his voice bled sarcasm. He was simply too on edge to manage anything more sincere at the moment. Whatever Virgil had come for, Janus couldn't shake the feeling that it was going to end poorly, and as long as that fear was there it was entirely against his nature for Janus to show his belly...

(The cynic in him wouldn't allow him that vulnerability, on guard that the part of him more prone to self-delusion might still hold out hope that leaving himself open would invite anything but wounds...)

If Virgil took offense—or if he even cared enough to notice—he did a decent job of hiding it. Then again, Janus thought he looked distracted enough that he very likely hadn't, one way or another. In fact, the other side's response came at its own delay as Virgil, quite visibly, seemed to consider his choices. From Virgil's obvious discomfort and the furtive glance he stole back down the hallway, Janus suspected he might have been at risk of changing his mind...

Tamping down on his immediate instinct—to close the door, pretend the encounter had never happened and hope the other side would do the same—Janus instead took a slow breath.

"Perhaps you would like to come in while you decide?" he offered somewhat tensely.

Virgil's shoulders rose up against his ears like he might have preferred to vanish and he grimaced slightly, but when Janus stepped to the side Virgil came in after.

Of course, he didn't deign to speak up just then, either—neither of them did—leaving both of them to languish several moments trapped in the most uncomfortable silence imaginable.

"You were kind of a wreck today," Virgil said at last.

And Janus hadn't known exactly what he was supposed to expect, but it wasn't that, nor did he know precisely what he was meant to say.

"Why thank you, Virgil," Janus managed somewhat sourly. "Nice to know your knack for flattery hasn't changed at all-"

To be fair, Virgil didn't seem...particularly pleased that those were the first words that made their way out of his mouth either.

"I mean-" he let out a breath. "I just meant, I don't think I've seen or felt you that nervous since Thomas came out."

Which wasn't particularly more pleasant as far as Janus was concerned. He could certainly have done without a reminder of that whole affair, particularly after the day he had just been through.

"Well," he managed slowly. "It's not every day I have to let go of a lie that I'd nurtured so carefully or for so long..."

His answer told Virgil nothing he didn't know already—nothing to answer the unasked question vaguely implied in Virgil's words. Technically one topic had nothing to do with the other—technically his words said nothing about his earlier unease or its cause. And yet it seemed that clarification of how the two were related was apparently unneeded...

"Speaking of," Virgil said, not looking Janus in the eye. "Jake, huh?"

Janus couldn't quite suss out Virgil's intention with that particular question. In the end he simply acknowledged it with a hum.

"You really seem to care about them," Virgil said quietly. "A lot."

And Janus was at a loss, at first, for how he was meant to respond to that. The insinuation in the words was insulting, and it would have been quite easy to take offense, but... But the voice that said it was...soft, thoughtful. As if Virgil, himself, were also somewhat at a loss...

"Yes, Virgil," Janus said at last, managing to moderate at least some of the sharpness out of his tone. "I care for my son. A lot. I'm sorry if that comes as a surprise to you-"

"It does!" Virgil broke in, his voice a little ragged, a little desperate. A little shaky. "And...I'm sorry that it does. You- You're all of Thomas's most selfish impulses. I just- I guess I didn't think you could. Or, at least- I didn't think you could care about anyone but Thomas."

Janus had long wondered—suspected, feared—what the real reason for their falling out might have been. Beneath their differences, beneath their arguments, something had cut their relationship to the bone and been allowed to fester. Janus knew where his own faults lay—he knew that his discomfort with sincerity, with vulnerability, and his commitment to the impervious and superior mask he affected to shield himself from both had left room for doubts to creep into the cracks in the foundation of their relationship. What he hadn't realized was how deeply those roots had dug. He had suspected that Virgil might have doubted the depth of his affections...

He hadn't imagined that Virgil might believe he had never cared at all.

Hearing it said out loud at last stung him—deeply, enough to be stricken speechless. And yet silence couldn't be an option. Because, if you stripped it bare, in one sense Virgil was right, but in every other he couldn't have been more wrong. Thomas was and always would be the only thing in this world that truly mattered, but what Virgil had seemed to have overlooked was the fact that they were all a part of Thomas. That when Janus loved himself he was loving Thomas, and when he loved Virgil and Remus he was also loving Thomas, and that more than anything it was Janus's job to love every part of him-

Especially the parts that Thomas hadn't yet learned how to love himself.

(Why else would they have ever been his in the first place?)

"Of course I can," Janus managed at last, voice hoarse with the effort that it took to say it. "I do. I care, Virgil. Embodying the traits that I do doesn't mean I can't love. It only means that I love selfishly. I'm...possessive of what I have and often jealous of what I don't, and I hate accepting loss. And I do it for myself a lot of the time, for how it feels to cherish, and-"

And Janus cut himself off, because all that remained for his confession was the resentment he felt when forced to let things go—to return to Thomas the things he had previously held in his care—and that wasn't something he was prepared to admit out loud, and certainly not to Virgil of all people.

"Perhaps I can't love correctly by most standards," Janus said, "or for the right reasons, whatever those are supposed to be, but it's the only way I know how. And if perhaps I didn't always show it well enough, or in the right way-"

Virgil broke in to interrupt him.

"No, it's- It's fine."

Janus could only scoff.

"Clearly not," he managed weakly. "Not if you didn't realize."

"No, you- You did fine," Virgil said. "I-"

He faltered for a moment, as if reconsidering, but finally plowed through—though it was with a discomfort bordering on pain, and he seemed unable to meet Janus's eye.

"You're Thomas's selfishness," Virgil said again, "but you're also, always, Deceit first. It was your job to keep us in the dark and away from Thomas, by whatever means necessary. So I guess I just thought-"

"Never," Janus said, both to allay any doubt that remained and so he wouldn't have to hear Virgil finish the sentence aloud. "I can't say I haven't lied to you many times, Virgil, and about many things. It's in my nature. But I never—not once—lied to you about that."

(But though it remained unsaid, it was painfully easy to imagine what sort of ulterior motives Virgil might have ascribed to Janus's past shows of affection, having already convinced himself that they were false...)

And Janus had, so far, successfully avoided giving in to tears, but that didn't mean the fight wasn't plainly evident in his voice. Normally he would have been mortified at making it so obvious, but Virgil, for his part, seemed sufficiently abashed for the both of them. The evening's earlier silence was almost a happy memory compared to what was left curdling sourly in the air between them, thick and stifling to the point where Janus felt sick just trying to breathe. And Virgil wasn't doing much better, his breathing slow and tensely, conspicuously, even, as if he were fighting desperately to keep it that way. The weight of whatever he was feeling—the horrid, uneasy, confusing snarl of it, if Janus's own experience was any reflection—seemed to bow his shoulders, and he could tell that it was taking everything in Virgil's power not to let it drag him down through the floor—to sink out and escape the moment then and there.

And, as that moment dragged painfully on, Janus saw the other side's shadow start to solidify, indicating he was about to do just that.

"I-"

Janus's stomach twisted even as he broke the silence, and he halted barely a breath short of-

Well, he hadn't quite allowed himself to finished the thought before keeping his tongue from speaking it, desperate only to find some reason for Virgil not to go...

But from the way he stopped, turning to look at Janus—at last, and almost, almost hopefully—it seemed that Virgil, at the very least, seemed willing to hear one.

And Janus wanted to say it, then. To say those words—the important ones—to Virgil, to say them and have him believe it once again. He wanted to say them so badly, but this...whatever this was that was hanging half-realized between them, it was still too new, too fragile. If he tried to say it now and faltered—if he did say it and Virgil chose to recoil—Janus didn't think that this was progress they might ever manage again.

"Remus has called dibs on the title of 'Coolest Uncle'," Janus informed him instead. "And I'm sure he fully intends to fight any challengers to the death, but..."

Janus hesitated only briefly.

"I've yet to appoint a godfather," he said.

And while it could, conceivably, have simply been a means of continuing the conversation—of drawing it out, so that Virgil might also delay choosing to leave—the implicit offer was there for the taking.

Virgil frowned as he seemed to consider it briefly.

"I can't imagine Patton wouldn't have his heart set on it," Virgil argued.

"Patton isn't here," Janus said, as gently as he could manage. "And- Even I couldn't pretend that things haven't been...difficult between us, to say the least, but- I think I'd still rather offer you that honor, first."

Virgil was silent, clearly taking the time now to afford the offer the deep thought it deserved. And, still, he shook his head.

"I don't know if I'm really godfather material," Virgil said. "That's a lot of responsibility and you know I'd freak out about it."

"Fair enough," Janus allowed with a sigh.

"But-"

And now it was Virgil's turn to hesitate.

"Maybe Jake could do with...a cool older brother?" Virgil hazarded quietly. "Just- I mean- Because someone has to balance out the other two, you know?"

Which was a question Janus couldn't answer right away, not from the way his breath was choked from him.

"Yes," he managed shakily, losing the fight against his tears at last. "Maybe..."

Chapter Text

It said a lot about Roman's state of distraction that he failed to notice Remus's reappearance for-

Well, because of said distraction Roman couldn't have said for sure exactly how long his brother had been lurking just out of sight in his room, but the miasma he always brought with him should otherwise have announced his presence right away. Instead, Roman failed to notice his appearance for however long he had been there-

(Though it couldn't have been too long, given that Remus was currently sprawled out on his bed with his head and arms dangling over the edge... Roman had never known his brother to resist the urge to...exude something unwholesome all over his blankets for any longer than perhaps five minutes.)

"What's got all your hamsters running overtime?" Remus asked him, once he turned around. "I could smell the smoke of the gears grinding all the way from the subconscious."

Which was a rather obnoxious way of putting it, but Roman supposed he had a point in calling him out if his thoughts had been intense enough to distract the both of them. Still, he considered for a moment whether sharing those thoughts with his brother—properly sharing them—would be wise, considering what he had actually been thinking about. Who he had been thinking about.

Then again, he couldn't imagine anyone other than his brother that he might share these thoughts with—not unless he wanted to wind up overthinking them even further.

"It's Janus," Roman confessed eventually. "He's...surprised me."

"Oh?" Remus asked, head quirking sharply to tilt to one side. "How so? Not with a knife, obviously. Though maybe for my birthday..."

"Well, to start with," Roman said, ignoring him, "he didn't tell anyone how Jake actually wound up with him in the first place. He had the chance. In front of everyone and Thomas-"

"Pfft," Remus scoffed. "Really? After all of his sappy nonsense of late and that's what surprises you? Contrary to that cute little rival divas thing you and him have going on, he doesn't actually waste all of his time looking for ways to make you look bad. And secrets are what he does. Between you and me, I wouldn't even count on him calling in whatever favor you're supposed to owe him. He probably enjoys having a secret to keep more than anything he might think to weasel out of you..."

"Okay, it's not the only thing that surprised me," Roman admitted. "Sir Hiss is a lot of things, I guess I just never expected brave to be one of them."

Remus let out a hum in response—one only half as nasal as he typically used when obnoxiously feigning interest. It almost sounded thoughtful.

"Color me shocked," Remus said, "and not about the whole 'bravery' thing. You, of all people, giving our Lyin' King a compliment like that...are you sure you're not actually Janus in disguise?"

Roman let out a snort and thew a balled up piece of paper at his head.

"I mean it," Roman said. "After what happened, I wouldn't have expected him to introduce the kid to the others like that. Not when his belief was the main thing keeping them here. And to Thomas, knowing that his disbelief in particular might have-"

Roman couldn't bring himself to say it. They had dodged that bullet once already with Remus before they even knew there was a wound there to be struck. But the fact was that- Well. The fact was that none of their existences were entirely concrete. If Thomas began to earnestly disbelieve in any of them, that would be it for them, they would cease to exist as people and return to simply being functions of Thomas's mind. That was unlikely to happen to any of them, of course, Thomas had become rather invested in all of them by now—even his brother, despite being understandably leery.

(And as long as Thomas was invested in the notion of sides, even certain others yet to be revealed enjoyed a modicum of safety.)

But Jake wasn't a side. Before Janus had taken them in, they had been hardly more than a daydream cooked up by his brother just to taunt him. They had no clear purpose grounding their existence in the mindscape, and nothing at all tethering them to Thomas directly at the start. Only Janus had believed in them deeply enough to shield his son from Remus's indifference, and so far his influence over belief itself, at least within Janus's own room, had been enough to fend off that thoughtless attack. But presenting them in front of Thomas and the others could easily have weakened the child's delicate grasp on what passed for reality within Thomas's mind.

It wouldn't have taken much. If any of them had said anything that might have caused Janus to doubt for even a moment—if Logan had raised some manner of argument against entertaining frivolous fantasies, or if Virgil had let toxic doubts slip into the conversation—things could have gone so very poorly. And if, God forbid, Thomas had found some reason to reject the child's existence, even unconsciously-

(All of them would do just about anything for Thomas. Each of them had their own limits, but when it came to Janus—to the means toward Thomas's ends which Deceit had seemed willing to entertain in the past—Roman wasn't sure that the snake had any.)

Roman shuddered at the thought.

It hadn't happened, though. Logan had embraced curiosity rather than skepticism, and Thomas had even seemed...pleased seeing this (disarmingly) softer side of his Deceit—and surprised as well, clearly, but weren't they all?

"I don't know if I could have done it," Roman admitted. "Not in front of everyone all at once, and not in front of Thomas until I was ready. Not until I was sure everyone else was as invested as I was. I mean- It hurts enough bringing an idea in front of Thomas and not having it hold up under scrutiny. Knowing that could have happened to his son-"

"Yeah..." Remus said, drawing the word out slowly. "Except I didn't tell him about that part."

Roman turned sharply, staring at his brother in disbelief.

"How could you forget a thing like that?" Roman asked.

Because even at his most fixated, Remus could be all over the place, but considering how much he had seemed to regret his...misstep with Jake, Roman wouldn't have imagined he could have forgotten a detail like that. Not when he had so clearly wanted to reassure Janus that his newest treasure was safe.

"Oh, I didn't forget," Remus said cheerily. "I left that out on purpose."

Which Roman thought only begged further questions, but he didn't get the chance to ask him. Before he could find the words, Remus let out a huff and let himself slide further—slowly, almost oozing—off the edge of the bed. He turned the motion into an impromptu tumble, flipping his legs over to bring him to his feet.

"You ever spent too long thinking about breathing?" Remus asked him suddenly.

"What?" Roman asked, though he was unfortunately caught in the undertow of that disturbing thought.

In fact, rather than answer that question, Remus just stared him down with a painful looking grin, and watched the thought take hold, settling in as a keen and disturbing awareness of his own lungs. He watched as Roman's breathing became stilted as he was forced to manage what was supposed to be an automatic process. An uncomfortable tautness began to constrict his chest ever so slightly—not enough to be painful, but enough that it became a struggle not to overfill his lungs trying to loosen it, or become light-headed from breathing too shallowly in an attempt to avoid feeling that tightness altogether. And it was only as Remus flopped over suddenly onto his lap, throwing an arm over Roman's shoulders to keep himself from sliding off, that he was finally able to shake off the spell with a gasp.

"Despite my monumental fuck-up earlier," Remus said, leaning in uncomfortably as if to whisper it like a secret, though he kept his voice at full volume, "I know Janus. And Janus knows his job in the mindscape better than any of us ever will—it comes to him as easy as breathing. But if I pointed it out to him—if I came out and said: 'Hey, Janus, don't sweat it, as long as you still believe in Santa Claus, your little Diaper-Viper is going to be just fine!' Do you know what that would do?"

Unfortunately, it wasn't too hard for Roman to guess.

"No chance was he not going to worry," Remus said, throwing out a hand, "but so long as he was worried about what the others might say he wasn't worried about what he might think. So I only told him that the kid was real enough—that a name and the ties of blood were enough—and then I trusted him to believe it long enough to keep the whole unstable mess of it from falling apart."

"Wait, you lied?" Roman asked, shocked. "You lied to Janus?"

Because that shouldn't have even been possible, not without the snake realizing. But Remus merely shrugged.

"I mean, it sounded good enough," Remus said, "so why not? And maybe Janus only believed it because he wanted to believe it—or who knows, maybe it's even true? Maybe it's a rule that I made and then forgot—or one that we forgot, once upon a time? Names mean a lot—they always have, especially to Janus. So if names matter, and blood matters, and the power of love and hope and family and all that stupid nonsense is meant to conquer all, then does it actually matter if the feather is magic if you already believe elephants can fly?"

Which was an ugly and uncomfortable string of "maybes" no matter how Roman tried to look at it. Probably best if he didn't look at it for too long...

"You should probably go," Roman said.

And it wasn't that Remus's words or their implications had disturbed him (and they had, but that wasn't the point). But if Roman was that susceptible to Remus's suggestions, and Remus was going to be referencing Dumbo, then clearly his brother had been lurking about in his room for far too long.

Hopefully, once things settled back down, he would be able to put it out of his mind.

Remus's response to his words was to lightly slap his cheek.

"Don't give yourself wrinkles worrying your pretty head over it," he said, hoisting himself off of Roman's lap. "I'm sure it'll be fine now. Good ol' Tommy Boy seemed on board, Logan had that look in his eyes like he was staring at a frog to dissect—figuratively, I'm sure—and your Papa Bear's probably getting a book ready for baby pictures as we speak. So if a name and some blood wasn't enough before, there's more than enough keeping them here now."

Roman let out a sigh.

"I hate so much that you're probably right," Roman said. "I hate even more that I have to hope you're right."

(Though, of course, what he hated the most was that there was no real way they could ever be sure...)

"Of course I'm right," Remus said, a hand pressed to his chest. "That's why I get to be the Coolest Uncle."

"Excuse me?" Roman asked, turning sharply. "As if."

"What, you plan to fight me for it?" Remus asked, his mouth pulled into an eager grimace.

"Of course," Roman insisted.

Because who was he to back down from such a challenge?

"Usual dueling grounds, then? At dawn?"

"Naturally," Roman said. "Bring your best game, but still prepare to be trounced."

"I'll bring the bandages."

"I'll bring the tissues."

"I'll bring the tombstone that reads, 'Here lies Roman, Second Coolest Uncle'," Remus said. "With a shiny, gold number '2' on top."

"The only one here that's 'number two' is you, Dookie."

"Well, we'll see who rests in piss at the end, won't we," Remus said. "Until then..."

With an obnoxious bow, Remus sank out.

And if nothing else, at least his brother's antics had managed to distract him from his earlier worries. Maybe his brother even was right. Maybe there was nothing to worry about. With a sigh, Roman decided to let it go. He should probably think about getting some rest, anyway...

After all, he had a very important duel planned for tomorrow.