Nearly a year had passed since Virgil had tried to get himself away from Deceit, and things did not improve. Deceit continued to be violent and forceful with him and Virgil never fought back, knowing the consequences for doing so would be much more severe than anything he already had to endure. He let Deceit use him like a plaything, because he didn't know what else to do. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go; the other Sides didn't want him around, and even if they did, he had promised Deceit that he wouldn't try to leave again. He didn't want to be a liar.

But sometimes it was hard to stop himself from just walking out the front door and running like Hell. Some days Deceit beat him so badly that he would do anything to get away, to not be hurt again. Some days he wished he had never tried to leave at all – Deceit had never hit him before then, and maybe he wouldn't be hitting him now if he'd never had to do it in the first place.

Sometimes Deceit hit him so hard he lost consciousness. Sometimes Virgil wished Deceit would hit him so hard he never woke up.

Virgil found that often the days blurred together, and he would lose track of time. He spaced out a lot, lately. Deceit didn't like it when he did that – it made him angry. Virgil didn't like it when Deceit was angry. Deceit was cruel when he was angry.

But then, if that was the case, maybe he was just always angry, because he always seemed to be cruel.

The older Side took great pleasure in making Virgil uncomfortable or anxious. He would get just a little bit too close, or ask of Virgil just a little bit too much, and when Virgil would squirm in discomfort, he would laugh.

He also laughed at Virgil's name a lot, and every time he did, Virgil hated his name just a little more. He used to love his name, because it was unique and private and his, but now it was just one more thing Deceit could hold over him and use against him, and he hated it. He hated how vulnerable he would feel when Deceit used his name, hated how stupid he felt whenever Deceit called for him.

Like he was now.

Virgil heard the older Side call for him from downstairs and he scrambled out of his bed as quickly as he was able to, threw on his jacket and scurried out of his room, taking the stairs two at a time. He found Deceit in the living room, sitting in the corner of the couch that sat in front of the TV.

"You called?" He was getting better at controlling his stutter, mostly because Deceit had taken to slapping him every time he fumbled his words too badly.

"Come sit with me, Virgil." Deceit opened an arm in invitation.

"Yes, sir." While Deceit had never specifically told Virgil to refer to him as 'sir', Virgil had found that other Side liked when he was referred to as such. He had said it completely on accident once and noticed that Deceit liked it, so Virgil kept doing it in the hopes that Deceit would be more favourable towards him.

Virgil sat down and Deceit snaked his arm around the anxious Side's waist, pulling him close and pressing Virgil tightly into his side. Virgil tried not to let his breathing become too irregular as the older Side crushed him in his embrace. The older Side pushed up the hem of Virgil's shirt with one hand and slowly stroked his belly. For a while afterwards, Deceit continued to watch the television in silence, and Virgil tried to as well, but he couldn't focus on what was happening with Deceit's fingers drawing lazy circles onto the exposed skin of his abdomen. It might have felt nice if it didn't make his skin crawl.

This continued for some time before Deceit's fingers trailed lower, sliding underneath the hem of his jeans. Virgil's breath stuttered only for a moment, but Deceit noticed anyway, and a sly smirk spread his lips. Virgil looked away. Deceit teased him for a little longer, taking delight in Virgil's discomfort, but didn't go any further, and for that, Virgil was grateful.

After an indeterminable amount of time passed, Virgil heard a crash come from upstairs, and he flinched violently as Deceit cursed. The serpentine side pushed Virgil off of him and stood, scowling as he stalked up the staircase. Virgil felt bad for the other Side. He was likely in for a beating – by the sound of that crash, he'd make quite the mess. Virgil hoped Deceit would show some mercy for once.

He didn't. Virgil winced as the shouting started, and ducked his head when he heard the sound of a body hitting the floor. For the first few minutes, he didn't move from the couch, not wanting to risk Deceit's anger if the other Side came back down and found Virgil gone when he hadn't given him permission to move. But after a while, Virgil realised Deceit wasn't going to be coming down any time soon. He felt sorry for the other Side, but…he was glad it wasn't him. It'd been a while since Virgil had made Deceit angry enough to hurt him too badly, and he wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. He stayed still.

At least, he did until his stomach growled. He glanced at the stairwell, and then to the kitchen. He hesitated, but his stomach made its desires known once more and he caved, standing up and quickly making his way over to the cabinets to find something quick to cook for himself.

He scanned the shelves, trying to find something that was easy enough for him to make. He'd never actually cooked before, but he figured he'd give it a chance. How hard could it be? He just needed something with easy-to-follow instructions and he was set. Besides, cooking for himself might even get Virgil into Deceit's good graces. If he made himself food, Deceit wouldn't have to make it for him.

Virgil smiled. Maybe he could do something right for once.

After a minute of debate, he ended up just pulling out a packet of microwave porridge and followed the instructions on how to make it, putting the dry stuff into a microwavable bowl while the kettle boiled. When it was done, he added just the right amount of water, and put the bowl in the microwave, setting the timer. He disposed of his rubbish, grabbed a spoon from the drawer and sat down at the kitchen table, listening to the steady hum of the microwave while he waited, doing his best to ignore the sounds coming from upstairs.

At some point, he closed his eyes and became lost in thought, letting himself forget about his surroundings for just a little while. He was broken out of his pleasant daydreaming by the sound of the microwave beeping incessantly, signalling that his food was ready.

He stood from the chair he'd been sitting at and retrieved the bowl from the microwave, hissing at how hot it was against the bare skin of his hands. He became so focused on getting the piping hot bowl of porridge to the table in once piece that he didn't notice Deceit sneaking into the kitchen. Virgil started when he finally realised Deceit was right there, and tried to play it off with a laugh. Deceit didn't laugh. In fact, he looked mad. Oh.

Virgil launched himself into an explanation, hoping to appease the angry Side. "I was hungry, so I thought that if I made myself some food, you wouldn't have to make any for me, 'cause I know how much you do for me, so I thought I'd try and help you out a bit and–" Virgil stuttered to a stop when Deceit began silently moving towards him, his yellow eye practically glinting.

"I don't recall ever giving you permission to use the kitchen, Virgil." Deceit hissed.

Virgil faltered, but pressed on. He could still save this. "I know sir, and I'm sorry, but I thought I would try and ease the load on you a bit by taking care of myself –"

"If you knew you weren't allowed, why would you do it?"

"I was trying to help –"

"Are you just deliberately undermining me? Is that what this is?"

"No, I just –"

"I expected better from you, Virgil –"

"I WAS JUST TRYING TO HELP!"

A beat of silence followed his outburst, and Virgil had a moment to process what he'd just done. Well, he thought bitterly as Deceit's eyes flashed with fury and he stalked towards him, I don't think I can save this.

Deceit towered over him as he grabbed two fistfuls of Virgil's jacket and shoved him into the kitchen counter. Pain exploded in Virgil's back and hips and he yelled, but Deceit payed no mind. He leaned into Virgil with his weight, and the younger Side's chest protested even as his heart pounded.

"Oh, you think you're such a big man, do you?" Deceit sneered. "Think you're a big boy, raising your voice at me like that?" He jerked his grip, and Virgil's hip whacked the counter again. "Well guess what? You don't have the right to raise your voice at me! You aren't allowed! So be a good boy and apologise, and maybe I'll consider lightening your punishment."

Something in Virgil snapped. Something that had been building in him for a very long time. Every time he was berated for nothing, yelled at for something stupid, punished for some inconsequential slip up – every one of these moments had piled up inside of him, and finally, like a rubber band that had been pulled too far, he snapped.

"Screw you."

Deceit blinked, as though he couldn't believe what had just come out of Virgil's mouth. Then he growled and twisted, Virgil still in his grip, and slammed the younger Side hard into the wall. Virgil gasped as the air was forced from his lungs, and grappled with the hand that had clamped around his throat, preventing him from sucking in precious oxygen. Deceit squeezed tighter, snarling.

"Would you like to repeat yourself, Virgil?" He challenged, his grip on Virgil's neck loosening ever so slightly – just enough that the smaller Side would be able to answer. "I didn't quite hear you."

Virgil mustered every ounce of defiance he possessed, going against the very nature that had been drilled into him by Deceit for over a year, and rasped, "Screw. You."

Deceit roared and threw him to the ground. Virgil's head cracked painfully on the floor and his vision went white, but Deceit didn't give him any time to dwell on it. The serpentine Side launched a powerful kick into Virgil's gut and Virgil curled into a ball, covering his head with his arms as more kicks rained down upon him. He roared in pain when Deceit's boot slammed into his shoulder and sent him rolling away, his entire body feeling as if it had been lit aflame.

He felt hands grip his jacket and pull him to his feet, only to be knocked to the ground again when Deceit's fist connected with his face. Stars dancing upon a white background replaced his vision and his head swam trying to make sense of where his attacker was. He pulled himself up onto his side, and for a moment, nothing happened. The stars went away just in time for him to see a brown blur ark into him before agony exploded over the left side of his ribcage. He cried out as Deceit tossed the chair he had smashed into Virgil's ribs, and tears of pain welled in his eyes. Deceit gripped Virgil's shoulders and picked him up, throwing him into the table, the bowl of porridge tipping as the table rattled against the force of Virgil's body slamming into it. Snarling, Deceit picked up the mostly empty bowl and pummelled it into Virgil's face.

The anxious Side screamed as glass shredded through the skin on his right cheek. He stumbled backwards and hit the ground, blood streaming down the side of his face and getting into his eye. He hastily wiped it away just in time to see Deceit aiming another kick. He rolled away, his ribs aching in protest, and tried to shuffle himself out of the kitchen, but Deceit reached down and grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. Virgil twisted and pulled his arm out of the sleeve, crawling forward. Deceit stumbled back slightly as the jacket slipped off the small Side that was crawling away. Deceit snarled, and Virgil heard the sound of metal scraping metal, and he looked back to see Deceit holding a chef's knife in his hand. A terrified noise escaped him and he tried to jump to his feet, but Deceit was quicker than him, and he grabbed the back of Virgil's shoulder and twisted the smaller Side to face him. Virgil had no warning before he felt an agonising pain in his chest and he screamed and stumbled backwards.

He looked down at his chest to see his shit ripped, and underneath the rip, was a line of blood starting from below his right pectoral and arcing diagonally up his chest, ending at his left shoulder. Pure terror now coursing through him, he tried once again to shuffle backwards out of the kitchen door.

Deceit snarled and tossed the knife, grabbing the handle of a frying pan from the drying rack. Virgil had just managed to get his feet out of the doorframe and into the living room when the older Side caught up.

Virgil scrambled to get away, but his back hit the couch and he had nowhere left to go. He brought his arms up to protect his head as the frying pan came down, and he screamed as the pan cracked against his left arm. Pain erupted like a volcano, and he realised with a terrified jolt that his radius – or was it the ulna? – had fractured under the blow. He cowered, squeezing his eyes shut and preparing himself for the next hit, but it didn't come.

He lowered his arms, a pained noise coming from his throat as he cradled the broken arm against his side, and looked up fearfully at Deceit. The larger Side stared down at him, the fury in his eyes slowly giving way to something else, something infinitely more terrifying.

"Ready to apologise, Anxiety?" One corner of Deceit's mouth quirked up into a leer, and Virgil wanted to hide. He wanted to find the smallest, most claustrophobic space in existence and crawl into it, but instead, biting the inside of his cheek against the pain, he stood, pushing his back into the couch and using it to steady himself as he forced himself to his feet. He made himself as big as he could in his current condition and said,

"Never." Deceit's mouth pulled back down into a lour at Virgil's response, but the anxious trait wasn't finished. "I'm done submitting to you. I'm done just letting you use me! I'm not your plaything anymore! I'm leaving! And I'm not coming back!"

Deceit was silent for a moment, and then he said lowly, "Oh, are you just?"

Before Virgil could react, Deceit backhanded him in the face, and Virgil dropped to the ground, crying out in pain at the impact against the cuts the glass had made. Without warning, Deceit's hands were pinning his wrists to the floor above his head, and he was straddling Virgil's thighs. Virgil writhed and bucked underneath him, doing his best to dislodge the other Side, but his efforts were fruitless. Deceit moved his grip so that one hand held both wrists, and reached down with the other to unbuckle Virgil's belt.

"NO!" Virgil poured renewed vigour into his efforts to get away from Deceit, and as the other Side was beginning to pull down his pants, he managed to yank one of his wrists free, and he shot forward, his fist connecting with Deceit's left eye. Deceit hissed in pain, but before Virgil could do more, the serpentine Side let go of his other wrist and twisted his palm.

Deceit's strange and sinister magic gripped his arms tightly, forcing them back above his head without Deceit having to hold on. He screamed in pain as the hold on him tightened around his fractured arm, but then Deceit managed to pull his jeans down to his knees and he screamed for a different reason. The older Side yanked Virgil's boxers down roughly and then went to work on his own pants, and Virgil, still screaming, tried to free his legs, tried to wriggle one of them out so he could kick Deceit away, but the other Side had him in a vice grip, and Virgil couldn't free himself.

After a few short moments, Deceit shoved his own pants down, along with his boxers, and grabbed Virgil's hips harshly, trying to hold the younger Side still.

"NO!"

Virgil screamed in agony as Deceit slammed into him without any prep or lube. His back arched against the pain as he gasped for breath, and Deceit began moving – harsh, brutal thrusts that caused pain so intense Virgil forgot about the rest of his injuries. He cried out in pain, again and again, as Deceit took him mercilessly.

Virgil tried to yank his arms away from the magic that bound him, but it did not relent, and he could not move to defend himself against the assault on his body. He attempted to twist his hips, but Deceit had them in an iron grip.

Exhausted and in pain, he ceased his struggles for a moment, trying to catch his breath, but when Deceit grinned down at him, viewing it as an act of submission, he kept wriggling, twisting, doing anything he could think of in an effort to free himself. Even now, as Deceit forced himself upon him, even when he wanted to stop and let it be over with, he refused to submit to Deceit ever again. He would fight the serpentine Side tooth and nail for the rest of his life if he had to. He was never giving in again.

Deceit wanted to break him. Wanted to shatter his glass soul into dust – but Virgil was done letting him.

The older Side rammed into him again, and though the pain was unbearable, Virgil promised himself he wouldn't beg, no matter how much his instinct was telling him to. Instead, he focused on the pain in his chest. It was agonising, but it didn't seem like it was going to bleed out on him. The wound wasn't deep enough to bleed too heavily – the blood seeping from it was already starting to slow – but it would definitely scar.

His distraction didn't last long as Deceit lifted Virgil's hips and buried himself in him, and Virgil couldn't help but shout at the pain. Deceit repeated the motion several more times, and Virgil's voice was becoming hoarse from the screaming. Not too long after, Deceit reached his climax.

The older Side dropped onto Virgil, panting, and Virgil gasped as Deceit's weight knocked the air out of him. He waited a few moments, expecting Deceit to roll off him, but the older Side didn't move as the minutes passed. Virgil tried to shuffle out from underneath him, but he was too heavy, and Virgil was exhausted, sported multiple extremely painful injuries, as well as intense pain in his lower region. He blacked out.

When he woke, Deceit was gone, and Virgil was still in the same position on the floor. He gave himself a minute to fully come to consciousness and twitched his wrist, finding it no longer bound by Deceit's cruel magic. With extreme effort, he managed to sit up, careful not to put any weight on his left arm.

A quick assessment of himself made him realised that the wound on his chest had stopped bleeding, and his ruined shirt was now crusted with dried blood, along with the skin surrounding the wound. He also felt stinging on his cheek, and remembered the cuts the bowl had made when Deceit smashed it into his face. He would be very lucky if they weren't infected by now.

He shifted, and two things hit him at once. The pain in his backside from the beating it had taken, and the pain in his ribs from where Deceit had smashed a chair into him. He winced, gently pulling himself to his feet. He was then faced with two choices. Either bend over to pull his pants back up – extremely painful for multiple reasons, or discard the pants completely. He went with the latter.

Kicking off his jeans and boxers and leaving them in a heap on the floor, he slowly limped his way to the bathroom. He clicked the flimsy lock shut and, painfully, removed his ruined shirt, tossing it on the floor and turning on the showerhead. When the temperature was right, he stepped in, hissing as the warm water hit the wound on his chest. Grimacing, he grabbed a washcloth and dabbed at the cut, slowly cleaning away all the dried blood that had crusted over the wound. It didn't appear to be infected, but he knew he needed to clean it as best he could nonetheless. When he was satisfied, he cleaned the cuts on his face, and then the rest of himself, whimpering slightly when he needed to clean the lower regions of himself.

When he was done he got out of the shower, dried himself off, and trudged naked to his room, not bothering to pick up the shirt. He reached into his closet and grabbed out a clean set of clothes – shirt, hoodie, underwear, jeans and socks – and dressed himself. He wished he had some bandages for the cut on his chest as he slid the shirt over it, but unfortunately, he had no idea where Deceit kept the first aid kit, if he even had one. He would have to do without.

He shrugged the hoodie on and pulled the hood over his head, shutting the closet and surveying himself in the mirror on the door. With the hood casting a deep shadow over his face, you could barely see the cuts on his cheek. Good. At least that way he might be able to pretend they weren't there.

Turning away from the mirror, he cast a glance around his room. There was nothing in it that he wanted to keep. Nothing he would miss.

He closed his eyes, and cast his mind back to the day he had been outside the main three's house. He remembered how Deceit had sunk the both of them out of there and returned them here, and, just like that, Virgil knew how he was going to escape.

He focused on the memory – on the feeling – of sinking out. Made himself remember how it felt, the sensation of removing his physical presence from one area and appearing somewhere else. When he felt he had something solid to go with, he concentrated on that, and sunk out to somewhere he knew Deceit would never follow.

His eyes snapped open when he heard a startled shriek to his left, and he realised it had worked. He was no longer in Deceit's house.

A quick look around told him he was in the living room that belonged to the main three, and that the shriek had come from Patton, Thomas' morality. He immediately felt guilty for frightening the poor Side, and was trying to think of something to say when footsteps came bounding down the stairs. He turned to see Roman and Logan's unsure faces staring at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but Roman gave him a quick look up and down and drew his sword.

Virgil flinched but managed not to yelp in fear at the fact that Thomas' creativity was pointing an actual real sword at him. The creative Side circled him, Logan sticking behind him for protection, until he was between Virgil and Patton.

"Who are you, Emo Fester? And what are you doing here?" Roman demanded – his voice loud and mean and everything Virgil hadn't expected from one of Thomas' mains. The callousness threw him off, and Virgil responded in kind before he could really think about what he was doing.

"The name's Anxiety, Tall, Loud and Haughty, and I'm here because I want to be."

Not how he had originally hoped to introduce himself, but Roman had been rude first.

"Anxiety?" Roman seemed to give it a second of thought, before his eyes narrowed even further and he thrust his sword a bit closer to Virgil. "AHA! You're a Dark Side, aren't you?"

"A what–"

"Stay back, villain!" Roman cried, taking a step towards Virgil, who backed up a little. He did not want that sword anywhere near him. Roman kept inching forward and Virgil kept inching back, until his back hit the banister of the staircase.

"Would you just–" He tried, but Roman interrupted him again.

"Shut your mouth, foul villain! You have nothing to say to me! To any of us!"

Virgil's heart dropped, and his throat tightened. He had known that the other Sides didn't want him here, but…he hadn't realised they outright hated him. A cold feeling crept into him, wrapping itself around his broken heart, and he didn't try to push it away. He let it encase his heart, like icy armour.

"Fine." He said at last, his voice devoid of anything but bitterness. If they didn't want to even try to get to know him, that that was just fine. He couldn't make them want him, but they couldn't make him leave, either. Nothing could make him leave these walls and risk falling back into Deceit's clutches. He'd rather live somewhere where he was hated than be abused again.

"Fine." He repeated, and, like lightening, he turned around and dashed up the stairs, completely ignoring the pain in his ribs as he leaped off the stairs onto the top floor and opened the first door that didn't have a name on it. He could hear Roman running after him, so he slammed the door shut and locked it. Roman pounded on the door from the other side, yelling at him and demanding he come out, but Virgil had no intention of leaving.

After a little while he gave up, and Virgil heard Roman's footsteps drift away. A minute later, a knock on the door.

"Anxiety?" Came Patton's timid voice. "Are you–"

"Fuck off, Morality!" He shouted, not feeling bad as Patton said nothing else and left. The coldness in his chest tightened around his heart again, and a steely resolve formed in his mind as something he'd realised a long time ago came back to him.

In this world, it was either hurt, or be hurt.

And Virgil was done being hurt.