XXX

This takes place before POF, and it essentially replaces it because Janus never really showed up for the conversation in POF and nothing got resolved.

There's lots of triggers for this, so read the tags! Seriously, this isn't the kind of story where you can just skip over the triggering parts because pretty much every chapter contains or references something that could be triggering. Please stay safe 3

Also, this fic is completed (aside from some editing I do before I post a chapter), and it is about 110,000 words long. So keep in mind that if you're intending to read this to the end, you're gonna be in it for the long-haul.

The title comes from the song "Where Butterflies Never Die" by Broken Iris.

XXX Chapter 1: The Fall

He let his feet carry him wherever they wanted, not particularly caring just where that was. After all, what was the worst that could happen? Even if the worst of Remus's monsters found him, he'd likely just end up 'out of commission' for a bit. He'd come back.

He almost wished he wouldn't.

But. That didn't matter. What he did and did not wish for weren't technically important- his job was to protect Thomas, to help him get what he needed and take care of himself, to soften the blows the world inflicted on him, to keep him safe. Keeping himself safe wasn't actually part of his job description.

He used to pretend it was. He used to care for himself the way he cared for Thomas because he was part of Thomas, and if he didn't take care of himself, Thomas would be the one to suffer for it. And so, he got up and ate and kept himself clean and well-groomed and acted like the selfish person he was (the one he was supposed to be).

But what did any of that matter, in the end?

Over the years, he had come to a slow realization: Thomas was just fine without needing to actually meet him or the other Dark Sides. Ever. He still needed them, of course, but that didn't mean he needed to know them. Or, more specifically, he didn't need to know him.

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

And so, he'd bitterly watched as the others, the Light Sides, got to introduce themselves to Thomas and make videos and help the man directly, and he'd watched with even more bitterness as Virgil started to join them- as Virgil became one of them. And all without caring about who he'd left behind, about who Thomas never needed to know (even if he knew Thomas did need to know Anxiety in a way he didn't need to know Deceit. Knowing he shouldn't be bitter about it and actually not feeling that way we're two wildly different things).

Even still, he tried to content himself with the way things were. He was fulfilling his role. He was keeping Thomas safe. He was protecting him. He was hiding away the things that Thomas wasn't ready to face, and if he was one of those things, then so be it.

And then he slipped up.

He'd been unprepared when the time came for him to present himself to Thomas (seeing as he hadn't intended for the man to find out who he was when it happened), and he hadn't realized that the others had changed their costumes a bit. He hadn't been paying enough attention to them, even though he had to pay attention, but doing so had been getting difficult even then. As a result, he'd worn the wrong costume, and combining that with his apparent failure to remain in character, Virgil quickly knew that something was off.

And so he'd been found out.

He'd known that he'd be revealed as soon as he let his facade go, but he'd just been so frustrated that Thomas wasn't listening to him- even when he was pretending to be Patton- that he couldn't help but let out a sarcastic remark. And that sarcastic remark had confirmed the others' suspicions and prompted Thomas to ask for the truth. And once the truth was known, Deceit couldn't hide it away anymore. It was out of his hands, outside his realm of secrets and suppression. So, he did his best to roll with it and try to take advantage of the situation however he could, even if he hadn't expected that he would have to figure that out. Not yet, at least (if ever). He tried to get Thomas to act in his own best interest from what should have been a stronger position, now that he could speak to Thomas directly.

But in the end, Thomas listened to him less because, now that he was aware of Deceit's influence, he tried to fight him wherever he could. Now, any time a selfish thought or desire crossed the man's mind, he immediately balked at it, thinking that giving in to it would be playing along with the evil supervillain residing within his mind. After all, if one agreed with a villain, what did that say about them (and who cared about nuance or shades of grey)?

But still, he tried and tried and kept trying, even though it never worked, even though it was difficult to even have his presence acknowledged, difficult to get Thomas to listen to his whispers of concern because they were really whispers of Deceit.

And then there was the question of the wedding.

The wedding and the callback.

The wedding or the callback.

And Deceit thought that maybe, just maybe, he could actually get Thomas to listen to him for once. He knew what Thomas really wanted, he had Roman on his side, he tried to keep Logan from interfering, and he tore apart Patton's every attempt to argue with him. Sure, he hadn't been able to shove Virgil aside as he had done with Logan because the other side was too strong then, but he still managed to get Virgil to agree that he was right, even as begrudging as it was. He'd won the argument.

But they'd all gotten the wrong take-away from it.

He'd been trying to prove that Thomas wanted to go to the callback, that he was selfish sometimes, and that it was okay to be selfish in moderation.

And yet, they'd all just taken it to mean that Thomas was a bad person and needed to be punished.

And his punishment was the wedding.

Deceit had given up after that.

And maybe he had given up far too easily, but he didn't think there was much of a point in trying anymore, when even his best wasn't good enough to work. Perhaps he'd allowed himself to be too selfish in thinking that he could continue revealing himself to Thomas, and perhaps he was even more selfish for not even trying to stop Remus when he decided to go have his own chat with Thomas and the others.

Maybe he should have done something, done his literal job, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

If Thomas hated Deceit so much, hated what he was and what he did, then maybe he just shouldn't do it anymore. If that's what he wanted, that's what he would get, and if that meant he was finally going to meet Remus, then so be it. It was selfish and petty, and Deceit knew that Thomas wasn't ready for Remus yet, but he didn't care. He was angry and bitter and heartbroken and a hundred other emotions, all wrapped up beneath a veneer of apathy, and if Thomas wanted honesty, he was getting honesty. He'd get an honesty so scary and painful that maybe, just maybe, he would realize why honesty wasn't always the right path to take.

Of course, they drove Remus off eventually, which Deceit had expected. It's not like Remus was really any stronger than Deceit was, after all. At least Remus didn't seem to be too broken up about it (as if he would have really been able to tell through a door).

Though, it wasn't like there was much he could do if he was (or not much he was willing to do, at least, because he was selfish, selfish, selfish).

He barely acknowledged that Remus was back. In fact, he barely (or never) left his room at that point- or his bed, for that matter. The entire mindscape was in disarray, though, so it's not like anyone would notice if he wasn't doing his job. Half of them weren't doing their jobs then, or at least, not doing them well. It didn't matter, but even if it did, he was sure now that him doing his job wouldn't have been appreciated, anyway. And so, he laid in bed and stared at the ceiling or sat and stared at the wall or clenched his fists in his hair and pulled as tightly as he could and drew red lines across his skin because his head felt like it was screaming, and his chest felt both hollow and full, and there was an ache somewhere that he couldn't quite figure out and certainly couldn't soothe. He ignored the obnoxiously loud knocks on the door and the piles of paperwork building up on his desk. He ignored the sense that things weren't right with the Mindscape, ignored that things weren't right with Thomas. He ignored and ignored and ignored all the things he was supposed to pay attention to until he started to wonder whether there was anything outside of his room at all (it's not like he's actually real, anyway).

Until it all began to fade away.

Day by day, the whirlwind in his mind slowly began to settle down a bit, and the feelings slowly started to feel less entangled. His body felt a little less heavy, and eventually, he realized he could get out of bed. He could leave his room. The thoughts and feelings that had been plaguing him weren't gone, but they had lifted just a little- enough that he could pretend things were back to normal. Pretend that he hadn't locked himself away for who knew how long, pretend that he hadn't been breaking down, pretend that the court debacle never happened. He could pretend enough that it didn't matter how little the improvement actually was, and the creation of a mask came so naturally to him that, once he was capable of using one, he didn't even need to wonder if he should.

Remus seemed glad to see him, at least, and so, he kept pretending.

He had enough energy now to go on a walk, apparently, because even if his heart still felt like it was filled with lead, his feet seemed to be as light as feathers, and they had a mind of their own on top of it. And if his feet wanted to wander, then so be it.

Distantly, Deceit realized that he had ended up in Roman's half of the Imagination somehow, and he silently wondered whether the princely side knew that he was there or not, and if he did, if he was going to come and yell at him for it (or, if he was feeling particularly uncharitable, as he likely was, if the other man was going to try to run him through with his sword. And he wondered if he would let him). Even still, he didn't turn around, because his feet were continuing to drive him forward, farther away from the entrance and deeper and deeper into the sparkling countryside that should be filling him with awe (but it wasn't because he was far too numb for that now).

And so, he walked. And walked. And walked and walked and walked. He walked far enough that, had he been in the real world, he surely would have come to some sort of obstacle that prevented him from going any further by then, but since this place wasn't real, he just kept walking.

And then, after walking so long that his feet would be screaming if he could feel them, he did come across an obstacle.

It was a steep cliff with a sudden drop, and had his feet not decided to stop, he very well may have walked right off of it without noticing. The thick grass of the meadow he'd been walking through went all the way to the edge, drooping off the sides. It was wet with a dew that he now realized was soaking the bottoms of his pants, and he wondered what time it was, as it was now either dawn or dusk, and he wasn't quite sure when it was that he started walking. Almost curiously, Deceit stepped closer to the edge and sat down, ignoring the wetness soaking into new sections of his clothing, and looked out at the scenery spreading before him.

There was another meadow below the cliff, one filled with flowers in a thousand colors, and if he was closer to them, he was sure he would see that they came in a thousand different shapes and sizes as well. Beyond that, a vast, green forest stretched out, and farther than even that, there was a stretch of blue outlined by white on the side closer to the woods. The blue went farther than he could see, and he didn't know if it ever ended, or if the rules of the Imagination allowed it to go on forever.

Deceit spent a long time looking at it all, taking in every detail. He had to admit that Roman was very good at what he did, regardless of any other opinions he might have on the man. Each blade of grass appeared as though it were crafted by hand, even though he knew the princely side had likely made it all appear with barely a thought. That was the kind of power Thomas needed, he supposed. He needed the creativity to make beautifully-crafted ideas to share with the world. It made him a living, and it made him happy.

Deceit did neither.

He was supposed to be helpful, but all he'd done was make things worse. Thomas was miserable- he was afraid of Deceit, and afraid of the person Deceit would make him become. He was afraid to even have a side representing Deceit, as if he was such a bad person that Deceit was a major element of his personality (even though he was so much more than just Deceit).

But. That's how things were. He couldn't change the role at the core of his being, couldn't change his functions. He didn't know why a side would be made if they weren't needed, but maybe he'd misunderstood. Maybe he wasn't really a side at all.

Maybe he was just created to be a villain to fight against, a character to be used and discarded as the plot required. Maybe he was never really supposed to help, only to think that he was so that he'd keep trying, keep giving the heroes a reason to fight him.

Maybe it was all hopeless from the beginning.

With a sigh, Deceit went to stand. Perhaps this wasn't the best location to be thinking of such things, not when a single impulse was enough to tip him over the edge.

But then, as he was halfway up, his feet lost their traction on the slickly-wet grass he'd been sitting on, and there wasn't anything for him to hold onto to steady himself or to catch himself aside from the grass itself, and it was much too short and too weak to do either, and Deceit didn't even have the time to try.

And Janus fell off the cliff.

XXX