Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was tired.

A simple feeling, really—everyone feels tired from time to time, it’s only natural. But in the midst of those moral debates, those arguments where all Janus could do was get shut down consistently, gaslit, blatantly manipulated; he could only think about how tired he felt.

“Thomas shouldn’t be so—so ungrateful towards her!” Patton exclaimed, arms swung down in an act of exasperation, “She landed him a part in the show! But he doesn’t even try to improve on his acting, all he does is procrastinate and sleep at all the wrong times,”

Janus sighed, shutting his eyes and rubbing his temple as a dull headache teased at the sides of his head. These arguments have increased tenfold ever since he had been accepted (begrudgingly accepted) into the table of discussion amongst the other sides. It was almost unbearable.

“He isn’t ‘ungrateful’, Patton. Being unable to do his tasks during the day due to mental strain isn’t ungrateful,”

“But he takes her kindness for granted,” Patton protested.

“Yes, I’ll have to say that Thomas hasn’t been on his best behavior,” Roman commented, leaning on his katana casually, “Like, she had to pull some strings to give him this role!”

Virgil lurked by the stairs, sitting on the steps with a scowl.

“She had such high hopes for him, too,” Virgil muttered, “Her efforts are probably going to be wasted.”

Janus couldn’t help but heave a sigh of annoyance once Virgil spoke.

“Thomas needs to focus on his mental health, it clearly hasn’t been going wonderfully.”

“Oh, and who’s job is that again?” Virgil snapped at him, “What happened to making sure he doesn’t have another mental breakdown, huh?”

“I can’t—,”

“Yeah, he’s barely been able to do anything lately!” Roman huffed, “It’s really put a damper on the imagination, it’s so dull in there,”

Janus shut his eyes again, only to rid of the lights that made the ache in his eyes pulse. Not to blink away tears. He wasn’t going to cry in front of the others.

His headache throbbed at the front of his mind.

“Let me spe—,” he tried again, voice threatening to tremble.

“No!” Patton shouted, voice firm. “You know, I tried giving you a chance to talk here with us, but I can’t deal with your attitude anymore!”

Janus tensed, his eyes darting to look anywhere but another side. He focused on the grain of the wooden table in the commons.

Patton’s outburst only continued.

“I’m so sick of you making Thomas lazy and making him withdraw from every event he has!” Patton cried out, “I’m tired of it! I tried to listen to you and help you, but all you’ve done is make it worse for us, you never treat us kindly!”

And, oh, that hurt. Gods, he thought he was doing better. He had spent all week trying to strengthen his bonds with the other sides, and he had been nicer lately as well. He had plenty of achievements to himself, couldn’t they see he was doing better?

All he could do was shut his eyes tight and ignore the pains in his chest.

“It’s stressed me out ever since you joined us,” Patton said, voice breaking, “I can’t deal with it every time you get Thomas to reject when his friends want to go out or when you make him skip a day of work,”

Virgil spoke up, his voice soft and caring, a tone foreign to Janus.

“Pops, do you need some time alone?”

Roman chimed in.

“You deserve some rest, it can’t have been easy to deal with all of this,”

And as selfish as it was, Janus’ mind yelled and cried, I’m tired, too, please, I need a break, I want rest. His eyes only stung as he felt tears pushing at the corners. He was so, so tired.

Patton nodded, miserable as tears shone in his eyes and his cheeks tinted red after yelling.

“I’m sorry,” And Janus truly thought it had been directed at him. “Roman, Virgil, you two don’t have to waste your time on me,”

The two sides hurried to Patton, quickly huddling around him in a comforting hug. It looked so warm, he thought, I just want a hug.

They muttered quiet words of reassurance, words of comfort and love. Janus knew when he wasn’t needed.

He could hear their soft giggles as Roman declared a movie night before he sunk out, popping into his room with a small sigh. He rubbed at his eyes, steadily walking to his desk and sitting quietly.

He’d cry, but really, how manipulative would it be to cry after causing someone else to?

He carefully slid open the drawer of the desk, pulling out his aged, black leather journal. Janus idly flipped through the pages of thoughts squirming on paper, letting the pages fly until he landed on an empty one.

Past entries were full of awful thoughts—well, supposed awful thoughts. Janus was half convinced he had written them down as some way to seek attention and pity from the others, but that didn’t make sense. Perhaps someone would come into his room to read his questions of, would they care if I left?, and, I don’t matter, things would be so much better without me. Perhaps then he’d get the attention he’s wanted. It was pathetic, really.

Janus summoned a pencil, writing his thoughts slowly and methodically.

All he could do was grit his teeth to stop the thin dam of tears he had been shoving down for the past weeks.

I’m the source of their problems.

It would be best if I were gone.

They would be happier.

I’m tired.

And he didn’t care that his writing was messy and simple, his brain was too overworked to force his act of elegance anymore.

He spent a few minutes writing down hypotheticals and logic behind his thought process. He vaguely thought that Logan would be offended.

I cause them stress and hurt them all the time, if the source of the problem was removed, they’d be happier. They don’t deserve this stress and pain. If I were gone, maybe Thomas would get a better side. Maybe I’d be reborn as a blank slate. Or maybe it wouldn’t work.

It’d be worth a try, honestly. Janus had been playing with the idea in his lonesome; he had plenty of time to do so, anyhow. He closed his eyes, carefully breathing in deep as his head leaned back and his shoulders dropped.

Slowly, he closed the book and stood.

There was no use in fantasizing about it. He just needed to rest, and it would be fine when morning came. He’d just sleep, and it would be okay when he woke. It would be okay.

He made his way to his bed, lazily snapping pajamas onto himself, slipping underneath the covers and burying himself in the ungodly amount of blankets he kept to stay warm during the night. His exhaustion sang to him, finally relieved of his energy being used up. Turning to his side, he held a bundle of blankets close, burying his face in the fuzz, closing his eyes with a soft sigh of relief.

Janus thought the day was alright so far. Sure, he’d woken up exhausted, blinking in and out of sleep, maybe he had a heavy weight on his chest that made his breathing shallow, and so what if he woke up past noon when he’d usually wake up in the morn? No one had yelled at him yet. He decided it was an okay day.

He hadn’t really left his room yet. His nest of blankets and warmth and darkness in his room seemed so much more welcoming than standing and facing the others; his limbs moved lethargically, anyhow, he didn’t think he could bring himself to stand.

Pitiful, in his opinion. What kind of self-preservation aspect can’t stand and do his job? Was it really so hard to get up?

Scribbles buzzed in his eyes. His vision blurred but didn’t at the same time, some strange contradiction that left him confused and he decided it was best to just close his eyes again. His headache hadn’t managed to fade away, only thrumming dull in the back of his skull.

The silence was nearly suffocating.

It left a blank space for his thoughts to fill, and they came piling like the building of sharp stones crowding a beach.

I could go now.

Maybe lock the door and scratch off all my scales. They wouldn’t notice.

It’d be funny if I accidentally fell in the subconscious.

Lock the door.

Where would I go once I disconnect from Thomas?

Find out.

Janus turned onto his side and hugged his bundle of blanket loosely. His mouth tasted sour, stinking of morning breath that he hadn’t been able to wash out for quite a few weeks now. He never found the time to, or the care for it.

I could stop it all. It’d be better for everyone. I hurt them all the time. Why don’t I think about how they feel?

He let out a small laugh, sudden and a stark interruption to the silence. It was humorless, dead.

He was selfish, wasn’t he? So, so selfish.

I could do it now.

He could never beat Remus in a competition of intrusive thoughts, but he damn well came close.

Burying himself into the soft, almost stifling warmth of his bed, he distantly realized no one had made any attempt to check on him. Well, he often locked himself in his room, he shouldn’t be shocked if they didn’t care to see if he was alright. Truly, he had dug his own grave.

He heard yelling when he woke.

“I can’t fucking believe him!”

He hadn’t quite remembered when he fell asleep, neither could he tell how long it had been. Eyes blinking blearily, his mind was adrift while his body felt much too weighted down for him to care about anything. He pulled his covers tighter around him.

The voices were muffled and angry, distant, like Janus’ thoughts.

“Again?! We’ve told him so many times—,”

It was Virgil, that much was clear.

“I’ve kept track of everyone’s work, Virgil. He hasn’t been active all day.” Logan. His voice was much more steady. Always the mediator.

There really shouldn’t be a mediator; they argue and yell far too often, so much so that they have a designated mediator. He pitied Logan at times.

“Then someone needs to fucking get him,” Virgil growled, “Thomas hasn’t done shit all day.”

“I will see if he is adequate to work tomorrow,”

Oh, gods, he was coming to his room.

With a swift snap, his door locked, firmly staying closed to anyone who attempted to enter.

Quick patters of footsteps grew louder, closer to his door, and Janus only curled into himself tighter. With a sharp knock, Logan spoke.

“Janus, could I have a word with you?”

No, he’d rather do anything else. Mouth staying resolutely closed, Janus shut his eyes and hoped to block out all sound.

“Your work has been severely lacking lately,” Logan sighed, “I understand the others may be a bit harsh on you, but you must—figuratively—pull yourself together. You aren’t benefiting anyone by locking yourself in your room.”

Yes, yes, he knows he can’t pull this shit, but was it too much to have someone ask him if he was alright for once?

Shameful as it felt to admit it, he wanted attention.

Since when had attention become something sinful to want?

“Tomorrow, I expect you to resume your work by seven-thirty in the morning,” There was a silence, as if Logan were tempted to say more.

“I will see you tomorrow, Janus,”

And just like that, the footsteps faded away, and Janus was left again.

The pressure on his empty, caverned chest only grew heavier.

Chapter Text

Seven-thirty, my ass, he thought bitterly.

It was most definitely some time past midnight, and his body refused the sleep that had come to him so easily earlier that day. His eyelids felt heavy, yes, and his limbs could only roll with exhaustion weighing them down in place; he had all of the necessary requirements to sleep, except the fucking sleep.

All that came to him in sleep’s stead were fantasies of things Patton would cry at and one-off thoughts that quickly tumbled into hypothetical situations with all possible endings and beginnings. His mind just continued to erode away at rolling stones of thought, busy when Janus very much did not want to think. The closest he’d come to a blank mind was staring at his empty, darkened ceiling.

Honestly, he felt like he would cry.

Tossing his body onto its side, he clutched at his blankets again, burying his face in them in a futile attempt to muffle his mind. He couldn’t help but let out a pathetic whine of frustration. The one time he needed to sleep, and the damned thing escaped him.

He supposed he could pull an all-nighter, but he knew in his added delirium, he’d possibly reveal emotions to the others sides, and that was unacceptable.

His focus rested on his overall vision, a static, blurred filter of grays and muted colors muddling the sight of his room. He felt incredibly odd, as if someone had colored him just a bit off to the right, all of the crayon scribbled outside of the lines.

If that made any sense.

He was never one for metaphors or analogies; he knew that very well after his whole lifeguard metaphor with Thomas.

He huffed, rolling to lay on his back, staring at his ceiling. He liked to criticize his own room decor when he was bored, so sue him. There were week-old mugs scattered along any flat surface, and though Janus never bothered to check, he could guess mold was crawling in the remains of sweetened tea.

It was disgusting. He hated living in the filth of random bouts of trash and old laundry on the floor, but he never cared to clean it all up. It was too much for him lately; so he had ignored it. Self-care.

(He was painfully aware that true self-care would involve cleaning his room, but he didn’t care.)

Absentminded, digging a finger under one of the loose scales on his face—a result of blank-minded picking from two days before—he nudged the thing around, loosening it more and more as sharp stings plucked at his nerves.

He took a breath and let the dense fog of mindlessness settle around his head.

Janus never managed to find the sleep buried in the corner of his mind.

He had missing scales and thin covers of dried blood on his face instead.

Examining them in his bathroom mirror, the raw spots where scales and skin had peeled up were minuscule, only about the size of a fingernail at the bottom edge of his jaw. They were noticeable, yes, but he could always fabricate some half-assed lie about tripping into a wall. He rubbed at them with a scowl, reaching for a face towel to rinse and wipe down the thin layer of oil that had built up on his skin. A price to pay for doing a half-decent job at showering.

Soon enough, he found himself quietly walking to the kitchen, his usual outfit on, not a wrinkle in sight. He didn’t bother with that fake-smile bullshit. There was no need to smile when everyone already saw you as a temperamental, sarcastic know-it-all.

Besides, it would be much too hard to focus on smiling when his eyes stung every time he blinked and his skin felt as if it were sliding off of his face, too weak to cling on.

He was tired, to say the least.

When was he not?

He heard the bubbling of the coffee maker and soft, warm morning talk. The kitchen—one that was very similar to Thomas’, only larger and with a marble island in the middle—was occupied by three. Patton, dressed in his cat onesie and sat atop the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, was holding a steaming mug of, presumably, hot chocolate. Roman manned himself at the stove, idly cooking a traditional American breakfast, consisting of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. Logan stood by the coffee maker, awaiting the freshly brewed caffeine with an empty mug.

Disgustingly domestic, in Janus’ humble opinion.

He stood awkwardly, just a few steps away from entering the kitchen.

It wasn’t that he was afraid, no—alright, maybe just the smallest bit of cowardice held him back. He couldn’t lie to himself, he was stalling because he knew exactly how they’d react after an argument. He hated it, yet he was so familiar with it, he wouldn’t know how to handle the situation if they acted differently.

Watch closely:

Janus shuffled into the kitchen, face blank with the slight frown as per usual. The air was tense, but only mildly; tense as a rubber band stretched a comfortable length. Conversation didn’t cease, his presence wasn’t a dramatic interruption to all peace. Roman and Logan’s voices only became the barest bit strained, a forced casualness. Patton didn’t pay Janus any mind as he made his way to the toaster, pulling out slices of bread from the cabinet just above it.

Janus wasn’t really hungry, nor did he have any craving for any of the breakfast they were making, so toast was always his safest option. He had to eat something or—

“Is that all you’re eating?” Roman spoke, glancing from the stove in the midst of separating portions onto plates, “You need something more than that to have any energy today,”

Janus held back a sigh.

“This is all I want, yes,”

“Have some eggs at least, you need some protein,”

At surface-level, it looked like Roman cared about him. And, sure, maybe he did, but could you really blame Janus for being just a bit spiteful when they acted as if nothing happened?

“I’m fine with toast.”

Roman shrugged, serving the plates on the table.

“I just want to make sure you’re eating enough, don’t skip lunch today, alright?”

Janus had to tape delicate lies over the cracking vat of bubbling anger inside of him to prevent it from spilling.

“Alright,”

He knew it was irrational to get so irritated at Roman making sure he ate, but the sentiment of his actions were lost in the fact that he only seemed to care about the easy needs, the simple necessities. They never addressed the emotional mess that was tangled up more and more with every conflict they had. The simple concerns were a messily thrown cover used to hide away deeper issues, a veil existing only to make Roman feel better about himself and to look considerate and caring to the others.

As the toast popped up, Janus made quick and silent work of buttering it and spreading Crofters jam onto it, an elite combination if you asked him. It was one of the only foods he was willing to eat on any day. Logan had migrated to the marble island, sipping at his iced black coffee as he flipped through a pocket notebook.

Janus was about to begin his journey back to his room before Patton stopped him.

“Janus, wait,”

And here it was.

He turned and looked at Patton with an expectant look.

Patton sighed, setting his mug down.

“About the other day, I know we were all overwhelmed and there were lots of emotions—” Janus had to resist rolling his eyes, “—but that’s no excuse to skip another day to lock yourself in your room.”

Janus kept his voice level.

“I know,”

“Let’s just agree to keep personal matters out of our work,” Logan remarked, not looking up from his notebook.

Patton nodded in agreement, “You hurt my feelings, Jan,” he said, “Just—please, don’t lock yourself in your room again, it doesn’t help anyone,”

Always, just to keep the peace, Janus nodded, teeth gritting and jaw tight.

“Okay,”

And with that, he left, plate of toast gripped tightly.

In the dim light cast from his window—the weather of his choice that day being a light pattering of rain—Janus set his plate down on the small space left on his desk. He slid into the seat of his desk before slamming his fist into the meat of his thigh with a growl, narrowly avoiding collision with the desk edge.

His leg throbbed, but all he could think about was how fucking tired he was of all the sides.

Those godforsaken tears bulbed at the bottom of his eyes and all he could do was drop his head into his propped up hands, resting on the desk. Every time—every goddamned time any of them talked after an argument, it was empty of any apologies, and much too full of guilt-tripping.

Even when they did apologize, they were half-formed, never truly meant. Only used as an opportunity to guilt the victim into feeling awful. Janus had lived their behavior long enough to only be filled with dry anger.

His appetite dissipated the moment he entered his room, whether it was out of spite or emotion distracted his stomach from wanting to consume, he didn’t care. The toast would remain, growing mold like all the other dishes.

A timid voice in the back of his mind said, you’re a bad person, you hurt them again. And he knew that voice would rise into some ruthless roar that’d tear into him once night fell, but during the day? He couldn’t care less.

He was a bad person, and he knew it well.

Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath and forced the emotions down once more. He’d deal with them later when they’d eventually burst.

The familiar, comforting exhaustion replaced his anger, wrapping around him and latching onto him once more. He sighed softly, sitting upright and keeping his eyes closed. He gave a simple snap of the fingers before his consciousness seemed to be yanked by the hair of his head, pulled out of his body uncomfortably, almost as if he were astral projecting.

He opened his eyes, faced with the thousands of strands of golden threads, weaved into webs large enough to encase Janus in a thick cocoon of gold. The gaps between the gold only showed a pitch-black void, dark mist drifting near the bottom of the cocoon. Nearly more than half of the strands were dull and fraying.

And here, he began his work.

His form light and wavering gently like a wisp, he made his way to a specific weave of glowing, golden thread, a flickering projection of Thomas’ vision in the midst of carefully spun thread.

Janus’ work was based at the top of Thomas’ mind, golden threads a symbol of his host’s desires and wants, his motivation was all in Janus’ command. The sides generally attended their work in their preferred way, Logan enjoyed writing commands and thoughts on a whiteboard to project onto Thomas, Virgil headed out into the physical world, sitting on Thomas’ shoulder like a devil whispering anxiety into his ear, et cetera. Janus’ method was forcing his body into unconsciousness as he attended to lies and desires of his own making in a safe corner of Thomas’ subconscious, taking on a weightless form to break away from the heaviness he typically felt in his usual body.

He plucked at a particularly thick thread, like playing the strings of a harp. With that, Thomas stood up from bed and began his daily routine of morning hygiene.

As Thomas laid down, tucking himself into the blissful covers of his bed, Janus forced his form back into his physical body with a jolt, groaning as aches gnawed at his limbs and joints. He nearly passed out right then and there—Gods, why did he never work in his bed for this?

(Partially because Logan had reprimanded him about working in bed, partially because he lost the motivation to work at all when sleep was so close.)

The room was dark, hints of night peeking from his window. Janus simply stood, stumbling to his bed and dropping himself on it, just barely remembering to summon sleepwear onto himself beforehand. He was incredibly tired.

But he did a lot that day. He managed to get through all of it without giving up once.

Janus couldn’t help the small spark of pride in his chest as he passed out, buried in the mound of blankets once more.

Chapter Text

Janus truly didn’t know what he did to cause the barrage of verbal abuse being shot into him.

He did most of his work and cleaned his room recently, he’d been avoiding any potential arguments, he had kept the peace. Things had been alright and good.

So what did he do wrong?

“You aren’t the good person you think you are!” Patton shouted, fists trembling as he stood in Janus’ room, door wide open for anyone to hear.

“I never said that I was a good person.” he mumbled, eyes refusing the sight of Patton once more. That was the wrong thing to say, apparently.

“What is wrong with you?!” Patton’s voice soaked with exasperation, the anger in his eyes something odd to witness, were Thomas to watch the scene. To Janus, it was much too familiar. He stifled down a wince, eyes blurring with tears thinly covering his vision.

Plenty of things were wrong with him if they had bothered to look, Janus distantly thought.

He pointedly ignored how his heart cried, aren’t you concerned? Isn’t what I said something to be worried about? Don’t you care?

He didn’t understand it, he didn’t understand it at all.

“I’ve tried so hard to make things better for you, I helped you have Thomas listen to you and this is what you think I deserve?! I’ve done so much for you, and you never consider my feelings!” Something that many forget is that Patton is a being of pure emotion. Nothing is more pure than raw anger—something incredibly reckless and destructive, should you fail to reign it in.

As much as anger is a secondary emotional response, it easily overcomes any sense of rationality, any original emotion lost in the flares of rage.

“You’re just so—so abusive!” And Janus froze, eyes wide.

Patton shook his head as tears ran down his face, speaking as if he were holding back sobs.

“You—You can go and—” He sniffled, “—go back to the dark side, for all I care! I’m done! I can’t—,”

And out he ran, voice collapsing into incoherent sobs.

Janus was still stuck to the seat of his desk chair. It felt as though his insides were forcefully torn out, leaving him empty and cold.

Gods, he wanted to fall apart in sobs himself.

Patton—Morality thought he was abusive?

He gulped, as if the action would help him push down emotions quickly bubbling and threatening to spill. He could only force his eyes away from the speck of dirt on the wall, numb. What did he do wrong? Yes, he was rude and threw out biting remarks; perhaps he was cold and lazy, but abusive?

Was I so caught up in my own issues that I had been abusive to the others?

Did I mess up somewhere? I thought I was doing better.

Wasn’t I doing better?

Apparently not if he had pushed Patton to this point of emotional breakdown. Maybe he was abusive. Mental health should never be an excuse for abuse.

He sat there, thoughts swirling and swirling about his head, thoughts that he felt guilt for thinking. Mind drifting again, only tethered to his body by a weak thread, it wandered into his common hypotheticals and scenarios.

The door remained open, and he could faintly hear Patton knocking on Virgil’s door, undoubtedly to rant about how horrible Janus was being.

And Janus exhaled softly as he found himself lost in the usual what would happen if I left? Would they feel bad? Would I be missed?

Would it be better for them?

As per usual, his imagination provided him with visions of his loved ones always being out of his reach if he were to leave. His possessions, gone. His small routine of making toast and tea and resting by the window with his favorite book, gone.

And maybe it was selfish to think this, to be upset that the things he cared about and held close would be gone forever; maybe it was selfish to only care about inanimate things, but they were the only things that really stopped him from ending it all.

Patton shouted, muffled by the thick door barring anyone from entering Virgil’s room.

Janus knew, he knew that he didn’t truly want to die. He didn’t want to be gone forever, no. He’d miss the small things far too much, he’d miss the peaceful nights where the sides coexisted calmly, he’d miss his rare moments of joy with the other sides. He’d leave them with nothing more than guilt and devastation.

He didn’t want to die, but he wanted it all to stop.

He wanted them to care that he could’ve died. He wanted the attention, he wanted them to feel bad for letting his mental health deteriorate this far. He wanted them to hurt.

Janus wasn’t a good person.

How terrible could you be to be willing death for some attention? How horrible were you to want others to feel the grief of loss?

Vaguely, his mind spat some spiel about how even if it was for attention, that still means you need help. He ignored it. He knew better, but he’d rather stew in his lake of self pity and hatred than be self aware.

Instead, images of him wasting away in his room, fading as he began the process of disconnecting from Thomas and unraveling the essence of his being flashed at the forefront of his mind. Images of blood staining his fingers and wrists, images of him standing at the edge of the subconscious, they spun and flickered, dizzying him.

They weren’t intrusive thoughts, to him at least. He was willingly imagining it; he was fantasizing. Remus wouldn’t be summoned.

He wrung his hands together as he heard Patton leave Virgil’s room, the duo heading toward Janus.

Haze in his eyes, he waited and waited until they arrived.

They called a family meeting.

(Family meeting? Janus felt far from family.)

He hated it, he really hated how they always attempted to resolve their issues.

Always bringing in everyone, including those who had nothing to do with the issue at hand, those who had no part in the conflict and were busy doing something else. These godawful meetings interrupted everyone for some argument between two sides. Sitting them all down as if it were some simple decision of what should we have for dinner? and not, I think Janus is abusive and evil, agree with me or I’ll antagonize you, too.

And the humiliation he always felt when he couldn’t speak to defend his side, when no one else defended him either. He despised it all.

Cross-armed, he feigned a relaxed pose, resting into the corner of the couch cushions. Roman, Remus, and Logan had been dragged out of their rooms, sat on the couch that bent into an “L” shape. Logan had been huffy, muttering something about “wasting my time, I thought we agreed to keep personal matters out of business?”, and the twins had been forcefully pulled out of their brainstorming session, both a bit testy.

“Why are we here again?” Roman huffed, voice dragging in annoyance.

Patton was cuddled up to Virgil, tucked under the taller side’s arm for comfort. His eyes were still tearful, face still blotched with uneven blots of red. He sniffed occasionally, the whole image creating a pathetic atmosphere.

“Janus, he—he’s just being awful, he hasn’t improved whatsoever,” He muttered, wiping at his tears.

The only thing Janus could do was prepare a new object to focus on as he forced numbness into his body. Unfortunately, his habit of drifting from his body always seemed to cease when he needed it most. He really just pretended to not care as his mind screamed and cried with pain.

His jaw tightened as he held his mouth shut, awaiting the flow of criticism and unhelpful advice from the others.

The family meetings never felt like meetings for the betterment of their relationships with each other; they were more like gatherings for the other sides to vent their frustrations about Janus to Janus himself. He hated them.

He was so, so tired.

“Yes, I have noticed his behavior hasn’t been beneficial to our overall mood,” Logan said, tone bored.

Once upon a time, Janus would’ve fought back and attempt to show them how he was feeling, hoping that they’d see that he was tired and hurt, too. He had given up on that long ago. He just let out a quiet sigh, forcing himself not to fidget while they spoke as if he wasn’t there.

“What do we do then? We’ve done all we can for him,” Roman rolled his eyes, “He just refuses to get better.”

I’m trying.

“Just don’t let him into his room again,” Virgil shrugged, rubbing Patton’s side gently, “If he ignores us all the time, just make sure he stays outside,”

Stop talking about me like I’m not here.

“Ehh, can we finish this up?” Remus spoke up, his voice nasally and drawling, his pinky finger dug into his ear as he picked, “It’s the same fucking thing as last time, who cares anymore?”

Janus narrowed his eyes just a tad, his fingers that had rested on his thigh a minute beforehand curling slightly into a fist. He remained silent. They never asked for his opinion anyways. They never cared.

He tried his best to ignore them all, letting himself get lost in those lovely fantasies once more. He faintly listened to Remus groan and sigh, the meeting lasting much too long for a mind such as him.

Blood soaking his skin, warmth rushing out cold from his wrists.

The drop of his stomach as he felt himself free fall into the depths of the subconscious, the void already peeling him apart strand by strand.

His exhaustion relieved as energy drifted away, form fading into nothing more than a memory.

I’ll kill myself one day, Janus thought, finding humor in it when its far from a matter to chuckle at.

I’ll die, and none of you would notice.

The others chattered on, paying no mind to him.

Chapter Text

Fuck this, fuck them, fuck them all, his mind hissed out harshly as Janus choked on another sob, tears drowning his eyes and slipping onto his tongue. Pathetic whimpers and heavy breaths rushed through his throat, ripping sobs, rough, ugly sounds escaping his lips.

It was disgusting, horrible, it was awful.

His nose was thoroughly blocked from snot and mucus, and it felt like his throat suctioned closed every time he gulped, and, godammit, he couldn’t fucking do this anymore. He gasped another breath of air as he broke down into stuttering whines and moans. All he could do was clutch his feeble, stupid, stupid, bundle of blankets to his face and cry.

He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t.

Bitterly, he threw out a slew of swears and cursed his mind, cursed his weak and frail mind. And he was met with more screams and cries of, you aren’t good enough, you aren’t good enough, they don’t want you, they hate you, just leave.

Janus raked his claws down the scaled side of his face from the entanglement of fingers in his hair, groaning and hissing as he dissolved into more of those pathetic whimpers, desperation coating the gasps that continued to force themselves out of his mouth. In a blubbering need to calm, to ground himself, he continued to scratch down his scales, the sharp pinpricks soon developing into burning, the dreaded things loosening and twisting on his face, clinging on by a slit of skin.

He managed to pause the desperate gasps and sobs, barely managing a proper breath in before it rushed out roughly. With hiccupping sniffles, he tried again, taking a deep breath and letting it out slow. He sniffed, taking one more deep breath before letting his grip on his blankets fall lax.

He was laying on his side, curled into a fetal position, wrapped around the roll of blankets.

Gods, he wanted a hug.

He wanted comfort, he wanted someone to hold him and comb through his hair and speak softly to him, tell him that it will all be okay, I’m proud of you, you’re doing so well. He wanted love, did he not deserve it? Did he not deserve praise or care?

Don’t be ridiculous, he scolded himself, yawning quietly as his energy fled, leaving him heavy with exhaustion. He wiped the remaining tears with the back of his hand, salt laid on his cheeks and tongue. The scratches on his face dulled to a throb, some lines along his skin undoubtedly swollen.

I don’t deserve it, not after how horrible I’ve been. He ran his hand along the blanket, the soft fuzz calming him. Closing his eyes, heaving a soft sigh, sniffling once more; he yawned, hugging the blanket bundle.

I don’t want to be here anymore.

Janus was at the entrance of the subconscious.

Well, more reminiscent of a gaping lake than an entrance, it was located in a part of the imagination more Remus-influenced, buried deep into a dead and withered woodland. There were sharp, curling branches of trees that always seemed to reach for you; they attempted to ward any visitors away from the lake. Janus experienced more than his fair share of scratches from thorns as he made his way to the clearing in the woods occupied by the black-mist-filled lake, large enough for the shores to feel like the edge of a cliff.

(Janus couldn’t bother with proper measurements, he always had problems remembering how long a foot or a meter was.)

The lake itself was surrounded by crumbling, dried up flora, decaying bone of fauna littered the ground as well. Overflowing out of the lakeshore, black mist sheeted over the ground, a thin layer of the smoke crawling around the base of Janus’ feet. It was cold, the kind of chill that’d require an extra layer or so—but despite the cold lagging his body, he couldn’t help but enjoy it. Not a harsh, biting ice, it was a pleasant breeze that rushed out of the lake.

Slowly stepping toward the subconscious, sharp stones of the bank tumbled beneath his feet. Motions lethargic, he carefully sat on a spot just where the pool of smoke began, bare of any stones, only black sands dusting his clothes. He stared into the entrance, dipping his hand into the chilling mist.

He could feel the fibers of his hand being pulled apart one by one the longer he left it in.

He pulled his hand out, experimentally opening and closing his fingers, his bones and skin all in one piece.

Smiling, humored by how easily he could walk into the lake and fall into an endless abyss that lay just at the bottom, he pulled his knees up to his chin and watched the smoke swirl and brush against him with spindly fingers.

The cold dug deep into his bones, the weathering caves of his chest empty, as though it was mimicking the lake.

And away from everyone else, somewhere deep in the imagination where no one would look; he felt safe. At the edge of a realm that’d tear him apart like silk fabric in a meat grinder were he to fall in, he felt more at peace than he had in months. It was sad, truly.

He rolled a stone between his thumb and other fingers, the edges poking at his flesh through the thin fabric of his glove.

He watched as the mist soothingly puffed and spread; his hand began to tremble lightly. It was cold.

I could walk in.

No one would be able to stop him, and none would be the wiser.

Tendrils of mist flowed over the fabric of his clothing, wrapping gently around his limbs. It was comforting, almost.

It could end here, I could walk to the bottom and drop in.

He wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his forehead on his knees and burying his face in the warmth of his core.

I could rest and feel nothing.

Exhaling a soft sigh, nearly smiling, he took a glance out toward the entrance again.

It’d be okay, the others would move on quickly.

Just do it, it’d be better for all of them.

Go.

Do it now—

And like a string being yanked from within his core, he was pulled up harshly, as if someone were trying to pull his intestine out from his mouth.

He rose up in the living room of Thomas’ home, warmth immediately suffocating him as he arrived. He stumbled, leaning on the post of the stairwell railing beside Logan, stunned from the sudden shock of temperature. And the heavy weight on his chest slammed down onto him, breathing strained once more.

Janus looked up, slowly steadying himself as he pulled away from the railing, breaths heavy and panicked. All of them were there, standing and watching him with critical eyes. Picking him apart by every flaw and imperfection.

“Janus, where have you been?” Logan spoke first, adjusting his glasses with a thin frown.

Virgil rolled his eyes from the stairs, huffing an annoyed sigh.

“We've been calling you for the past half hour and you didn’t respond whatsoever,” His voice was hard, cold. Janus shrunk back, clenching his fists as he felt himself begin to crack. He gulped, saying nothing.

“Well?” Anger laced Patton’s voice, bordering on shouting, “You really just ignore us every chance you get!”

And Janus tried—he tried to defend himself, stuttering.

“I—I was doing something, I didn’t notice your summons,” His voice was weak, as was his response. He desperately attempted to pull his crumbling facade back together.

Patton scoffed in disbelief.

“For the past thirty minutes? Really? Excuse me if I find that hard to believe,” He glared, arms crossed and fists closed, “You wasted everyone’s time. Always off ‘doing something’,”

What do you want me to say? That I was busy contemplating if I should die? His mind hissed, spiteful. It only made Janus struggle not to burst into tears.

“I’m sorry,” He mumbled, mind muddling as their eyes pierced his heart.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t enough,” Patton huffed.

Janus gulped, tears beginning to blur his vision.

Why are you always so sensitive?

Roman and Remus paid no mind to the verbal attack Patton was inducing, instead moving to sit on the couch with Thomas because, oh, yeah, Thomas was watching him, too. It seemed his host couldn’t find his words, merely stunned by the scene. Why won’t you help me?

“What did—did you need me for?” Janus could only ask meekly, feeling tears edging, pooling at the bottom of his eyes, only barely held back from falling.

Logan spoke, clearing his throat.

“Thomas had an issue,” Logan said, mild and casual, “Regarding one of his friends who had vented to him earlier today,”

Janus only nodded numbly, his throat closing with the squeeze of a gulp.

“They had revealed that their mental health had, figuratively, gone down the drain,” Logan said, “They said they didn’t want to live anymore,”

It felt like Janus’ heart choked painfully, a pain that pulsed beneath his ribs. Same hat, he couldn’t help but think, just barely stopping himself from laughing aloud.

Thomas winced from the couch, only turning miserably on his side and close to Roman. The bluntness of Logan’s summary must’ve made it worse.

Janus cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow at Logan in a wordless, go on.

Patton stepped in instead, a supposedly heartbreaking look on his face, a stark contrast to the anger from just a few moments before.

“Thomas tried to help them, but he said he couldn’t—he said he didn’t have the energy to,” Patton spoke, voice wobbling, “They could die and Thomas would just be sleeping through it!”

Thomas winced again, shutting his eyes as he looked away. Janus watched him carefully, trying to communicate the aching pity and sympathy he felt. Patton could never stop his guilt-tripping, gaslighting bullshit, not even for their host.

Janus could only huff and subtly rub at his eyes to clear them of tears, disguising it as massaging his nose in annoyance.

“And I’m here, why?” He responded quietly, managing to prevent any breaks in his voice.

“You’re the one who’s making him all useless,” Virgil grumbled, “Stop doing that,”

Ah, of course. It was all his fault again for not trying harder.

“Well, maybe not useless, but we thought that you might’ve had a hand in this,” Patton interjected, clasping his hands in front of him. He held a smile that was painfully forced, polite and overwhelmingly sweet. Janus hated it. This man had too many mood swings that gave him incredible whiplash.

“Which hand?” He could only mutter dry humor, a dull blade trying to cut tension.

Virgil growled, “Jesus fucking Christ, stop it with the jokes!”

Janus only looked away, staring into the bumps of the paint on the walls. He took a deep breath, like a rush of ocean breaking through the beach shore.

“I’m assuming you want a solution, unless you called me just to antagonize me?”

Virgil only rolled his eyes and a flash of anger seemed to spark across Patton’s face.

“That’s a mean word, Janus,” Patton spoke, mildly.

And Janus himself had to stop himself from punching the stairwell rail. He isn’t a fucking child. They’re just pissed because he called them out for once.

Anger flared up and dulled as quick as it came.

“Thomas,” He turned to said man on the couch, voice steady and hard, “Tomorrow, spend all the time you can with them, remind them that you’re there for them and they aren’t a burden, or whatever other reason they have for feeling this way.”

Adjusting the hat on his head with a huff, blinking his eyes of the thin cover of tears, he pulled up his defenses once more.

“Thank you, Janus,” Thomas said softly, and it almost felt pitying.

Janus only sent a look of indifference before sinking out without a word.