Chapter Text
Lies were the first sensation to return, promptly followed by pain. Janus groaned, folding in on himself and trying to bring up an arm to shield his chest, but cold shackles stopped him short. That was about the time he realized that he’d died.
Trying to talk to his double hadn’t worked, then. Given his track record, he supposed immediate success would have been too much to ask.
He forced open his eyes, trying to pull himself upright, and stopped cold. Wherever he was, he didn’t recognize it-- and he should have recognized every part of the Dark Side. The realization left a sour taste in his mouth.
Janus couldn’t be sure where he was, not yet; for all he knew, he could be in a pocket of the Subconscious, some shadowed crevice where his darkest fears had taken form. Some cruel simulation of himself as the monster, as the viper unwisely allowed into Thomas’s home. Vengeance from Roman, maybe, or a trick from Remus.
Oh, who was he kidding, he’d just died. If this had been a simulation, sheer instinctive self-preservation would have made the Mindscape toss him out into his room to heal. Waking up in some kind of dungeon should never have been part of the equation. Wherever he was, it wasn’t anywhere he knew.
There was a phantom ache between his ribs from where the knife had slid in, and he did his best to curl around it as much as he could. The imposter hadn’t said anything as Janus had bled out, just watched him with cold eyes.
Granted, Janus might have done the same, but he also would have attempted to talk first. Would have tried for a monologue, at the very least. The ruthlessness had been the strangest part.
Why wouldn’t one Deceit want to investigate another? The appearance of a new Side could mean so many things. For Thomas’s sake, if nothing else, there should have been some sort of exchange.
The door across from him opened, letting in some meagre light from the hallway outside. Janus forced his body to relax, to straighten out so there would be no sign of his weaknesses. Appear to be the one at ease in the situation, so then the other person would be on edge.
Whoever was in the doorway hesitated before stepping in, and that was how Janus knew that it wasn’t the false Deceit. He slinked in like an alley cat coming indoors for the first time, tense and ready to bolt at any second. Janus recognized the other Side’s bearing with a rush of relief and had to hide a smile.
“It’s about time you showed up,” he drawled, leaning against the wall and doing his best to shift any signs of lingering pain away. “I was starting to worry.”
Virgil came closer, shadows from the door throwing his face into odd relief, and the relief collapsed into wary concern. Anxiety was thin, more than he should have been with Patton and Roman’s constant kitchen experiments and Janus’s own modest attempts at making the Dark Side close to civilized. His face was pale, shoulders up in a way that looked less aggressively defensive and more on the verge of flight, and his hoodie was a solid black shape in the gloom.
The usual black under his eyes was more of a cloudy gray, failing to hide the very real exhaustion in his expression. Janus felt a chill crawl up his spine.
Virgil didn’t speak, just glanced back at the doorway before moving forward, coming into Janus’ reach. There was something clutched in his hands, his fingers white around it. Virgil put the object down and then scurried backwards until his back hit the wall.
Janus waited to see if Virgil was going to do anything else, but he just watched from the shadows. Slowly, Janus crawled closer to see what Virgil had put down - it was a tupperware container, and when he pulled it towards him, he could see that there was food inside it. Something about the sight made his gut sink heavily.
He was being brought food by an uncommunicative captor. That didn’t bode well for the likelihood of conversation, did it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, testing the Virgil-copy’s reaction. The sight of him all in black and reticent made his chest clench with unwanted memories, dangerously close to regret, but he pushed past it. This situation required cunning, not useless sentimentality-- and Virgil had never been so dreadfully skinny. “All that effort and not even a word to your helpless captive? I’m not afraid I’ll have to retract some villain points for that.”
No response, not even to the in-joke. Janus met the copy’s eyes, relieved to find a hint of wary dislike, and said, “Really, Virgil. Is this the best hospitality you have to offer?”
Virgil froze at that, lips drawing back in a reflexive snarl. Janus doubted he even realized he was doing it. “What did you just call me?” he demanded, then paled even further, darting another glance at the door. Janus glanced after him and revised the chances of his other self listening in from fifty percent to one hundred. A Light Side wouldn’t have been able to resist chiming in.
“My apologies,” Janus drawled, watching Virgil carefully. “Is there another name you’d prefer?”
Virgil glanced at the door and then took a step closer. “Why did you call me that?” he said, lowering his voice. “You’re not-- I’m Anxiety. You know who I am.”
Was he testing that assertion? Curiouser and curiouser. Janus sat up straighter, holding in a gasp at the jostle of his ribs, and said, “Of course I do. How could you expect otherwise?”
“Stop that,” Virgil snapped, and the sight of some kind of emotion other than fear was a relief. “I know what you are.”
“Is that so?” Janus raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you could enlighten me, in that case. As far as I know, I woke up here less than an hour ago. And I do know you, Anxiety. I’d say I know you rather well.”
“You don’t know me at all,” Virgil replied, and then stopped and shook his head. “You’re not real. You’re just some construct.”
“Of course I’m not, we’re all part of Thomas’s mind,” Janus said automatically, and then the second part of the sentence sunk in. Shit. “I’m a construct, is that it? That’s news to me.” He pretended to consider, then added, “Then again, it would make sense to make one who thought it was a real boy, wouldn’t it. Much less convincing. What would you expect my purpose to be, if I’m not as real as you?”
“Sounds like something you should try to figure out,” Virgil spat, actually bristling.
With that, Virgil turned and marched towards the door, and fear rose up in Janus once more. As unsettling as this wrong Virgil was, it was still better than being left alone in the dark. The door slammed shut behind Virgil, and Janus slumped backwards, letting his head hit the wall.
What a lovely beginning. He sighed, bringing his knees up to his chest, and glared at the shackles around his ankles and wrists.
Whatever happened, it seemed he’d be here for a while. He might as well put the time to some use.
*
The next two days brought only Virgil, bearing meals so obviously cribbed from the back of the refrigerator that Janus was almost offended. Strawberry yogurt. A single piece of whole wheat bread. Kefir, of all things. If nothing else informed him that Virgil had been put in charge of providing him with enough sustenance not to waste away, the food choices would have. He was half-expecting a buffet of cheese puffs and fun-sized Snickers bars for dinner.
Virgil said nothing when he entered, despite Janus’s prodding; on the second day Janus kept just as quiet, observing and letting himself be observed. Virgil was jumpy, mouth twisting every time he caught Janus’s eye, and he never held his gaze for more than a moment.
Speaking up unexpectedly made him jump, eyes going wide and shoulders going tense as bowstrings, but keeping silent seemed to make him a curiosity. Virgil stayed longer when Janus held his tongue. As much as he hated to admit it, even that meager company was soothing. Janus had never been so long without some form of stimulation, whether philosophy or Remus’s company. He was aching to draw Virgil of all Sides into a conversation about utilitarianism.
Two days, and he never saw his impostor. It shouldn’t have been long enough to make him surprised at a visit, but, well-- he was going to chalk it up to food deprivation. No matter how desperate things got, he was not drinking strawberry Faygo. Janus had standards.
So when the door opened on the third day, he perked up at the chance to see Virgil again, only to freeze when the figure in the doorway stood tall and proud. Even unable to see the scales on his face, Janus recognised his own silhouette.
His lips drew back. “Lovely of you to finally make an appearance,” he said. His counterpart felt sour , almost bitter in his intensity; it made Janus want to tear him down, trip him up until he lost the thread.. It was the least this bastard deserved for chaining him up like a heretic under the Inquisition. “Have you decided to fatten me up for the oven? Should I start hoarding chicken bones now?”
Janus resisted the urge to smirk at the look of annoyance on the imposter's face. Good, maybe now he’d give some sort of clue as to what was going on. The other Deceit strode forwards, stopping just in front of Janus, and Janus met his gaze defiantly.
But the imposter said nothing. He backhanded Janus across the face, and the sheer shock of it sent him to the ground. It was a good backhand; he’d put his entire body into it, clearly intending to make it as hard a blow as possible.
Janus spluttered, pained tears popping up at the corners of his eyes, “What the hell was that for?”
“Insolence, mostly,” the impostor said, and the sound of his own sharp, honeyed voice made Janus still. “Five seconds in your company and I’m already sick of hearing you talk. You’re such a poor substitute.”
“How funny,” Janus rasped, meaning nothing of the sort. “I was just about to say the same of you.” The shock of the blow made his cheek hot and smarting, radiating pain; he grimaced past it and snapped, “Is there a reason you killed me? I thought Deception was all about civil conversations.”
“An extremely poor substitute,” the impostor amended. “Tell me, Deception , where do you come from?”
“The other side of the rainbow,” Janus said blithely. “I was born from children’s laughter and summoned by their most saccharine dreams.”
The impostor looked disappointed, like a schoolteacher whose pupil had given a truly idiotic answer. Janus was familiar with the feeling, which really just made things worse. “Last chance, Deceit. Unless you’d like to make another jibe?”
“Fuck off,” Janus snapped. “If you seriously intend to continue with this, this farce--”
The imposter sighed and stepped forwards. Janus tensed, bracing himself for another slap.
It never came. Instead his other self kicked him in the chest, sending phantom agony through his lungs, and before he could get up, could recover or pull his limbs in to shield them, the impostor brought down his foot--
Janus’s fingers had been curled against the ground, braced and scrabbling. His counterpart crushed them, buckling them with his weight; something small and vital collapsed with an audible snap .
Janus screamed . Hot tears welled up in his eyes and slid down his face; he was no longer able to stop them. When he blinked them away enough to be able to see, the imposter was kneeling in front of him, watching his reaction with reptilian interest.
“Just so we understand each other,” the impostor said. Janus bared his teeth, too shocked and agonized to trust himself with words, and his counterpart smiled in cruel recognition.
He left the room, closing the door behind him with all decorum, and Janus dragged himself against the wall to cradle his hand to his chest, closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe.