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thefauxfox-blog · 7 years

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Things Under The Bed

Another Sanders Sides story, once again mostly featuring Virgil and Logan. (The two sides I can relate to the best- I am creative, but certainly not royal, wholesome, or heroic, and while I do love terrible puns, my heart is less of an emotive organ and more of a consistent hydraulic pump.)

Logan scuffed his feet as he prowled down the corridor, glancing without much hope into each room as he passed. Had he been a side prone to being inflicted with emotions, he would feel frustrated and irked.

Princey and Pat were at it again. Heart and creativity, combining to make the most unrealistic, unproductive, whimsical waste of time ever. Logan had been bickering with them for the past hour and had finally slinked away to find someone who might be able to provide support for his arguments- Virgil.

Though he didn't particularly enjoy the company of the anxiety incarnation (but then, to enjoy was to emote and he most certainly didn't do that, so the conclusion was moot, as he didn't ‘enjoy’ the company of anyone) he did appreciate his purpose. Anxiety often used dialectic thinking to infer possible outcomes, following the scientific method of observation and hypothesizing to come to conclusions. The difference between Logan and Virgil at that point was filtering- Virgil highlighted the worst possible results and used those to reverse-drive decisions to avoid such results. He also chose to ignore probability and any data that drove a positive outcome, but those things aside, their processes were fairly similar.

Hence Logan’s search for a second in the debate with the two most illogical sides.

He knew Virgil was probably in his room, but checked each other location on the way anyways. He liked to be thorough.

Virgil’s door was closed, as it usually was, so Logan rapped on it twice and turned the knob. The argument had left him impatient and he didn't wait for a reply.

The room looked empty.

He walked in and peered into the other rooms that went off of the foyer. There weren't any signs of life anywhere. He called Virgil a few times.

He jumped spectacularly when something under the bed moved.

He was logic, so he most certainly didn't have any childlike fears, he was absolutely only reacting to the unexpected stimulus. Not scared. Nope. No sir, not him.

“V-Virgil!? What the Mendeleev are you doing?” he cried.

“Nothing,” Virgil said sullenly.

“What- why are you under the bed?”

“Screw off.”

“I- Virgil. Could you come out and talk to me face to face like mature respectable people?”

There was a long silence, then more movement. Virgil shuffled out on his back, and sat up, then stood. He slid out easily, like he'd done this many times. The anxiety avatar brushed himself off and avoided eye contact.

“What do you want, Logan?” he said sullenly.

“Well, now I want to know what you were doing under your bed.”

Virgil scoffed. “Nothing.”

“Okay look. I won't tell the others, I won't tease you, I won't judge. I just… I'm logic. I'm the knowledge and puzzle guy. And it's going to drive me absolutely nuts and keep me from being efficient, not knowing this. So for my peace of mind and Thomas’s, please tell me.”

More sullen posture and quiet, before he finally sighed heavily and spoke.

“I just… it's comforting.”

“Comforting? How so?”

“It's like- small spaces. When I'm feeling kinda down and I've got a lot weighing on my mind, it's comforting to be tucked in somewhere small. It's like… is there a thing that's the reverse of claustrophobia?”

“Claustrophilia. A love of small spaces.”

“Claustrophilia,“ Virgil said, slowly, as if trying out the taste of it.

“But there are other much better options for small, enclosed spaces. A closet, a linen cupboard, behind the couch, under a pile of blankets. Why under the bed?”

Virgil sat on the edge of the bed. Logan sat beside him, careful to give him a few inches of space, and let him be silent for a minute.

“Virgil. Why under the bed?” he prompted him again, gently.

“Because that's where monsters belong,” Virgil said in a single rushed breath, nearly interrupting Logan with the sudden outburst.

Oh.

To deny emotion at that point was fruitless. Logan wasn't the heart, but he did have some resemblance of one, and it broke at Virgil’s words. Because that's where the monsters belong. He could blame it on the slow creep of emotion Virgil’s room bled into him, but he'd always been the least affected by it, and he knew that it wasn't the room making him experience the emotional pain of- of this unnamed thing, this protect and save this creature, he doesn't deserve this suffering, I must shield him, yet I have failed already feeling. It wasn't quite pity or compassion or love, but some messy blend of all three, with dashes of protectiveness and paternity and unity.

“Virgil. You aren't a monster,” Logan said softly, staring into his face, which was tilted away and tucked down, shoulders hunched, mouth and eyes relaxed and sad.

“I… I know. I mean… I have monsters, though. I have something monstrous. I… my job, the entire purpose of my existence is the embodiment of Thomas’s anxiety. When I do my job, he suffers. You all suffer. And when I don't? He suffers and you do too anyways. I have to walk this fine line, I can't put on too much anxiety or he crumples, and I can't be too easy because he endangers himself. And every time I slip off that line, everything gets so bad, and it's all my fault, but I'm trying my best and sometimes that's just not good enough.” His voice had broken to barely more than a whimper by the time he finished speaking. His gaze had lifted up to Logan’s face, and now he dropped his eyes back to his knees.

“I just… I guess I know I'm not the monster. But sometimes I feel like it, so I just curl up under the bed until I start to feel okay again, and I feel like- like when I come out again, I'm leaving the monsters there. It's cathartic.” He snorted. “And ridiculous. Who burrows under the bed when they're feeling tired? It's stupid. Sorry.”

A word Virgil had used sparked a chain of thought in Logan’s mind. He raced along it-

“Terminal burrowing,” he said.

“What?” Virgil said, wrinkling his nose with confusion

“Terminal burrowing,” Logan repeated, more confidently. “It's when- well, there are two instances of it, really. The first is when a person enters the later stages of hypothermia, they tend to want to climb into somewhere small and enclosed, which is a self protective behavior, as this may help them warm up. The second iteration of terminal burrowing is exactly as it sounds. A final, eternal hiding. Many small mammals engage in this, as well as a number of other living creatures. Also known as ‘hide-and-die’ syndrome, it's even seen in humans sometimes, when an Alzheimer's or a cancer patient will inexplicably leave their sick bed and find some place quiet, enclosed, and uninhabited to die in. Terminal- final, ending, and burrowing- to hunker down. It's an instinct that protects everyone. It may help the person doing the burrowing to get away from any external forces having a negative impact on their health, and It may help the family of that person to not witness the actual dying moment. It's a dignified response- a bit like… well, you know the scene in the last book of the Lord of the Rings when the elves choose to sail away because they’re a dying species? Instead of the painful and undignified death, they get peace and space to suffer without concern or judgement. The elderly have been known to do it- to seek out somewhere private to experience their death alone.”

Virgil was quiet, eyes wide with something like surprise, but there were a myriad of other emotions playing across his face- which he had finally turned to Logan- at the same time. Fatigue, but something that seemed beyond sleeplessness. Understanding. Acceptance of self. Resignation. Embarrassment. Longing? Envy.

“Virgil. Are you experiencing the former or the latter case of terminal burrowing?”

Virgil closed his eyes, and Logan only let the quiet hang for a moment before he scooted over to him.

He put his arm over his shoulder and pulled him closer, and grabbed a throw blanket from the foot of the bed to pull around both of them.

“I will warm you,” Logan said factually. He hadn’t given Virgil long enough to reply simply because he rejected the latter option. Virgil was frigid, hypothermic, suffering from cold and exposure (allegorically). He wasn’t dying. Perhaps the ice felt like death, but he wasn’t dying. He just wasn’t. He couldn’t. They all needed him.

He refused to accept a reality where Virgil was dying. So the only other option was that he was hypothermic.

“Thank you,” Virgil mumbled, sounding a little abashed, but he didn’t draw away.

They sat like that for a long time.

“Perhaps… next time you’re feeling claustrophilic you’ll consider the other options. We could make the blanket fort in the common room a permanent fixture. You isolating yourself in this way may be counter productive. You don’t have to socialize, but just having the presence of others, without the interaction, may aid your distress. Or we could find another place.” He paused, chewing his lip, unsure if it was wise to continue… screw it. “Or… the arms of another may provide an acceptable enclosure to soothe,” he added quickly.

“I don’t want to bother you guys with this. I already bug you with enough crap,” Virgil said hurriedly.

“That wouldn’t be bothersome. In fact, I find this to be quality bonding time, not bothersome. It’s extremely productive. I know that Patten would be overjoyed if you asked him for a hug, or if you even just approached and curled up with him. Roman- well, he comes across as rude and distasteful, but even he knows that the comfort of hugging is good for all parties. And us getting along always benefits Thomas, a fact that shouldn’t be forgotten.”

“Well… alright. Maybe,” Virgil said slowly. And Logan knew that, in his own way of speaking, that was as good as a verification. He gave his shoulder a tight squeeze.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Virgil. I know you often are cast in the villain role, but we all know you’re a hero, not a monster.”

Virgil said nothing, but where his face was tucked against Logan’s chest, he felt the corners of his mouth turn upwards.

Author’s Note: This was also published on my AO3 account here and I’m open to more prompts- I love angst, logic problems, chaos, fear, comfort, whump, and mostly everything to do with this foolish batch of sides. I just really liked this topic, too- most people feel claustrophobic when they get anxious, and I present the opposite. I used to do this when I was little- hell, I’d be lying if I said I don’t still do this every once and a while. Though I suppose it’s less to do with anxiety and more to do with other overwhelming negative emotions. Does this happen to anyone else? My ask box is always open if anyone wants to chat!

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #virgil sanders #logan sanders #anxiety #logic #claustrophilia #thomas sanders #tsfic

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