Hello lovely readers! We're nearing the... end? Climax? The part where everything goes crazy? Whatever it's called, we're there. Thank you to everyone who has come this far, hopefully you'll stick around to the end. We're getting all six of them together next chapter, if all goes according to plan; it'll probably be either extra long or extra short, depending on whether or not I break up the next scene. I'd like to especially thank those of you who have reviewed, it really makes my day.

WARNING: This chapter contains gruesome imagery involving a zombie head missing the rest of its body. Also, nervousness around crowds and semi-voluntary singing in front of them.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sanders Sides. I also don't own Hamilton; the speech in italics is from one of its songs, it's not mine. I do own a bowler hat, though.

Stay safe, have a wonderful day, and enjoy chapter eight!

...

Virgil perched on the arm of the couch in front of the television, arms and knees drawn into his chest. If he hadn't been sitting on couch arms and other strange places for years by then, he was sure he would've fallen off long ago. People were moving around everywhere, jostling him back and forth as they made halfhearted efforts to get around the couch to enter or exit the living room. The others sitting on the couch part of the couch kept bouncing around, too. He'd had to excuse himself to the kitchen twice by then, coming back each time with a cookie. He wasn't sure if they were so fresh that they hadn't cooled down yet, or if the chocolate chips were melting because he was squeezing them too hard.

He hadn't been to a party since before middle school, and he'd attended exactly two school dances because his mom had insisted that he might have fun (she was wrong). He wasn't sure what he'd expected. There didn't seem to be much structure or anything. It was a free-for-all, and the closest thing there was to an organized event to unite the partygoers was the television set. After a tug-of-war with the remote, someone had found Hamilton and put it on; naturally, no one argued, so now most of them were going between chatting with their friends, giving the screen their undivided attention, and acting out the scenes from Hamilton in the middle of the room.

Despite his claims of nervousness, Patton fit right in. He'd quickly been absorbed into a small cluster of actresses, so quickly that Virgil couldn't tell if Patton knew more people here than he'd expected or if he was so good with people that they'd adopted him on the spot. Neither would've surprised him. Patton had been at his best with others for as long as Virgil had known him. He listened to people talk like he'd never heard something so exciting, he asked all the right questions and reacted in all the right places, and he knew just when to change the subject or let something go. It was no wonder Virgil had trusted him from the start.

He found himself smiling as Patton's new friends dragged him into the center of the living room to perform "The Schuyler Sisters" with them; there were five of them, and four had paired up on dressing as Angelica and Eliza, so Patton in his yellow made a reasonable honorary Peggy double. Virgil secretly adored musical theater, so he'd insisted that Patton listen to Hamilton, and it was paying off as Patton jumped around and sang. He floundered a bit on the more complex harmonies, but found a note easily enough.

Patton could just blend like that. Even when he stuck out, he was part of the group. Virgil didn't know what he wouldn't give to have that.

Virgil nibbled through the rest of his cookie before the song ended. Patton ducked away from the girls and leaned on the back of the couch. "I had no idea what I was doing," he whisper-shouted into Virgil's ear.

"You were great," he said instantly.

Patton's eyes shone. "You really think so?"

Before Virgil could respond, Roman leapt into the center of the room and cried, "Hear ye, hear ye!" That was all it took to draw Virgil from the conversation. Roman was so natural up there, performing casually like it wasn't the end of the world. He had this way of making the world his domain, of sweeping it up after him and leaving an electrifying energy in his wake. How could Virgil be looking anywhere else?

He listened like never before to the opening of "Farmer Refuted." "Heed not the rabble who scream revolution, they have not your interest at heart."

Patton nudged him with his elbow. "Oh my God, tear this dude apart."

Roman was already singing again by the time Virgil realized that was part of the song. Patton wanted him to do Hamilton's part.

"This Congress does not speak for me," Roman proclaimed, gazing down at them over his nose with his hand over his heart.

"Let him be," one of the kids sitting next to him said, pushing him off of the couch's arm.

Just like that, Virgil was standing in the spotlight.

He had to get out.

"They're playing a dangerous game."

But he knew all of the words by heart. He could rap this in his sleep.

"I pray the king shows you his mercy."

This was his moment to show what he could do. To show Roman what he could do.

"For shame."

And maybe to show himself, too.

"For shame."

He jumped in.

"Yo, he'd have you all unravel at the sound of screams, but the Revolution is comin', the have-nots are gonna win this, it's hard to listen to you with a straight face."

As Roman's line dropped out and he turned to address him, Virgil silently thanked himself for knowing the song well enough to go on. Roman looked absolutely dumbstruck. He didn't think he was just being in character; Virgil had surprised himself too this time.

He kept singing, and the rest of the world faded away. It was like this was real, like he was Alexander Hamilton and he could sway the crowds with a word and loved it more than anything. It was like magic. It was like he was made for this. He just got more and more into it, messing up Roman's hair when five minutes ago he would've been paralyzed at the thought of being within arm's reach of him, playing to the crowd every chance he got until everyone was chanting, "For the revolution!"

"Heed—"

"If you repeat yourself again I'm gonna—"

"Scream—"

"Honestly, look at me, please don't read!" He swatted at an imaginary pamphlet.

Roman jerked away, gasping in mock offense. "Not your interest!"

"Don't modulate the key then not debate with me!" He jumped up onto the arm of the couch, standing tall this time, preaching to everyone he could see. "Why should a tiny island across the sea regulate the price of tea?

"Burr, I'd rather be—Burr?"

He snapped out of it.

Everyone was staring at him.

Someone had paused the television.

He was standing on the couch in a dress and everyone was staring at him and Roman was gaping and he'd screwed up somehow they all hated him why did he do that—

"Woah."

Someone started clapping.

Someone else joined in.

By the time Virgil had enough faith in his wobbly legs to dismount the couch, he was on the receiving end of a standing ovation.

He didn't know if he wanted to laugh and bask in the glory or cry in a dark corner.

Someone was touching him. Thankfully, it was Patton, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Protecting him from the overwhelming love he didn't know how to handle. "That was amazing," he whisper-shouted again.

Virgil almost grinned. "Cool." Was he going to throw up? He couldn't do that in front of all these people—

"Do you want to go somewhere quieter?"

The television had started up again. The crowd had dispersed, but now the mini-conversations were coupled with glances his way.

"Please."

Patton tapped the shoulder of someone standing nearby, talking quietly. The person stood up and led them out of the living room down a hallway. Virgil followed.

That had been one of the craziest, most wonderful things he'd ever experienced.

And he'd loved it.

…

Roman couldn't help but stare at Virgil. One of his greatest fears had been that his crush wasn't a theater kid. Of course, Patton had assured him of the contrary, but he couldn't help stressing over something as vital as romance!

But Virgil had blown him away. It was hard to comprehend just how awestruck he was. Before, he'd been nervous about getting Virgil to talk to him, but now? Now, he wasn't sure he could talk to Virgil! Sure, he'd already been nervous, but who wasn't when it came to crushes?

No, this was different. Virgil never seemed to stop amazing Roman, probably because he was so closed off that every moment he shone through was precious. Roman, on the other hand, was all out there. He put himself into the world as much as he could bear to, loving every bit of recognition, every acknowledgement of his talent, every validating compliment. How could he keep surprising someone like Virgil?

What if he wasn't good enough?

He needed a distraction, and he needed it now.

Virgil had left while he'd gotten lost in thought, so he turned to the person right next to him, who happened to be Janus. "I bet you'd be great at this next one."

Janus jumped, surprised at the sudden conversation. His face settled back into a slight smirk. "I bet you'd do better." Roman was sure that wasn't true, that it was only an excuse.

"I took the last one. Come on, get up there!" Janus still seemed thoroughly unconvinced. "If you don't, Garrett will probably try, and he's always flat. Please? For the sake of my sanity?"

As always, Janus's expression was impossible to decipher.

Roman figured he had nothing to lose. He took off his plastic crown, plopped it over Janus's bowler hat, and pushed him into the center of the room. This should be fun.

There were definitely worse ways to get a certain boy off his mind.

…

Virgil leaned against the wall in the small room, running through his breathing exercises as he watched Patton and their guide sit down. There were two chairs and two music stands. A small shelf on the wall was lined with binders and CDs, with a CD player sitting on top. The walls were carpeted.

Their guide caught him looking around. "It's a practice room," she said. "The carpets absorb the sound, so whoever's practicing in here doesn't bother anyone outside." She stood up halfway and held out her hand. "I'm Lila."

He shook her hand. "Virgil. Are you sure Roman won't mind?"

Lila sat back down. "Yeah. He always leaves this room open to anyone trying to get away from the chaos; if anything, he'll be delighted that someone finally used it." She turned from him. "You're Patton, right?"

He nodded, grinning. "Yeah! So people don't usually come in here?"

"This is how most post-show parties go. Anyone who doesn't like the racket usually ends up in the kitchen for your cookies. They're great, by the way," she added.

"Thank you." Virgil could've sworn Patton was about to melt.

Lila turned back to him. "I haven't seen you in drama before. Are you new?"

"I'm not in drama." He stared at his shoes.

"You'd be great," Lila said. "I saw you up there—"

"I-I don't really like being in front of people. I mean, it was fun, but…" He paused, thinking about what he wanted to say, writing it down in his head. He'd found it helped him when he got flustered. Lila was patient. "I get nervous around crowds. I like theater, but I don't think I could do a whole show with people staring at me like that."

Lila nodded. "Makes sense. You don't have to be on stage to be involved with drama, though. I'm a techie, and I only have to go onstage to move the set. And for the final song."

"Final song?"

"The directors usually have us do a song after bows, and they find one that works if it isn't included with the show. Anyone who isn't still working backstage magic at that point can come on to dance."

"That could be fun," Patton said, looking at Virgil. He nodded haltingly. "And you like to draw, right? Getting the sets painted is usually a bit hectic, an extra pair of hands would be welcome."

Virgil nodded again. Maybe this would be fun.

They stayed back there for what must've been a couple of hours, chatting about shows they'd seen, backstage mishaps, and anything else theater-related that came to mind. Lila was surprisingly easy to talk to, and Virgil found himself relaxing into the conversation.

Eventually, he volunteered to get some cookies; they were one of the reasons he'd shown up in the end, he wasn't going to miss out. Lila stayed in the practice room and sorted through the CDs to find one to listen to, while Patton went to find a card game.

The hallway was empty as Virgil returned to the living room and then the adjacent kitchen. The show on the television had changed to something he didn't recognize. He ignored it in favor of the cookie sheets. He was afraid they'd be empty, but there were still plenty left over. He began searching the cabinets for a plate.

"It's in the corner cabinet."

The voice startled him.

Roman's voice.

Virgil turned, his heart lodged in his throat.

Roman was wearing a prince costume, with gold embroidery around his white shirt and a scarlet sash. A sword hung from his belt. He held a plastic crown in his hands, twisting it. "If you were looking for a plate," he added. "For cookies."

"Oh." That's all you can think of? "Oh"? Virgil pushed the thought down and retrieved a plate from the cabinet tucked away in the corner of the kitchen. He began stacking it with cookies. Maybe that was something he could talk about.

"Patton makes great cookies."

Well, it could've been worse.

Roman nodded, still twisting the crown. "Yeah. The greatest in all the land, the cure to all woes!"

"Except diabetes," he muttered without thinking. He froze with a cookie halfway to the plate. Had Roman heard him?

Roman laughed, probably harder than the joke was worth. "True, very true."

Virgil forced a small chuckle and put the cookie down. This was too awkward. He wanted to say something in defense of his three bicycle padlocks, but didn't want to remind Roman of their other awkward interaction. What was he supposed to say? How much did he really know about Roman that he could use to start a conversation—and how much was too much to not be creepy? Maybe he should just take the cookies and go—except then he'd be cutting Roman off again, and he didn't want to seem rude.

"There's soda in the fridge," Roman said suddenly. Was he speaking too fast, or was it just Virgil? "If you wanted any."

Virgil paused. "Sure, thanks." Okay. That had come out right. He left the plate of cookies on the counter and opened the refrigerator door.

And yelped and jumped backwards and scrambled up onto the counter, hissing at… that thing.

A disembodied head sat in the center of the refrigerator at eye level. Its skin was gray and green like a zombie, peeling off in spots. One bloodshot eye was sunken in over a swollen cheek; the other was hanging out by stringy veins. Blood dribbled out of the side of its slack mouth. Its teeth were jammed in too tightly at all the wrong angles. Its hair was matted and fell in uneven clumps.

Virgil didn't dare blink in case it came closer when he wasn't looking… but the more he looked, the less realistic it was. The cheek wasn't swollen, it was just a bit lumpy. Paintbrush streaks showed on the side of its face, a lump sticking out on its nose. The hair was clearly unraveled yarn covered with paint. It was way too big to be real, too.

"What is it?" He'd almost forgotten about Roman, who came barrelling across the kitchen, sword drawn. He whipped the door open the rest of the way and recoiled from the sight, dropping the sword. "Oh my gosh, Virgil, I'm so sorry, I didn't know that was there—"

"What is that?!" Of course, the one time Virgil found his voice around Roman, it was to scream at him.

"It must be my brother's," Roman said. "I'll put it in his room and talk to him about it, this is just the sort of thing he'd do—"

As he spoke, he reached into the fridge and grabbed hold of the head.

Then he picked it up.

And it exploded.

Fake blood gushed everywhere, pooling on the floor. Bits of goopy brain matter scattered across the kitchen, several chunks coming up just shy of Virgil's spot on the counter. The head itself flew apart, revealing its styrofoam skull. The eyeballs shattered on the floor.

Roman stumbled back, shaking his head furiously and wiping red liquid from his eyes, cursing violently. He was drenched head-to-toe in carnage.

Fists clenched at his sides, head tipped back, he opened his mouth and bellowed.

"REMUS!"