XXX Chapter 28: The Knife
Okay, a longer gap than I intended between last chapter and now again.
We had to euthanize my dog, so my entire family has been very upset. And then my surgical wound got really badly infected and I ended up needing to be taken to the ER via ambulance (it was my first time being in an ambulance, can't say I recommend the experience). So, yeah, my mental and physical health continues to be garbage, and I feel like bad things just keep happening.
That being said, this chapter is, like many of the others, gonna be pretty heavy. Not because of anything that has happened recently since this chapter was already written, it just is. I don't know.
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He yanked his morningstar out of the pile of bloody flesh beneath him, trying to force a weak smile onto his face. Usually, his smile would be wide and genuine, and he'd immediately start attacking something else. But right now, he could barely even manage that sliver of false happiness. After all, how could he possibly be happy while Janus was gone? It had been almost a month since Janus died, and Remus didn't know how much longer he could stand the waiting. The apprehension crept in at the corners of his mind, taunting him with the images of Janus's broken body, followed by the memories of him wasting away in his sleep. Scarred wrists glared at him in accusation- because he should have known better, should have done something, anything, should have known that Janus needed actual help and not just a reluctant acceptance of his rejections of it.
He whirled around to slam his weapon into a monster that tried to sneak up behind him, but his heart still wasn't in it. Wasn't this supposed to be making him feel better?
It wasn't.
What would he do if Janus didn't come back? The question had been screaming in an endless loop in his mind ever since it became clear that Janus wasn't waking up. If Janus just never returned, what could he even do about it? None of them entirely understood how they formed, so Remus wouldn't even know where to start in forcing the Mindscape to bring him back, if it even could. Had a mercy killing really been the right move, in the end? What if they were wrong, and he would have woken up, and killing him had just made him go away for good?
Another monster's remains joined the carnage, inseparable from the surrounding gore.
When was the last time he had even seen Janus awake? It had been so long at this point, and his skewed sense of time was making it even harder to remember. What was the last thing he'd said to him? What was the last thing Janus said? Had he been angry? Sad? Or was his expression that dull blankness that had monopolized his face for so long? Whenever it had been, he hadn't known it would be the last time he'd see Janus conscious for months at least. So he hadn't memorized the details like he would if he had known what he knew now- hell, he'd probably barely taken notice of the details at all. Had Janus been silently asking him for help in that final interaction? Had his expression shown that he really had reached the end of his rope (would rope have been better or worse? Would it have hurt more or less? It probably would have hurt longer, unless Janus remained conscious for a while after he fell- and god, did Remus hope he passed out immediately)?
Two more monsters were taken down while Remus hardly batted an eye.
His heart ached.
He wanted Janus back.
Even if he wasn't okay, that would be better than him being gone, right?
At some point, Remus realized he was sitting on the ground, curled up with his knees to his chest. His nails were digging into his legs through the fabric of his pants, his morningstar's location unknown.
"Remus?"
Someone knelt in front of him, and he had to rub his eyes before he could decipher his brother's face staring at him, concern etched onto the clean, tired face.
He opened his mouth to respond, but the only sound that came out was a choked sob.
Oh.
He was crying, wasn't he?
Roman probably said something else, but Remus couldn't tell what it was with the buzzing in his ears. He did, however, feel the weight of Roman's arms wrapping around him, much less hesitant than they used to be.
Suddenly, he couldn't hold himself back anymore, and sob after sob tore itself from his raw throat (and why did his throat hurt? Had he been screaming?). Tears and snot ran down his face in a sticky mess, and even though he buried his face in Roman's shirt and was definitely ruining it, his brother didn't scold him. He just continued to hold him close, rubbing gentle circles on his back.
It was strange, acting this way with the brother who had once hated him.
But he wouldn't say he minded.
XXX
Janus let out a long sigh as he laid back on his bed, rubbing his face in an attempt to lessen the tenseness of his jaw. He'd just returned from talking to Emile again, having eventually agreed to at least a few sessions, and he needed at least a few minutes alone before interacting with anyone else.
As expected, he still didn't get along with the man. He was just so damn chipper as he rambled on about cartoons Janus was only somewhat familiar with, trying to compare him to characters based on the limited information the man had. And really, he didn't have much. Janus himself had barely revealed anything so far, but Logan had given the therapist a basic rundown of what had happened. Even that, though, felt like too much and it just made him want to talk even less. Fury rose in his chest again as yet another person got to know his personal business, poking and prodding into things they didn't need to know (things that made Janus's heartbeat pick up in a fast rhythm that still hadn't completely settled down).
Halfway through the appointment, while Emile had been rambling about some guy from a cartoon who gave his magic or something to his brother, Janus interrupted him to tell him to shut up. And then he'd repeated it a few times, and surprisingly, Emile did shut up, at least for a few minutes. He silently handed him one of the random stuffed animals in the room, one that was heavier than he expected, and just let him sit there until he no longer felt like he wanted to get up and run out of the room. It was only then that Emile spoke again, his demeanor a bit more subdued:
"It's okay to tell people when you're getting overwhelmed," he said. "You might want to phrase it differently so you don't start an argument, but if you need to take a break from a conversation, that's okay."
Janus just growled that he wasn't overwhelmed, he was annoyed, but he got the sense that Emile didn't really believe him, even though he accepted the response without argument.
"Do you want to discuss what's annoying you?"
Well, at least he had some privacy to calm down after the appointment. He'd essentially been bribed into going with the promise of being given his door back, and after taking some time to mull it over, he'd agreed. He'd thought that, maybe, he could just sit there silently and ignore the man until the others let him stop going, but that had already proven fruitless. The therapist just had some weird way of getting people to talk even when they didn't want to, always revealing just a little more than one intended. Janus could ignore him for the first 20 or so minutes, but after that, it became much harder. Maybe it was because watching Emile doodle in his notepad started getting awkward after a while.
Regardless, he was still pretty bitter about being forced to go in the first place. He knew he was going to be forced eventually, and he might as well get something from it if they were going to make him do it anyway, but he did not appreciate being so obviously coerced. But literally everyone else thought he needed a therapist, and Emile was really the only option (and maybe if he wasn't, Janus would have gone sooner, before any of this had happened, but maybe he wouldn't have. Saying what he would or wouldn't have done in a scenario that didn't exist was more of an educated guess than a certainty).
Despite his earlier efforts, all the tension returned to his face as he clenched his jaw.
He hated this.
How was therapy supposed to help him in these circumstances? He didn't want to go, and when he did go, he left feeling worse than when he'd entered. If Emile wasn't trying to bring things back to the surface with his nosing around, Janus would at least be able to stave off feeling like this for a while longer. It didn't have to happen now- it was a problem for the future, when his repression skills inevitably failed him again. But Emile made him think about all of it, even if he didn't actually answer the man's questions.
"How have you been feeling?"
Angry. Confused. Sad.
"Do you remember the time you were gone?"
No. Yes? He wasn't sure.
"How are you adjusting to moving?"
Badly.
"Do you have any plans to kill yourself again?"
SHUT. UP.
He pressed his palms into his eye sockets and tried to breathe.
Emile couldn't force him to talk, and even if he did talk to him, he couldn't tell the others about what he said. Emile was imaginary, but he still followed patient confidentiality. Janus didn't have to tell him anything he didn't want him to know- he just had to get better at keeping his mouth shut. It was okay. It was fine.
"When was the last time you cut yourself?"
He hadn't since coming back. He really hadn't had much opportunity to without risking someone catching him. Even if he had, though, they'd taken away everything sharp, and he had been too exhausted to summon anything new.
He wanted to hurt himself.
The impulse was so sudden and intense that it must have been lurking around outside of his awareness, trying to tempt him to roll up his sleeves. Now that he'd acknowledged it, though, it was hard to push it away again. His mind had latched onto the thought of drawing sharp, painful lines in his skin, the red blood beading up with a sting. He'd feel better if he did it- it would only be temporary, but he'd have at least a few minutes of peace. And then he'd probably have at least a week, if not longer, before the wounds healed- he'd have at least a week to feel the stinging burn every time he pressed his fingers into his sleeves, making the wounds erupt with a reignited pain that could ground him for a while.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
In an attempt to satisfy the urge, he peeled one of his gloves off and bit down on the knuckle of his pointer finger. He dug his teeth into the skin, not enough pressure to break it but more than enough to hurt.
It still wasn't enough.
He knew he should probably seek someone out, tell them that he didn't feel safe. But when had he ever done that? He never sought anyone out for comfort- people always forced their way into his bubble, with varying degrees of his consent, but Deceit never requested it. Even if he wanted to ask for help, which he didn't, he wasn't really sure if he knew how.
He removed the finger from his mouth, wiping the spit on his bedsheets.
He shouldn't do this.
But he was starting to have more energy than when he first woke up, now that he was actually able to eat a little, and after a minute of concentrating, he managed to get a small blade to appear in his hand.
Though it was small, the weight of it sat heavy in his hand. He gripped it tightly for a long time before looking at it, trying to give himself one more chance to back out. But he'd already gotten this far, and now, he allowed his gaze to shift toward the knife. The silvery surface shone lightly in the dim light of his room, and he felt a thread of adrenaline weave its way through his heart.
Then, he let his eyes move to the door. For now, it was closed, but without a lock, it could open at any moment. The others could just barge in whenever they wanted, and considering their tendency to check on him, he was likely to get caught before he would be able to hide the evidence. He couldn't try to barricade himself in, either, because that would definitely not go over well if they noticed (and Remus would probably just break down the door now that Janus couldn't stop him anymore). So what could he do?
… He could go to the bathroom. Aside from when he was obviously throwing up, he was left alone in there (which was fortunate, because he would not tolerate the others walking in on him in the bathroom as well).
He really was going to do this.
Before, he hadn't been quite this apprehensive (aside from in the beginning), but then again, that was before he had to worry about hiding new cuts. He always wore long, dark sleeves, so no one (meaning Remus) ever really questioned it when he continued to wear long, dark sleeves. And no one knew (or cared) to look, so he was never even asked about it. His greatest disguise was that no one had any real reason to suspect what he was doing. But now, they all knew. And on top of that, they were all on high-alert and watching him to make sure he didn't do this. He knew damn well that there was every chance someone would notice. Even if they didn't catch him in the act, they'd be able to guess the reason for any unexplained winces on his part.
That wasn't really enough to stop him, though. Right now, all he could focus on was his desire for relief, and chances were that he'd be able to complete his task before anyone noticed.
So, he quickly grabbed some clothes and a towel, and bundling them up, he tucked the knife inside. Then, he left his room, shoulders tense and eyes darting around to check if anyone else was in the hallway. Upon finding it empty, he walked swiftly into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. It locked with a small latch, and his hands shook slightly as he tried to fasten it, only succeeding after a few tries.
With that done, he stripped off his clothes and turned the shower on, knowing that the others might get suspicious if the bathroom was silent for too long. A second later, he sat on the floor in nothing but his boxers, staring down at the scarred flesh of his exposed arms.
It was almost strange to see them completely healed. He didn't exactly cut himself constantly before, but his healing had slowed to such a degree that his wounds usually didn't heal before he went back to the knife. They'd been healed ever since he'd woken up, but he didn't really spend much time looking at his arms. Every time he did, he'd either end up feeling disgusted with himself or adding to the collection, so he'd gotten in the habit of avoiding any close scrutiny. But, well, he was here in the first place to do the latter, so it didn't really matter.
Forcing a shaky breath in, he took the knife out from the folds of his clothes. Normally, he'd at least attempt to clean his arm and the knife before starting, but he already had a track-record of skipping those steps fairly often, and this knife didn't even exist until a few minutes ago, so surely it must be clean, right?
The first cut hardly took any further thought, though it was short and shallow and bled only a little. But it did sting pretty badly, like a particularly terrible paper cut.
So he drew the knife across his wrist again.
This time, the cut was deeper, and beads of blood welled up like he wanted them to. He stared at them for a while, breathing deeply, before he repeated the motions.
Again.
And again.
By the time he felt the constricting urge leave his chest, there were ten cuts, some deeper than others, and a thin stream of blood going down his arm. He breathed, filling his lungs as much as he could. He was okay. This was okay.
Practically on autopilot, Deceit cleaned up the remnants of what he'd just done, making sure to press some toilet paper onto the wounds so the blood wouldn't drip onto the floor. Once everything else was cleaned and the bloody flow started to slow, he made the crimson-stained paper disappear. Almost regretfully, he vanished the knife as well (after all, if the others found it, they'd just take it from him anyway).
Knowing he had to clean the wounds and that he'd have to at least be damp to look like he'd actually taken a shower, he stripped off his boxers and stepped under the stream of now-cold water. It was this shock that snapped him out of his hazy state of mind.
What had he just done?
He'd clearly spent far too long in the bathroom, and some of the wounds were still bleeding quite a bit (and not being helped by the flowing water).
Oh god, he was going to get caught.
This time, the adrenaline rush washed a cold terror over him.
He was going to get caught.
They were never going to leave him alone now. Hell, they'd probably remove his door again immediately.
But it was already done. The only thing he could do was to get out of the shower, dry himself off, and try to treat his wounds. He just wrapped them up with some bandages he found under the sink, rushed hands not doing as neat of a job as he'd intended (but even still, it was leagues better than when he didn't cover them at all and just simply bled onto his clothes and sheets).
Just as he was pulling his shirt on, his heart stopped.
Someone was knocking on the door.
"Deceit? Are you okay in there? It's just… you've been in there for a pretty long time."
Patton.
Fuck.
Couldn't he have at least been fully clothed before getting caught?!
Clearly, he had to give an answer, even though he would have much preferred remaining silent:
"I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute."
His voice wobbled at the end, making him curse himself for digging his own grave further. But with Patton waiting literally right outside the door, he could only stall for so long.
And so, with an apprehensive tension tightening his shoulders, he slowly undid the latch and opened the door. As expected, the fatherly side was still there, standing against the opposite wall and ringing his hands nervously. Janus had to force himself not to move his arms behind his back. No, that would only make the man more suspicious.
"Hey…," Patton greeted, his attempt at a smile strained. "Are you really sure you're alright, Kiddo?"
"I'm fine," Janus replied, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. "I just… zoned out for a bit."
The false explanation rolled off his tongue easily, the thought having only barely crossed his mind before he said it. It was a better explanation than he'd had a minute ago, and Patton himself had witnessed his zoning-out sessions.
Even still, Patton's eyebrows just crinkled further.
"I'm going to my room," Janus suddenly blurted out, already beginning to turn before the words had finished.
He just wanted to escape before Patton could figure out what he'd done, assuming he had somehow been lucky enough for Patton to have not realized. He needed to be alone for a while, until the initial sting calmed down a bit and he could move his arms without the pain being obvious.
But without warning, Patton suddenly grabbed him by the wrist.
The grip wasn't very tight or hard, but of course, Patton had happened to grab his injured wrist, rather than the fully-intact one. And with the wounds so new, still seeping small blotches of blood into the bandages hidden beneath his sleeve, Janus couldn't hold back his flinch. Nor could he hold back the tiny, pained gasp that escaped from between his lips.
And at that moment, he knew it was definitely too late.
Patton's eyes widened into saucers, and his mouth fell open. Slowly, his expression shifted to a concerned horror, making a thick shame creep up Janus's neck. Patton definitely knew now. He was naive, but he wasn't stupid.
"De-"
"No."
Janus cut him off and wrenched his arm away, hissing out at the pain the motion caused. He didn't know why, but a sudden calm came over him. In that moment, he wasn't angry or afraid or sad or anything. He just felt the need to retreat back to his room and be alone, away from Patton.
He was already walking again, and having caught Patton off-guard, he was able to make it back to his room before the moral side could stop him. As soon as the door was shut, he slid down to the floor and leaned his body against it.
And then he just sat there. Sat there and listened to Patton knock and call out to him and try to turn the knob and eventually start to plead with him to open the door. The sound of it reminded him too much of Remus back when he'd locked himself away, and so, he'd eventually moved to cover his ears.
And he sat.
And ignored.
And felt the pulses of pain throb through his arm as he looked at nothing.
XXX
In case it's unclear, the first part of the chapter is a flashback, and the second part skips forward in time a bit.
XXX
