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edupunkn00b · 10 months

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The Uses of Adversity, Ch. 15: Live to Tell

Prev - Live to Tell - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC: 3378 - Rated: T - CW: swearing, non-graphic discussions of abuse

Janus depositions Logan in preparation for their court battle with Kelly. He tells Janus everything. Well, nearly everything. Everything relevant, Logan is certain.

I have a tale to tell Sometimes it gets so hard to hide it well I was not ready for the fall Too blind to see the writing on the wall

A man can tell a thousand lies I've learned my lesson well Hope I live to tell the secret I have learned 'Til then, it will burn inside of me - Live to Tell, Madonna

Roman stayed until Saturday afternoon. They spent the night on the couch, talking and… to be honest, each had dozed a bit, as well. Logan had fallen asleep first, warm and safe, wrapped in Roman's arms, holding him just as closely. The next morning, the boys didn’t question Roman’s presence and simply greeted him like he belonged there.

Despite his worries, they’d had a blissful weekend together, with cake and leftovers for breakfast, and a thrift store hunt for books and Doctor Who DVDs later in the day. Saying goodbye to Roman had been difficult, with wild fantasies of making a permanent space for him flitting through Logan's mind. But Remy's scheme to meet up the next weekend for the movie gave them all something to look forward to.

Remy’s housemate Emile came by Sunday afternoon after spending the weekend with his parents and they’d all fumbled their way through making sushi with the kit the boys had given him for his birthday. Emile had even gifted him a little matcha tea set, the sakura petals on the bamboo finish perfectly matching the kit from his sons.

By Sunday night, Remy, Virgil, and Emile had driven back up to Bellingham, and Logan had dropped off Patton at Kelly’s for her week with him. Neither had mentioned the papers.

He took his time getting ready for bed, drawing out the rote tasks. He flossed twice, refilled the hand soap bottles, changed out the towels in all the bathrooms. The weekend’s busyness, his sons’ laughter filling the house—and, thanks to Roman, his own—had pushed away his worries about Kelly’s filing and Monday’s deposition with Janus.

Now that he was alone again, it was impossible to think about anything else.

More times than he wanted to admit, he’d picked up his phone, tapping open his ongoing chat with Roman, and tried to imagine what he would say if he invited him over. Twice, he’d even started to type out the message, but no matter how he worded it, his request sounded… disrespectful. Dirty. Hey, Ro, my sons aren’t home. Wanna come over?

Shaking his head, he went downstairs to finish the laundry he’d neglected that weekend. Once that was done, he moved on to strip all the beds and, in a few loads, had washed all the sheets and blankets. By the time he’d folded the last comforter, still warm and smelling like that Saturday Roman had found him at the laundromat, the first birds had begun their morning calls. Logan made his bed, brewed a fresh pot of coffee, then stood in front of the kitchen window to watch the sunrise slowly open the blooms in his flower box.

When the bottom edge of the sun cleared the horizon, Logan rinsed his cup and got ready for work. If he left soon, he could take the bus in and not need to worry about the traffic over the bridge.

“A little odd to be on the other side of one of these, isn’t it?” Janus remarked as he sat across from him in his office. He tried not to listen when Janus asked Beatrice to ensure they weren’t disturbed, though he’d appreciated the way Janus had asked him to bring a stack of files from his office as a subtle subterfuge.

“More than a little,” he nodded.

Humming, Janus flipped through folders on his desk. “I see from the proceedings you represented yourself—”

“You have my court records?” Logan interrupted, eyes wild as he tried to recall what other information might be hidden away in those files.

Janus looked up, a faint frown wrinkling his brow. “I’m your attorney.”

“Right, yes, of course… I—I don’t mean…” He looked down at his hands. Janus was certain to rescind the Assistant AIC offer after all of this. This was even worse than the review of his Q-Law cases.

“Did you consult with anyone?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I… took care of it. Kelly was the petitioner. She… It was… I just wanted it done.”

Logan wasn’t sure if Roman had warned him or not, but Janus started very slowly with the rest of his questions, building out a chronological list of events in their marriage and separation. He captured the boys’ names and birthdays—they’d been redacted from the court record. They talked a bit about Virgil’s birth and his surgeries. Logan even told Janus how Virgil’s genetic screening had showed a hereditary component to the defect in his diaphragm. He admitted how, afterward, he’d had his own genome screened and confirmed he carried the gene.

Janus didn’t ask for more details, so he let the rest of that thread drop.

Instead, he began to ask about the… quality of his relationship with Kelly. Logan bit the inside of his cheek, fighting for control. He’d just managed to win a sliver of respect from his boss. He couldn’t… He couldn’t just throw that all away with some overly emotional reaction.

“We… we disagreed on…” Logan sucked in a slow breath, forcing his twitching hands to calm. Janus’ eyes flicked down to his lap and made a note in the margin of his yellow legal pad. “On a few important things about the boys.” He shrugged, “Like all married people, I suppose.”

He nodded slowly, writing without taking his eyes off of Logan’s expression. “Your parents… disagreed a lot?”

In one breath, Logan was back in his parents’ old rambler in Oregon. He sat on his closet floor, making flashcards, a heavy AP History textbook open on his lap. Surrounded by hanging clothes, with his blanket shoved against the gap at the bottom, his father’s shouted words and his mother’s occasional responses were muffled and difficult to make out.

But the tones were unmistakable. And far too familiar.

Logan couldn’t stop his hands from shaking so he crossed his arms over his belly, gripping and releasing the sides of his shirt. “Excellent motivation to get a scholarship to UW and move out on my own,” he said, an attempt at levity. His voice cracked at the end and Janus simply made another note on his legal pad.

Janus tapped the end of his pen against his lips and went quiet. Logan had observed him cross examine reticent witnesses often enough to have seen this tactic of his before. Given enough time under his ‘I have all day, how about you?’ gaze, even other attorneys who knew it was coming would start to sweat and say anything to fill the silence.

Logan was well practiced at holding his tongue.

“You were married for…” Janus flipped back to the front page and did the math. “Eighteen years.” Faster than Logan had expected, he’d moved on to the ‘I already know everything, you might as well answer my questions’ stage. “This is difficult. Difficult to talk about, difficult to re-experience,” he said, his voice softer than Logan had braced himself for and his eyes darted up, an unfamiliar expression on his boss’ face. “Believe me, I understand.”

He nodded, then lowered his head and waited for Janus' next question, shields up and ready.

“Talk to me, Logan.” Without seeing his face, it almost sounded like a plea. “What made you finally decide to divorce?”

Eyes closed to avoid the inevitable ridicule on Janus’ expression, Logan forced a slow, deep breath. Still, his voice shook shamefully when he spoke. “How much of this has Roman already told you?”

“None." Logan looked up, the honesty in Janus' voice too strong to ignore. “Roman can be a bit of a drama king—”

“Excuse me?” Logan’s voice was sharper than he’d intended but instead of looking angry at his interjection, Janus merely looked surprised and… pleased?

“As is my Remus,” he said, the tone of that ‘my’ hanging in the air, as though he noted some other parallel between the brothers. Janus’ smile morphed into a bit of a smirk. “As am I, so I’ve been told.” Janus watched his reaction with interest and for a moment, Logan could have sworn his boss was about to add him to his list of ‘drama kings.’ Logan looked down and smoothed his tie for the sake of having somewhere else to look. “Personally, I think the world could use more drama kings,” he continued. “You never need doubt where you stand with us.”

Speak for yourself, Logan thought but did not say.

“Regardless.” Janus grew serious. “Unless you asked him to tell me something personal you’d shared with him, Roman would not breathe a word of it.” He lowered his legal pad. “And, aside from a very short list of legally required disclosures, the same is true for me. Your secrets are safe.”

He pinched his sides, a distraction from the tears already burning the backs of his eyes. Janus waited, but when Logan didn’t speak for several long moments, he prodded. “To do my job, Logan, I need to know everything.”

Logan deflated, the last shreds of his pride spooled in a tangled mess on the floor. “I know,” he sighed.

“Was it more than 'disagreements' between you?” Janus asked again, even softer this time.

Logan’s bottom lip trembled, but the harder he tried to control it, the worse it got. He nodded and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

“Much more.”

Eighteen years of practicing law plus two decade’s worth of his own personal experiences had muted Janus’ expressiveness in the face of misery. Remus worked hard to ensure it was a mask he could drop, that he had spaces where he was free to cry and shout and stumble and laugh. His husband spent an inordinate amount of energy and love ensuring he would not be swallowed up and consumed by his jaded attorney façade.

Janus clung to that jadedness now, letting it carry him as he fought to keep a mostly neutral expression while Logan recounted the gradual descent from storybook romance to a narrow escape from Hansel and Gretel’s witch.

It was a familiar story. While Q-Law received most of its funding from its flashier cases, the national attention garnered through their work on major legislation, fancy galas, and private benefactors, from a caseload perspective, a plurality of their work was in family law. Domestic violence cases in particular. Q-Law was there to serve a need in the queer community and, tragically, that’s where the greatest need lay.

What made this story different for Janus was he didn’t need to ask if anyone at his client’s workplace had the faintest inkling of just how bad, just how dangerous his home life had been.

Janus had had none.

Shame bubbled in his chest as Roman’s tight-lipped admonition ran laps through his mind. ‘Maybe you don’t actually know him as well as you think you do.’ This interview proved he most certainly did not.

He turned to a fresh page. “And which of these injuries did you actually seek care for?” Logan curled in on himself, the implied accusation harsh even to Janus’ ears. “That came out wrong, I’m sorry. I simply wish to retrieve hospital records,” he said.

“Do you—” Logan shivered and Janus checked the thermostat. The office was set to 71°F. “Do you really think that will be necessary?”

He frowned and sat back in his chair. Janus was accustomed to clients, particularly DV clients, demonstrating resistance to reliving and retreading these parts of their lives. But Logan was a lawyer. A lawyer who, thanks to his now explainable eagerness to pick up so many of the toughest DV cases, was arguably the most experienced DV trial lawyer in the firm.

What wasn’t he getting about this?

“We’ve only seen the initial petition, Logan,” Janus began as carefully as he could. A spark of annoyance he couldn’t quite suppress buzzed in his mind. “If she alleges any sort of—”

“I never hurt her. Not even—” His voice fell away and his eyes were drawn to the door. Fuck, he was losing him.

Janus looked down at the desk between them. He stood, wincing when Logan flinched. He brought his legal pad and a pen and sat at the other end of the couch, nothing between them now but a few feet of overstuffed leather sofa.

“What can you share, Logan?” he asked softly.

“I…” He sighed, shoulders curled over and he held out his right hand. A vague recollection of a college sports injury explaining away the titanium pins that triggered court metal detectors flicked across Janus’ mind.

“I had surgery at Evergreen for my wrist fracture. Started at the emergency room. There will be X-rays.” Janus’ pen flew across the page. “I left… AMA from Recovery.” He massaged the bone just above his wrist and from here, Janus could see the three little white lines from the incisions. “Kelly came by with the kids and… drove me home.”

“She convinced you to leave against medical advice?”

Logan looked away. “The doctor had called a social worker because my injuries were ‘inconsistent with the patient’s reported cause.’”

Janus nodded slowly and made a few marks on the page before flipping back to review the full list of incidents Logan had recounted. “This was in October 2011?”

“After Patton’s first diagnosis.”

He nodded again and flipped back to the mostly blank page, pen hovering over the sheet, ready for the next set of records to requisition. When Logan remained silent, Janus looked up. “Whenever you’re ready,” he prompted gently.

“That’s it.”

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it?’” He stared at Logan, brow furrowed as he turned again to the pages detailing the times their arguments had turned violent. The times that bitch had turned violent.

“That was the only injury for which I sought care.” His voice was stiff. Formal.

“What?” Janus hissed, calm façade cracking as he scanned the list. “You—your—The fractures in your hand?” Logan shook his head, eyes on the floor. “Your concussions, the burn, the—the tear in your lobe, you—”

“Dermabond surgical adhesive was sufficient to stop the bleeding.“

Janus scoffed. “You can’t just order that shit from Amazon!”

Logan merely shrugged. “It’s a basic veterinary supply. It isn’t that difficult to acquire.”

“I see,” Janus said more to his notepad than his client. Logan had used fucking vetbond on himself then went to work the next day like nothing had happened. His employee. His co-worker. Sour acid churned in his stomach.

‘He’s your friend, too…’

Roman had been wrong. Janus had not been his friend.

He watched Logan over the top of his legal pad. Shame crawling up his spine, he wondered how many times he’d fucking laughed when Devin had sat where Logan was now and remarked how clumsy their quiet co-worker must be to so often have had some sort of limp or bandage or…

No. He couldn’t undo any of that. But he could fight like hell for Logan now.

“Do you have friends who would be willing to support any of this with contemporaneous reports?” he asked, trying a new tactic. “Neighbors? Anyone you’ve been close with who knew what had really happened and would give a statement?”

“No,” Logan said. His fingers tapped the side of his knee in what more closely resembled a tremor than a fidget.

“What makes you so sure they’d be unwilling to come forward?” Despite humanity's general unwillingness to rock the boat even to save a person from drowning, Janus couldn’t imagine everyone in Logan’s life would be so reluctant to help. With the notable exception of Devin, Logan had always been kind and thoughtful to everyone in the office, unerringly polite and considerate. The first to pass around a card for birthdays or tragedies, despite the glaring omission of his own. There had to be someone.

“We could ensure their anonymity if they’re concerned about… social ramifications. She wouldn’t need to know they’d said anything.”

It was like convincing a rock. He wouldn’t even look up. “Logan, we’ve done it before. Domestic violence situations, particularly when witnesses consider both parties friends and—”

Logan shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I mean I… I have no… confidants from that period of my life. Your, ah…” Logan crossed and uncrossed his legs then wrapped his arms around his stomach, hugging himself. “Your brother-in-law is my first friend in a very long time.”

He looked down at his statement. “You… “ Sighing, he set the legal pad face down on the coffee table and turned in his seat to face Logan properly. “You have been through so much and…” He met his eyes.

Janus used to wonder how people could be so blind when the people around them were suffering. How people could waltz through their days, ignoring the obvious hurt of those around them. But he’d been just as bad. Just as oblivious. “I'm sorry I never noticed the signs. That I never tried to help you.”

Logan looked away, rubbing the fingers of his left hand. Janus had always thought it a nervous habit. Now he wondered how much the mis-fused bones pained him. And how much of it was a reminder of that fight.

Finally, Logan shrugged. “I made every effort to ensure there was nothing for anyone to notice.”

They sat in awkward silence for a few moments, then Janus stood. “Can I make you some tea?” Logan looked up, surprise cutting through his mask. Janus smiled and spread his hands, gesturing toward the little kettle and bamboo box of matcha. “I know I could use a cup. I imagine you could, too.”

Logan huffed. “Got anything stronger than tea?”

Shaking his head, Janus chuckled and pulled his five-year Alcoholics Anonymous chip from his pocket. “Nope.”

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, I—I didn’t know.”

“It’s all right, Logan. We… we’ve both had our secrets, haven’t we?” Janus checked the kettle and clicked it on, then pulled two mugs from underneath the tea caddy. “How long have we known each other?”

“Almost twenty-two years.”

Janus shook his head. “Far too long to not actually know each other.”

“Perhaps,” he said.

The water rumbled in the kettle and Janus whisked it into the powder in the chawan, the steam carrying the bright, clean scent through the room.

“May I help with the tea?” Logan began to rise. “You don’t need to serve me.”

“Yes, actually, I do.” Janus looked over his shoulder and winked. “You’re older, so I pour the tea.”

Sitting back down, Logan shook his head, a tiny scowl wrinkling his brow. “I can’t be that much older than you.”

“Very nearly nine months,” Janus smiled as he poured Logan’s tea, then his own, and set both cups down on the table.

Logan’s face couldn’t decide if he should glare or grin.

“Don’t worry,” Janus nodded and waited for Logan to pick up his cup. “I promise I won’t rub it in too much.”

Smiling, Logan took a sip and set down his cup.

“Besides, it’s bad manners to mock the elderly.”

A sudden belly laugh burst from the ordinarily quiet man.

“Careful there,” Janus murmured, sipping his tea. “Too much excitement at your age can't be healthy.” Shoulders shaking, Logan laughed until there were tears in his eyes and Janus passed him another tissue.

Janus slid a little closer on the couch and smiled. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you really laugh.”

“Well,” Logan nodded and raised his cup. “Here’s to twenty-two more years of hearing it.”

By the time they finished their tea, the clock on Janus’ desk chimed six times. “Damn,” he muttered, pulling out his phone and confirming just how late it really was. “I hope I’m not keeping you from your boys.”

“No,” Logan shook his head, turning the little cup in his hands. “Not at all. Patton is at Kelly’s this week. I’m not needed.” Janus frowned at his phrasing and Logan fumbled to explain. “He carpooled after school, and the…” He looked down and the desk lamp cast long shadows across his face, exaggerating the dark circles under his eyes. “The quarter’s started at Western.”

“Hmm.” More shaken by Logan's words than he wanted to admit, Janus took their empty cups and placed them in the basin on the bottom shelf of his tea caddy. “Any plans for dinner, then?”

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naminethewriter · 1 year

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You're Not Alone

Chapter Three: Alone No More

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next | Ao3

Back again with the @sanderssidesgiftxchange gift for @edupunkn00b! It's slow going but it's going! Only one more chapter and the epilogue left. Hope you enjoy 🥰

Summary: Logan, Janus and Remus are celebrating their first Christmas as a married couple but a snow storm strands both Janus and Remus elsewhere, leaving Logan home alone. Knowing that the situation will trigger their husband, Janus and Remus need to find a way home.

Content Warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, mentions of panic attacks and flashbacks

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door swung open to reveal a person covered from head to toe in thick clothes. Clothes that Logan recognized from this morning when Janus had left for Patton’s. His husband hates the cold so even for the few hours of sledding he had dressed like he was going skiing for the entire day, though he hadn’t worn everything for the drive. Now though, he wore the thick jacket buttoned up to his mouth, the hood up and a pair of sunglasses that were designed to keep snow out of the eyes. And it was obvious that it had been necessary with how much snow was clinging to his clothes.

“Would you let me come in, darling? Despite the many layers, it still feels like I’m freezing,” Janus said after a few moments of Logan simply staring at him.

Logan went from frozen to hectic within a few seconds. He pulled Janus inside and shut the door with more force than necessary. He began to wipe the snow off Janus’ clothes with bare hands, all the while rambling anxiously.

“What happened? How did you even get here?! Why are you here? Weren’t you at Remy’s? You must be freezing! What if you have hypothermia? We can’t get to a hospital in this weather!”

Cold hands grabbing his own startled him out of his panic. Janus had taken off the hood, glasses and gloves and his heterochromatic eyes were staring into his blue ones.

“Breathe, darling. I’m fine. Yes, I’m cold but that is a good sign. If I were hypothermic, I would be running very hot. If you would be so kind and get me a towel, I’ll get out of these clothes and we’ll talk about how I got here when you’ve calmed down, okay?”

Logan nodded, still shaking slightly. Janus gave him a task to focus on, something concrete to do and that alone helped him calm down. Still, he hesitated to leave, a part of him convinced that this was an illusion, that Janus hadn’t actually come home, that he was still alone.

His worries must have been written on his face because Janus smiled and squeezed his hands.

“I’ll be right here when you get back, starlight. I promise.”

That was enough to reassure Logan to set off to the bathroom. On his way he counted his breaths, in for four, hold for seven, out for eight. His heartbeat had mostly normalized as he opened the cupboard they kept their towels in. He grabbed one larger and two smaller ones and made his way back to the entrance.

It was silent as he travelled back through the hallway. He couldn’t hear Janus and again, he worried that he had just imagined the ringing of the doorbell and his husband coming home, but as he rounded the last corner, there he was, on the floor, struggling to pull off his boots. He smiled at Logan and suddenly he felt so much lighter.

This was real.

Janus was really there.

He wasn’t going to be all alone.

“Thank you, dear,” Janus hummed as Logan handed him the first towel. He wiped his face with it, then pulled off his slightly damp socks and wrapped his feet in the soft material with a sigh. Logan moved behind him and dried off his long hair, though it was barely wet, safely hidden under the hood and scarf Janus had worn. Said articles of clothing hung on their coat rack, dripping water steadily on the floor. They should move those to the laundry room soon.

Again, it was almost as if his husband read his mind when he commented:

“I should probably take a shower after taking this all to dry in the laundry room.”

“While I do agree with moving the wet clothing, I do not believe showering is the best option. If you do have some form of hypothermia, warming up too quickly could have adverse effects and I know you tend to use hot water to shower,” Logan argued while his husband pouted at him.

“Then how am I supposed to get warm again?”

Logan blushed slightly and avoided eye contact. Despite being married to both Janus and Remus for months now and having previously dated a couple years, he was still rather shy about openly showing affection. He cleared his throat.

“Sharing body heat is probably the best method.”

He didn’t need to look to know that Janus was grinning at him teasingly.

“Is that so?” he hummed. “Then are you willing to share your heat with me, my darling?”

“Of course I am. But we should get you into some dry and warm clothes first.” Logan didn’t hesitate in his offer, but his cheeks do turn a deeper shade of red.

“If I was Remus, I would suggest leaving clothes out of it entirely, but I would love to put on one of my sweaters, actually.”

Logan sighed at the mention of his other husband. He hoped he and Roman had managed to find a hotel room to stay in. They should call them once Janus was taken care off.

“I’ll put the clothes away, would you be a dear and fetch me my self-care day outfit?” Janus asked with a smile that Logan found he could never say no to. Not that he wanted to, he wanted to know his husband was not freezing to death sooner rather than later.

“You are the best,” Janus said when Logan nodded. He gathered the jacket, scarf, boots and other equipment he had taken off, pressed a kiss to Logan’s cheek and disappeared down the hall.

Logan himself went upstairs to their bedroom, but as he tried to enter, he found the room locked. Right. Of course it was. A precaution he had agreed to. And a necessary one at that since he could vaguely remember having a flashback intense enough that he would have locked himself inside if he had had the opportunity to do so. Janus had told him where he hid the key this morning in case Logan actually needed to enter their room for whatever reason since he wouldn’t remember during a flashback. And maybe it was the aftershocks of having one, but he couldn’t recall where the key was.

“Janus?” he called, after having walked back to the staircase, hoping his husband would hear him.

“Yes?” came the quiet but clear response.

“Where is the key for the bedroom again?”

“In the kitchen, under your Crofter’s jar!”

“Right,” Logan mumbled to himself before calling a thank you to his husband and going downstairs to retrieve the item.

He found Janus there already, only dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, leggings of some kind and his house shoes. He held the key out for Logan to take while using his free hand to set up water to boil, presumably for tea.

“You want some as well?” he asked as he handed over the small object.

“Yes please. And sorry for making you wait.”

“It’s alright. This layer is completely dry and warm enough for now.”

“I will still hurry.”

“Thank you, darling.” Janus pressed another kiss to his cheek and Logan hurried back to their bedroom, the promise of cuddles with his husband and a cup of tea very appealing to him as he was hit with a wave of exhaustion.

~~~

Ten minutes later, Logan and Janus sat beside each other on the couch, their legs tangled together under a blanket and each with a cup of their respective favorite teas in hand. Janus now wore his hair tied in a loose bun, his favorite yellow sweater and very comfy pants that Remus liked to steal from him occasionally.

Logan couldn’t be more comfortable but still he couldn’t quench his curiosity.

“Would you mind explaining to me now how you got here?”

Janus sighed and leaned forward to place his mug on the coffee table.

“It’s simple really. I walked.”

“You walked?”

“Yes.”

“From Remy’s to here?”

“Yes.”

“Through a snowstorm?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Why would you do that?! Do you not understand how dangerous that is?! You could have died! How did you not die?”

Logan was shaking and Janus carefully extracted the cup of tea from his hands and placed it beside his own before pulling him in a hug.

“I was well aware of the risk, honey. But what else was I supposed to do?”

“Stay where it was safe! Wait until the storm had passed!”

“Knowing you were here alone? Knowing you were already on the brink of a panic attack as soon as you hung up? I couldn’t do that, Logan. I never want you to have to experience those flashbacks again. I hate seeing you hurt like that. It breaks my heart and if you would allow me to pay that woman back for what she did to you, I would in a heartbeat, as would Remus. I think he has at least twenty different plans on how to make her life hell written down somewhere. I couldn’t stand the thought of you being here, alone, for however many hours it would be until the storm clears. I had to get to you. No matter what.”

“You could have died, Janus,” Logan said, his voice breaking. Both of them were crying, clinging onto each other as if it was the only thing keeping them alive. It felt like it was to Logan at least.

“I know. Remy told me so at least a dozen times. But you’re more important.”

“I’m not more important than your life!”

“To me you are.”

Logan sobbed and hid his face in Janus’ chest. His husband let it happen, stroking his hair and nuzzling against it.

“The important thing is that I made it here. Don’t think about what could have been and just be happy that we’re here together. You can still yell at me tomorrow.”

“I will.”

“I know. I’ll look forward to it.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now rest. We can prepare dinner together after a nap, okay?”

“Okay.”

Logan didn’t move and Janus made no attempt to separate them either and soon, both drifted off.

~~~

They awoke a few hours later to the doorbell ringing constantly and someone pounding at the door.

“LOGIE?! ARE YOU OKAY? CAN YOU HEAR ME?? OPEN THE DOOR! I WON’T LET YOU BE ALONE ANYMORE!”

The calling continued as Janus and Logan looked at each other with wide eyes.

“Remus?!”

#namiswriting #You're Not Alone #Chapter Three: Alone No More #sanders sides gift exchange 2022 #intruloceit #loceit #ts logan #logan sanders #ts janus #janus sanders #implied/referenced child abuse #mentions of panic attacks/flashbacks #hurt/comfort #multichapter fic #sanders sides #fanfiction #reblogs are appreciated #💛💙💚#💛💙

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macverse · 1 year

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My Bloody Nights with Mr. Evans

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By the end of the evening, the haphazardly spilled bloody mary wasn't the only thing staining the table linens a deep red.

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Mr. Evans hardly ever surprises me. I say hardly because the day that I found out he's a murderer I was surprised.

Back then, I'd been working for Mr. Evans for about five months. I came on to help manage the staff of his New England estate as his personal assistant. Unlike some of my past personal assistant jobs, the position is a full-time role that required me to be available 24/7 so I was given rooms on the property. Nothing too fancy. It was only a room in the part of the estate that was designated for the staff. The whole thing was a bit of a lifestyle shock having come from living in the city to the remote, quiet neighborhood of Massachusetts’ one percent. When I took the position, I'd wondered why my predecessor had left but I could never quite figure out what happened and the inability to find out anything became less odd as time went on.

My employer, Mr. Evans, is the sole inheritor of his family's international import and export conglomerate. Making him both wealthy, and well-known in the business world. His industry experience has afforded him many friends and business partners not only in the shipping empire but also in various enterprises. He's not only popular because of his wealth and business expertise but also for his exceptional prowess in the kitchen as well as for being an incredibly handsome, eligible bachelor.

Mr. Evans is always perfectly coiffed and clothed. His thick dark brown hair is always immaculately moussed, swept back from his face, and parted perfectly without a hair out of place. His beard is always groomed and trimmed accenting his chiseled face. His wardrobe is selected by an esteemed fashion stylist from designers all over the world and immaculately cared for by a tailor on the estate. You will never catch Mr. Evans looking disheveled.

I obviously didn't care or find any of that appealing or distracting. I have been PA to many wealthy, attractive businessmen who've tried their best to sway me into comfortable sugar-baby arrangements. I'm aware that I am a beautiful, young woman who could easily live a life of luxury on the whims of a wealthy man. I could easily allow myself to be lavished with extravagant gifts and whisked off to private islands at the drop of a hat. Money and power have never impressed me. And it sure is not enough to sacrifice the future of my career.

Back when I originally started I hardly ever spoke to Mr. Evans. We would meet at exactly 7:45 am in the small meeting room between Mr. Evans’s at-home office and a grand library that no one seems to use. From the beginning, I got the impression that Mr. Evans is a very precise individual and that he prefers tasks to be performed in the way he expects. I also gathered that he's not one to show a lot of emotion. I tried once or twice to get him to even slightly smile during our meetings but gave up when my jests kept falling flat.

Our meetings would run for no longer than thirty minutes to review any open items from the previous day and the schedule for the day ahead as well as any future plans he wanted me to handle. From there, I would hand off his schedule to his drivers and business analyst Luke, a newer staff member like myself, and set out to accomplish any tasks he'd assigned. During the rest of the day, I wouldn't see Mr. Evans unless any major things occurred that required his attention. Part of my job was to make sure that there was nothing that needed Mr. Evans's attention so most days I wouldn't see him again until the following morning.

My position was surprisingly much more simple than any of my previous positions. Unlike the households of my most recent employers who were new to their wealth and needed me to bring order to their new lives, everyone on staff had either been on the estate since the late Mr. and Mrs. Evans had maintained the property. Luke and I were the only new employees. There weren't that many things that didn't already have a set course of action that everyone already seemed to know. So I spent most of my day learning about my new employer, the history of the property, and making sure everyone had everything they needed. It wasn't until after a winter-themed dinner party to celebrate the forthcoming solstice that I noticed things on the Evans estate were not as simple as they seemed.

The morning after the dinner party was not anything I'd come to expect.

Read the rest on my AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43867305

#chris evans x reader #Chris Evans #x reader #personal assistant to chris evans #bearded chris evans #hannibal for ts #inspired #later on it has #mentions of sex #mentions of abuse #depictions of murder #is this a warning?#blood play #should i be warning people about that?

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egret-orchids · 6 months

Text

i think this is called self indulgence at its fucking finest but. sanders sides fic. why not. also i do NOT understand the american school system lmao so if theres any inaccuracy i apologise-

also this ends on a cliffhanger so. might make this a series.

a solution to the problem (au)

-> word count: 489

(cw: mentions of abuse- only one sentence or so, though)

Roman was fine. Yeah, totally fine. It wasn’t like today was his first big performance of the semester, or that he’d had yet another argument with his uncle. It totally wasn't like he had heard that maybe, just maybe, he'd finally run into his estranged twin brother after literally a decade.

Shifting his backpack (vibrant crimson with gold stars, as embarrassing as that was for a senior) over to his right shoulder, Roman walks briskly towards his locker. He twists the four dials and inputs the combination. Roman shoves his running trainers and a few spare books into the tiny metal box that was his locker. He wishes he'd had time to grab a cup of coffee before he left, but it was either he bolted as soon and as fast as possible or be left with yet another purplish-black mark on his collarbone. Roman sighs as a weird combination of a maniacal cackle and yell echoes from the nearby bathroom. Just another day in the life, he supposes.

The first period of that day- English lit, unfortunately- passes strangely quickly, and Roman finds himself mulling over the new information on...- who was it, Charles-fucking-Dickens?- after the class, so lost in his thoughts that he almost walks straight into a guy taller than him with black-rimmed glasses and a cat-eared hoodie who he recognises from higher-level history. Roman hastily apologises and continues on his way down the stairs to get to, no surprises there, math.

There's a new kid in his math class. Roman ends up sat next to him. He doesn't know the guy's name, and makes no effort to communicate or make eye contact, instead trying to focus all his attention on attempting to understand the weirdly intricate complexities of trigonometry.

Key word: trying.

The new guy keeps flicking tiny balls of paper at his ear and God, it's annoying. Roman eventually turns to shut him down with a glare. The guy smirks. "Oh, so it takes nine balls of paper to get your attention now, Roro?" he says, his tone teasing, but not mocking. Roman finds that smirk infuriating. And that nickname. Only his best friend calls him that now, and Virgil's off sick today.

"Don't call me that," Roman mutters harshly, "seriously. Don't."

The new guy sighs dramatically. "Come on. What, are you President Perfect or something?" he replies, "Also, dude, call me by name!"

Roman rolls his eyes. "What is your name?"

The new guy chuckles and mock-bows. "Remus. Remus Palaez."

Roman nods slowly. He finally meets this guy's eyes, and they're hazel, kinda like his, which is funny.

Remus's jacket is black and looks really similar to something Virgil would wear, funnily enough. The t-shirt under it is some green alien on a black background. Remus's hair is a darkish brown, the light making it appear golden. Remus rest his head on a hand, smiling slyly.

"Funny how we look so alike, hm?"

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thecrowslullaby · 2 years

Note

i just finished reading your murder mystery au omggg !! i know it’s been a while but i was wondering if you could give the backstory on janu’s scar, since that was something you had to cut from the story?

Aaaaa. I'm. Really glad you liked it!!!

Absolutely! From what 8 remember the original plot being: Janus got the scar the day he met Virgil. Virgil's parents were shouting about something at Virgil in public (have they found out he's gay? Were they upset he applied to an art school? Were they shouting about him being 'disrespectful'? I can't remember :')) Janus tried to intervene but instead of settling it with words he had earned himself hot coffee to the face from Virgil's mother. And it was personal now.

I do imagine he sewed the hell out of Virgil's mother and befriended Virgil along the way and helped him get away from an abusive family while he was at it.

Gained a son and a scar in one day :D.

#Scars #Abuse mention #Ts janus #Ts Virgil #Tss murder mystery #sanders sides #Ask!

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iclaimedtobethebetterbard · 2 years

Text

if you're going my way, i'll go with you - chapter 12

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: All the sides, character!Thomas, minor/background OCs Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Creativitwins Warnings: This chapter is just purely angst without any happy ending, because it is a flashback. There is: language, lots of references to child abuse, a minor burn injury, a death threat, getting kicked out, being forcibly separated from loved ones, a few instances of misgendering from the evil dad, and one (censored here, uncensored on ao3) use of the f slur. Word count: 2250

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

start - previous - here - next - masterpost

–

NOTE: This chapter is a flashback, taking place 5 years & 4 months before where we're at in the main story! Check the warnings. If you don't want to read this chapter, you will not miss out on any plot.

note 2: the correct pronouns are used for roman in the narration of the chapter, even though neither he nor remus knew about that yet, bc it feels better that way. there is still a bit of misgendering from the evil dad.

Chapter 12

Remus waited, lying in the dark with his eyes open, listening intently until he was absolutely certain both his parents were asleep for the night and they weren’t waking up. Silently, he rose from his bed, arranging his pillow beneath the covers so that, at least at a glance, it would look like he was still there beneath the covers. Ever so slowly, he eased open the window, its glide smooth and silent thanks to all the times he’d smuggled in supplies to grease it. The climb from his window to that of the room next to his was easy; he’d done it thousands of times, always careful not to make a sound, replacing the screens of each window behind himself. It was a slow process, taking care to maintain absolute silence, but he’d streamlined it over the years and now it took closer to five minutes than fifteen. He had to use the windows, because Ro’s door creaked, and their parents knew that it creaked and kept it that way on purpose, so there was no secret greasing to fix that.

Ro was pretending to sleep, and was remarkably adept at it for a six-year-old. But as soon as Remus pried open the screen to his room, he bolted upright in bed, waving with both hands and grinning wide, eyes big and bright in the moonlight. Remus gave an answering grin, but didn’t speak as he climbed through the window, dropped silently from the sill to the floor, and replaced the screen. He padded to the bed, avoiding the floorboards that would creak, and climbed into it. “Hi, squirt,” he breathed.

“Hi,” Ro whispered back, beaming from ear to ear and climbing into Remus’s lap. “I wanna hear a story!”

Remus put his arms around the tiny child, cradling him close against his chest. “Yeah?” he murmured, trying very hard not to cry as Ro nodded eagerly. Ro was warm and soft and solid and real, and as close to safe as was possible here in his arms, and tomorrow—

Tomorrow, that would probably not be the case.

Remus smiled down at Ro and kissed the top of his head, reaching over to grab the hairbrush off his sidetable. “Sounds good,” he said lightly. “What kind of story?”

Ro wiggled happily. “A happy one. With lots of heroes.”

“You got it, kid,” Remus whispered, and took only a few seconds to think before launching into a story that was soft and comforting and full of good things for the princess at its center. Even after he’d brushed all the knots out of Ro’s hair and put the brush back, he didn’t stop talking, simply inventing more and more nice things for the princess to do, from a tea party to a parade to a pillow fort, until Ro’s breathing slowed and gentled and his little limbs went limp and heavy with sleep against Remus.

Remus carefully put Ro down in the middle of the bed and laid down beside him, curling protectively around him and holding him close. Ro nestled into Remus’s hold easily and instinctively, gripping onto his pajama shirt with his little hands.

Remus bit the inside of his lip hard, blinking away the tears once more. He began running his hand through Ro’s hair, his other arm still curled around the child, holding him close as he kept a close eye on the clock on the other side of the room.

When five-forty-five ticked past and the window began to threaten the first tricklings of dawn, Remus pried himself away from Ro, pretty certain that he was ripping his own heart clean out of his chest and leaving it in Ro’s tiny hands. “Love you, Ro,” he murmured, bending to kiss his forehead.

Ro, who was an incredibly light sleeper, shifted and rolled over, blinking up at him sleepily. “Love you,” he echoed, smiling. “Happy birfday.”

Remus forced a smile. “Thanks,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep now, mmkay?”

“Kay,” Ro responded obediently; his eyelids drooped closed as Remus kissed his forehead again.

Remus waited for just a moment more to be sure Ro had gone back to sleep before he climbed out the window and back to his own room, stifling hot tears all the way. In his room, he pulled out the crumpled, smudged piece of torn notebook paper in his pocket, and dragged out his prepared backpack from under the bed. He ran over the checklist on the paper one last time, then pulled out the lighter hidden under his mattress and carefully, carefully burned the list. It singed his fingers at the end; he clenched his teeth until the initial pain subsided to a duller throb. He couldn’t risk running cold water or seeking out burn cream right now.

Even though the list was gone, he looked through his backpack one more time. He zipped it up, slid it under his bed, made sure it wasn’t visible from the door or standing next to the bed, and finally climbed into his bed just as the sun peeked through the window. He hid his face in the pillow, telling himself it was to block out the light and not at all to stifle the silent sobs he couldn’t hold back any longer.

The moment he managed to get his tears back under control, he focused on swallowing down the rest of the long cry that he wanted and did his best to act like he was asleep. It helped that he was exhausted; he actually thought that he might have dozed off for a bit, though he wasn’t sure.

Regardless, the noise of footsteps in the hall was enough to bring him to full consciousness and leave him tense and stiff beneath his blanket. He heard his dad use the restroom, shuffle back to his own room, and return a moment later to the bathroom, probably this time for personal grooming.

Remus closed his eyes, breathed deep, and forced himself to relax in a mockery of sleep, even as he heard his dad walking back down the hall.

There was no noise of the door opening, of course; Remus had lost “having a bedroom door” privileges long ago. The footsteps came to a stop right next to him.

“Get up,” his father said, roughly pushing at his shoulder.

Remus sucked in a breath, as if being startled awake, although it was barely even acting. He rolled over onto his back and pushed himself up on his elbows in one motion. “What—?” His voice faltered at his dad’s glare.

“Get dressed and come outside in the next five minutes,” was the cold answer he received.

“Can—” Remus swallowed, sitting all the way up. He’d known this was coming. He’d thought he could do it, thought he’d said his goodbyes.

He’d been wrong. He could stand most things. Not losing Ro.

“Can I say goodbye to Ro?” he asked, voice coming out small and timid. It would hurt. It would hurt so badly to see him again, and Remus knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it. But leaving him was even worse.

His father’s face darkened. “No. I don’t want you anywhere near her.”

“It’s my birthday,” Remus pleaded.

“If you really loved your sister, maybe you would have thought of that before you tried being a little [f slur] under my roof,” his father snapped. “I don't want you anywhere near her.”

“Danni’s a girl,” Remus protested reflexively under his breath. And it had been years since he dated her, anyway.

“What was that?” his dad snapped.

Wow. A warning. He didn’t usually get those. Happy fucking birthday to him.

Remus bit the inside of his cheek and didn’t say anything, staring at the ground.

That seemed to satisfy his dad. “Outside,” he repeated. “In four minutes.” He turned on his heel and left.

Remus took in a raggedy breath, scrubbed the fresh tears from his eyes, and changed lightning-fast into the outfit he’d laid out last night, pulling his backpack from under the bed and slinging it over his shoulders. He slipped the most important things into the secret pockets he’d sewn into the insides of his jeans and the lining of his coat: the key to the apartment he’d put down a down payment for last month, lying about his age so he could sign the contract; the card to his (secret) bank account, where he kept the money he earned at the (secret) part-time job he skipped school for; the shitty old phone he’d saved up for (in secret) and bought secondhand; and his driver’s license, the only one of these items that his parents even knew about. There was a decent bit of cash already sewn into his coat, too. In case his dad wouldn’t let him take the backpack with him, he should still have the essentials. He left the phone his parents had given him—new and expensive and completely under their control—on his desk and stepped out into the hall. He was pretty sure it had been only three minutes—he had gotten very good at keeping track of time.

But his dad was standing at the end of the hallway with his arms crossed, so Remus couldn’t slip into Ro’s room for one more goodbye. He shouldered his backpack a little more firmly and trudged down the hallway.

There was a soft creak of a door, and Remus froze.

“Remus?” came a little voice.

Remus’s dad’s face darkened, but he didn’t say anything or move.

It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, Remus’s heart had already broken today, this was too much, he couldn’t do it—

He stilled his face and turned. Ro was standing there in his pink pajama set, rubbing his eyes.

Remus took a few steps back down the hall, knelt, and hugged Ro close. “Go back to bed, squirt,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Ro clung to his shoulders as he tried to pry away. “Where are you going?”

“I dunno,” Remus admitted, and couldn’t quite keep the faintest tremor out of his voice. When Ro looked distinctly more frightened, he added, “On an outing. I’ll see you later. Go back to bed now, okay?”

Ro hugged him tightly. “Okay…”

“Good.” Remus pressed another kiss to Ro’s temple and whispered in his ear, “I’ll come back for you. Promise.” He sucked in a breath and got back to his feet, watching Ro cast a nervous glance at their dad and scamper back to his bedroom on tiny, silent feet.

Remus blinked hard until the tears blurring his vision went away, turned, and followed his dad out of the house. He got into the car on the passenger side without protest when his dad pointed at it. As the car pulled out of the driveway, Remus caught a glimpse of Ro’s face and two hands, pressed against his bedroom window and staring out at him; his small face was scrunched up in abject misery.

Remus set his face, shoving down the answering stab in his heart, and stared straight ahead through the windshield. Just a couple of months. Just enough that he knew his new job would work out and he’d have enough money to feed and clothe Ro, and then he’d come back and figure out some way to get him away from them.

Both he and his father were silent during the car ride. Remus had no idea where they were going; it didn’t really matter. He’d been under no illusions about what would be happening today. His parents had made it all too clear how eager they were to get rid of him at the first opportunity.

His dad drove without speaking for almost an hour, all the way out of the suburb and across to the far end of the city, until the buildings they were driving past were ones Remus had rarely seen before even though he’d lived in Sandersville all his life. At last he pulled up to the curb. “Get out.”

Remus swallowed, mouth dry, and unbuckled his seatbelt, dragging it out as long as he could.

“Don’t come back,” his dad added.

Remus rolled his eyes, opening the door of the car. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“If you come near your sister, I’ll kill you.”

Remus clenched his hand where it clutched the side of the door. He couldn’t even tell if he was meant to take that literally or not.

He swallowed back the sick feeling in his throat. Say it. Say it. He could say it now. He had to say it now. While he still had the chance.

He turned back to face his father, voice quiet but steady. “I hate you.”

There was silence for a heartbeat. Another. Remus could feel his hands starting to shake in spite of himself.

“I don’t care,” his dad said.

Remus felt the words like a blow to the chest. He let the car door fall shut and watched, almost numb, as his father did a u-turn and drove away. The car turned a corner and vanished from sight.

Remus’s legs gave out from under him and he collapsed to sit on the edge of the sidewalk, pulling his knees to his chest and shaking all over, staring into the distance with unfocused eyes, breath ragged and harsh and loud.

It was not quite eight o'clock on the morning of his eighteenth birthday, and Remus Kingsley was all alone.

Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @the-sympathetic-villain @just-a-little-anxious @your-local-crackhead-gremlin @remy-the-lemon-berry @midnightstorm-underthe-moon @crazydemigod666 @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @virgil-is-verge @simplestoryteller @oblivionartworks @so-youre-a-rock-with-issues @emoprincey @theblackcatscratchpost @biwithapie @poettheythem

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #thatsthat24 #creativitwins #creativitwins angst #remus sanders #roman sanders #ts roman #ts remus #trans roman #peregrin writes #if you're going my way i'll go with you #ts fic #ts fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #misgendering tw #child abuse tw #f slur mention

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