Chapter Text
Janus was barely aware of time passing. All he could do was wait for Deceit’s return.
Through the subconscious, he was able to feel the steady push and pull of Thomas’ daily routines. Enough to know that Thomas was still there, even if Janus couldn’t reach him.
Virgil was probably safe now, he told himself. He wouldn’t put himself in danger for Janus’ sake again. And perhaps Deceit would bring Virgil in for one of the sessions, at least then Janus would be able to see him, would be able to tell if Deceit hurt him again.
Janus tried to push his mind away from that thought. What was he doing, hoping for Virgil to be a part of his torture ? Virgil wanted nothing to do with him; Janus should be hoping that Virgil never had to see him again.
When the door opened, it was only traitorous instinct that forced him to look up, to prepare for what was to come. Deceit was there, of course, and pushing past him and into the room was- was-
“He doesn’t seem much fun,” Remus said, pouting. Janus scrambled upright, back pressing to the wall.
Remus looked wrong . He was dressed in ragged, flamboyant green like always, the same white streak in his greasy hair and scrappy mustache on his face-- but his fingers were chewed up, some to the bone, and his clothes hung off his shoulders. His cheeks were sharp outlines, eyes bright and manic, and he was twitchy, burning with demented creative energy, so much that it overflowed and tinged the Mindscape red.
His eyes kept flicking from Janus to Deceit to the walls to Janus again, fixing on parts of the room like he was tracing out imagined pictures-- then back to Deceit, who snarled and said, “As I said, Duke. Try to do better than Anxiety .”
“You let Anxiety hurt him before me?” Remus asked with a gasp, holding his hand to his heart. “But DeeDee, I thought I was your favorite murder weapon! You’re breaking my heart, I’m gonna have to fuck myself with my favorite dildo just to numb the pain--”
“ Don’t get it done,” Deceit snapped, face twisting like he’d stepped in shit. Distantly, behind the growing horror, Janus added that to his list of reasons to hate him. That was not how he should have been treating Remus, of all Sides. Someone had to at least tolerate him, to show that they loved him. What possible reason-- “Unless you’d prefer that I put you back?”
“Don’t even fucking try,” Remus shrieked, wheeling on him, but Deceit only smirked.
Janus scoured up his hatred and said, low, “You’re an even worse Deceit than I’d thought. You know I wasn’t even sure that was possible?”
Deceit shook his head. “See if you can get him to stop talking,” he told Remus, and then turned and swept out of the room.
Remus tilted his head at Janus, moving around the room like a cat approaching a particularly interesting bug. Janus swallowed back his fear and forced himself to meet Remus’ eyes. This was Remus, not some nameless, faceless monster. Janus knew him - surely there must be some similarities.
“Remus,” Janus tried, and Remus grinned far too wide.
“Oh!” he cried out, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Did the emo tell you about me? What did he say?”
Janus winced at the mention of Virgil. He’s not here , he reminded himself, he’s safe. Worry about yourself .
“Only terrible things, I assure you,” Janus said, with the same lightness as when he spoke to his Remus. “I hear you’re a master of torment. He even said I should try to talk before Deceit thought of bringing you in-- I don’t suppose that makes you a fate worse than death, does it?”
“ Way worse,” Remus said, grinning with too many teeth. “Worse than a little death, even! By which I mean orgasms. I’m talking about sex.”
“I wouldn’t think a lot of things are worse than orgasms,” Janus said, and the bemusement was so familiar it hurt. Remus was Creativity, though, and in this world he had been bound only by pain and what he could give Deceit, had probably never heard a kind word or been introduced to the concept of empathy.
This was going to be so much worse than Deceit. Remus would-- would peel the flesh from his bones, make him eat his own tendons, drive his toenails through his eyes pull him inside out and strangle him with his bowels--
The world went hazy-crimson, and in the center of it was Remus, watching him like a kid with a magnifying glass who’d found a pile of ants. “I’m liking that last one,” he said brightly.
Janus shuddered and drew back, trying to get away, except there was nowhere to go, just Remus coming towards him. Janus let out a choked gasp.
“Deceit said I can do whatever I like,” Remus said cheerfully. “He never lets me do what I want. It’s normally Anxiety who gets all the fun.”
All the fun like being tortured, being torn apart by Deceit, like holding Janus down and hurting him , pulling out his scales one by one and not stopping--
“Remus,” Janus said desperately. “This isn’t- you don’t have to do this.”
“But I want to,” Remus said, sounding confused, and then there was a knife in his hand, when did he get the knife-
Janus screamed and arched his back as the knife cut through his flesh, digging into his shoulder. He writhed, trying to get away from the pain, and only made the blade twist in further. He sobbed, not even bothering to fight back tears.
“Oh, you’re a screamer ,” Remus sounded delighted. “No wonder he doesn’t like you. He hates it when people make a lot of noise.”
“And you like noise,” Janus rasped, entire body shaking from pain.
“Yep! All the noise. Did you know people scream differently depending on how you hurt them? I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.” For a second his face went dark, rage spasming across his face, before the demented grin sprang back into place. “So if you lose a finger ‘cause of a knife instead of a chainsaw, or break a bone or get your eyes shoved up your nose--”
“I’m not getting the picture,” Janus said, involuntary terror beating at him in waves, an incoming storm he’d have to weather. A storm he might not be able to weather, not with a Remus who was indifferent to him, who was so furiously desperate not to be put away.
“I’m thinking I’ll start by breaking all your bones,” Remus said in the tone he reserved for daydreaming, monstrous inspiration making him shine. Janus wondered in the back of his mind-- the part of him detached from everything, that didn’t care about what happened to him at all-- whether he’d been able to brainstorm at all recently. Whether his starvation wasn’t all from lack of food. “Then I can make them heal into shapes-- or, hey, think I can cut off your arm and keep it alive separate? Bring it to life like a tiny Addams family Frankenstein? And I guess I can torture you, too.”
“How nice of you to keep that in mind,” Janus wheezed, and suddenly Remus was close, too close because as always his concept of personal space was not sharing the same skin, and his fingers wrapped around the mangled hand. Janus shouted and tried to yank it back, but Remus’s grip was iron, all the strength of Creativity in the Mindscape brought casually to bear.
“Oh, I’m not nice,” Remus said. “I’m a nightmare! An itsy bitsy fragment of hell that DeeDee brings out when it’s convenient. Otherwise I’m an itsy bitsy fragment stuck in a box where I can’t do anything but gnaw and chew and rend and tear and die over and over again, which is also coincidentally what I’m gonna do to you. Except with extra gnawing, and bonus tearing. Maybe some rending too, we’ll have to see what the sponsors say.”
He brought Janus’s ruined hand up to his mouth and licked it, a grotesque parody of courtly etiquette. “Bloody,” he said, approving. “I bet you can’t even masturbate with this!”
“Probably not, but I haven’t actually tried,” Janus said, trying to keep his hand as still as he could - just one move from Remus would have him in agony, might damage his hand more than it already had been.
“Why not?” Remus asked. “What else is there to do down here? Besides chewing your limbs off you can escape.”
“If I chewed all my limbs off, how would I get out of this room?” Janus asked.
“Ooh, good point,” Remus said. “How about we find out?”
And then the knife was back, digging into his arm just above the shackles, deeper and deeper and Janus screamed and kicked out. He could see the blood dripping down on the floor, and how much blood would he be able to lose and survive?
Janus sobbed and pulled his arm back and Remus let him. Remus wasn’t even looking at him anymore, was staring at the blood pooling on the floor in fascination. His hand twitched towards it and then back again. Janus panted, trying to regain his breath enough to speak.
Remus reached out and dipped a hand into it, but he didn’t bring it up to his mouth; he just sat looking at it, inspiration pulsing from him in turbulent waves, then shook his head violently and turned back to Janus with a grin. “Now for the real show,” he said, gleeful, and Janus--
-- blood on the ground, blood in his eyes, knives and fangs and twisting things in the corner of his vision, real and imaginary combined, and what was real what was happening he was disemboweled and whole the next second, blind and deaf and falling from a plane to his death and always always always screaming--
Janus lost track of time from there.
At some point he was on the ground, other hand a stump with the fingers laid out in a chopped-up sunburst by his head, and became dimly aware that he’d stopped screaming. Remus was leering over him, arms and hands torn full of holes; Janus could taste rancid blood in his mouth, knew he’d lost his mind and struck out more than once.
“You basically are his clone,” Remus said, and his tone wasn’t fascination but deep, malevolent rage, a cloud of hatred with manic curiosity shining through. “You’ve even got the venom. Not the scales anymore, though. Took care of them on you . You screamed just as much as I’d hoped, too, good job! Ten out of ten.”
His filthy hand came up and caressed the flayed side of Janus’s face, and Janus bucked with a ragged scream, tried weakly to thrash away. “How’d you happen, anyway,” Remus said, not a question. “Was someone upstairs doing an experiment? They get tired of you, too? They do that a lot, y’know. Nothing gore can stay.”
Janus still had his tongue. The realization brought only dull surprise. That was the other thing that marked him as Deceit’s double, after all. “Virgil thinks we split,” he rasped, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes were dry. He’d been crying earlier, but it seemed the water hadn’t lasted.
Remus flinched above him. “So that makes you his Roman?” he asked, light and vicious. “Fuck me , payback really is a bitch.”
“Not-- exactly,” Janus managed, and the words came easier, from that same place within him that hadn’t cared about his wounds at all-- from the center of him, the ceaseless intangible core. He thought distantly that he might be going into shock from blood loss. “You see, I’m-- I’m going to kill him.”
“I’m gonna kill Roman, that doesn’t make you special,” Remus said, and the response came so fast it must have been practically rote, said over and over until it was reflex. “I’m gonna kill him so fucking much! Rip off his face and wear it as mine and then Tommy-boy’s gonna have to listen!”
Janus flinched at the thought. Something must have twinged in his face, because Remus was above him again, watching him with that same wounded hatred in his eyes, that long soundless scream. “Got a problem with that, Shit Viper?”
Janus shook his head, and the motion sent agony ricocheting through him, made him gasp back a whine. “Just a request,” he breathed, too weak to be any louder.
Remus cocked his head.
“Kill me,” Janus managed, and Remus blinked at him, some of the red falling away.
Then he shrugged. “Yeah, okay,” he said, moving forward, and there were hands on Janus’s throat--
*
He woke slowly, consciousness coming back piece by piece. It was the second time he’d ever died, and he didn’t like it very much.
He wondered if he’d survive until tomorrow.
Janus winced and picked himself up. His body ached, but it was faint ache, the ghost of injuries past. He brought one hand up to his face, chains jangling as he did so, felt the intact scales, and then dared to inspect his hand.
It wasn’t mangled or swollen anymore. It still hurt to move his fingers, but he could move them. Silver linings, he supposed.
The room was empty again; another silver lining, though one that probably wouldn’t last. Deceit hadn’t offered him an end to Remus’ torment, hadn’t even stayed to ask questions. That meant his farce of interrogation was over. Good, now he didn’t have to worry about keeping his secrets; he just needed to stay sane.
He leaned against the wall, and tried to savour the feeling of being whole again, and was that really something he was feeling grateful for right now? Not being a mangled mess? He longed for the days where he wanted to be heard by Thomas, taking the fact that he could talk to him at all for granted.
When Deceit brought Remus back, he stayed for even less time than before, just gave Janus a distasteful glare before leaving. Remus bounded over to Janus, grabbed his chin and turned his head so he could inspect the scales.
“You’re back!” Remus said. “That’s good. It would have been boring if you were still broken, I wouldn’t have anything to do!”
“Would you tell me how long I’ve been gone?” Janus asked, shaking at the touch. Remus could take the scales again. He was going to take the scales again and there was nothing he could do, no way for Janus to stop him, the only way out was through and he didn’t know if he could bear it-- “I’d hate to have left you bereft of entertainment.”
“You only took a day,” Remus gushed. “Even the scaredy-spider takes longer than that!”
Janus made a horrified sound-- Remus had killed Virgil, when had he done that, what had he done to him-- and Remus blinked. “Why’re you doing that now? We haven’t even started the fun.”
Janus shook his head. “It’s-- It’s nothing. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you said that a lot yesterday, too.” Remus surged closer, grabbing his head and forcing it still when Janus tried to jerk away. “What’s wrong, Shakes and Adders? Are you stuck in a loop? I heard you’re supposed to hit things when that happens.”
Remus knocked Janus’ head into the wall, making his vision white out. When it returned Remus was on top of him, knife digging in to his stomach, and Janus started screaming-
His whole body was burning, flesh melting away-
Remus was sawing through his arm, sawing through the bone -
His throat was slit, and Janus was relieved even as he choked on his own blood, because if he died he’d get a break-
He was whole again, no blood flooding his windpipe, and he cried when he realised that he was still alive-
He was on the ground, lying in something wet and sticky - blood, probably, but he didn’t want to turn his head and look. He could only see half the room, something was wrong with one eye, but Remus was on his good side. Remus wasn’t looking at him, was staring at his hand with fascination, the way he used to look when he was still young and new to the Imagination.
“What do you want to do with it?” Janus rasped.
“Not sure,” Remus admitted. “I wish your blood was different, maybe then I’d have more colours to work with.” He froze the next second, a jerky wooden motion-- because Remus wasn’t supposed to freeze, was never supposed to be scared, it wasn’t what he was for-- and mumbled, “Focusing,” like it had been dragged out of him.
The part of Janus that remained deep inside, when everything else was cut away, screamed. Of course there was only one way his counterpart could ever have instilled that in Remus. Remus had told him about it an eternity ago, before the second time he’d died. Trapped in a box all alone, no stimulation and no way to get any, driven to gnawing off his own limbs just to feel something.
Solitary confinement. The worst thing in the world for any Side and worse yet for Creativity, which needed human contact and space to grow.
Roman in that situation would have collapsed to people-pleasing, desperate and shaking for someone to tell him he was good enough to stay out, that he’d earned some little reprieve with good behavior.
Remus, under the same strain--
Was rocking where he kneeled on the balls of his feet, mumbling under his breath and glancing back at Janus with unfocused eyes. The knife was in his hand, his power all around. He could have been-- probably should have been torturing him further, as Deceit required. Janus knew he knew that. And yet he was himself, intrusive thoughts, irrepressible, and he hadn’t had the chance to perform his function in so long--
“I haven’t heard you can do a lot with negative space,” Janus rasped, forcing himself to turn towards him. The movement sent his vision to static, tore away his thoughts, and for a long moment after he just lay there panting, braced for another blow.
It didn’t come. Remus was staring at him, trembling faintly, eyes wild and intent. “Negative space,” he repeated, like they didn’t fit in his mouth. “Like-- with ink drawings. Squid ink. Black like a whole ocean of blood.”
God, he really was overflowing, Janus thought sickly. Even for him it must have been agony.
“The floors aren’t red,” he managed, and at any second this reprieve could break, drag him back out of his mind-- “It makes a good contrast.”
Remus tilted his head, staring at his hand, and then, slowly, he began to smear the blood on the ground. It was just smears at first, lines and spirals, like a child's first drawings, but then he made shapes, and then, slowly, the beginnings of a face.
Janus rested his head back against the ground, let his eyes close. Remus was the artist, not him, Janus had no further suggestions to make, and even if he did, Remus wouldn’t welcome them. He needed to be given free reign, restrictions were practically a prison.
“It’s you,” Remus announced, drawing Janus’ attention. Janus squinted at the portrait - clumsy, even for Remus, but then, Remus had no tools, probably hadn’t been given this chance in- years, perhaps. Maybe he’d never been given the chance.
“Painted in your own blood,” Remus said. “Get it?”
“It’s good,” Janus rasped, and Remus flinched backwards.
“That means bad, right? Because of the backwards talking.”
“No,” Janus argued. “I mean it- it’s-”
Remus kicked Janus in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him. “Shut up,” Remus snapped. “You’re not supposed to like it . It’s supposed to terrify you!”
“Haven’t you seen- pictures of, of the stairwell of the Metropolitan Museum? There’s a statue there that isn’t frightening at all,” and god was it difficult using multisyllabic words while winded, Janus was almost impressed with himself for managing it, “of Lilith. It’s beautiful, but known for terrifying anyone who comes around the corner. It stares right at you.”
Remus’s gaze was fixed on him. “Thomas saw it,” he said after a long pause, like he was waiting for Janus’s reaction. “It was awesome.”
“I don’t love your picture,” Janus said, holding his gaze. “It’s not good, and it can’t be terrifying at the same time. I’m not impressed that you made it so detailed with such a clumsy medium.”
“I’m not supposed to do it,” Remus admitted. “I’m supposed to be hurting you, not-”
“I’m sure there will be psychological ramifications to watching you paint with my own blood,” Janus pointed out.
“It’s not the same,” Remus said with a sigh. “It’s no fun if I don’t get to watch you suffer.” Remus shook his head, and looked over Janus. “I should probably kill you.”
Janus nodded and closed his eyes, waiting for the end, except instead of hands on his throat or a knife through his ribs, pain consumed him. He opened his eyes and he was on fire , burning, and was that real or not? He screamed, tried to get away, begged Remus to make it stop, and then there was smoke in his lungs and he couldn’t breathe -
He woke up to a figure beside him, gore-sex-inspiration and painfully familiar and it was Remus, it was, he was right there--
Janus’s arms were around his waist, face buried in his side, and somewhere he knew he was delirious, that there were chains around his wrists and he’d just burnt to death, but the rest of him was clinging to that rancid-familiar body and sobbing for comfort, desperate for the feeling of home and relative safety he’d associated with Remus for so long.
Remus had gone completely still, not even breathing. Janus clung tighter, horribly grateful for the moment of indecision, and plastered as much of his body against him as he could. If he could pretend-- just for a moment, please , if he could just tell himself he was safe and could be okay and Remus loved him, they were best friends and he’d never hurt him like this, had sworn to defend him from any gruesome threat in the Imagination--
Hands caught his wrists, pushing him back, and Janus keened . “Please,” he begged, eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to see, to know this other Remus for the monstrous stranger he was, “Remus, Creativity, please, let me pretend, just for a moment, I just want a moment--”
Remus went still, hands loosening around Janus’ wrists, and Janus sunk back against him. Slowly, Remus’ arms went stiffly around him, as if not sure what they were supposed to be doing, and Janus sobbed into Remus’ chest.
It lasted a few minutes, before Remus finally had enough and shoved him off. Janus huddling in on himself, longing for the feeling of warmth, or a touch that didn’t hurt .
“You’re crazy,” Remus informed him. “Possibly but not probably crazier than me! That takes effort, Snake-Skin Man.”
Janus laughed shakily. “Glad I could impress.”
A noise outside the room startled them both, making Remus jerk back a few steps. Someone was saying something, was coming closer-
The door opened, and Virgil was thrown to the ground. He curled in on himself, even as Deceit kept talking.
“-just have to have company a little longer,” Deceit spat, and Virgil’s only response was to shudder. “Sit up. You should be grateful I’m even letting you in here.”
Virgil sat up slowly, and Janus clamped down on a choked cry. Virgil’s face was a mess- worse even than it had looked last time Janus had seen him, and one arm was kept close to his body as if to protect it.
Virgil looked towards Janus, and Janus dropped his gaze quickly. No need for Virgil to have to deal with his staring on top of everything else.
“Remember our agreement next time,” Deceit said, and then he turned his attention to Remus. “Make sure he watches.”
Deceit left, and Remus started to laugh.
“He was so angry!” Remus crowed. “You must have really screwed up this time, Anxiety.” He grinned at Virgil, not at all friendly, and said, “Came just in time, too, and I mean that in every sense of the word. We’re just getting started today!”
Virgil’s face crumpled, and he retreated to the corner, tucking into himself like his legs were a shield. He looked again to Janus, probably tracing the tear tracks and restored scales, and wavered.
“I’d say it’s nice to see you having fun,” he said eventually, voice thin and shivering, “but it’s really not . Try not to get me covered in blood, will you?”
There was a gaping hole in Janus’s breastbone, black and consuming, and he felt it widen as Virgil spoke. No forgiveness from that quarter, then. Not that he’d expected it, with the state Virgil was in. He might not have forgiven someone so easily for tripping him up, either, not when the punishment was torture.
At least they were all in a room together, he thought hysterically. At least this vicious, neglected Remus was focused on him, with Virgil only an unwilling observer. It made it easier, not having to worry that Virgil was being hurt out of his sight.
Janus shifted away from Remus and towards the wall, stopping when Remus grabbed his wrist. He kept his eyes down, movements small, forced his body to relax as much as it could while it shook. Virgil’s gaze was fixed on the two of them, eyes darting back and forth, skin pale as death. He radiated fear.
“What’d you do, anyway?” Remus asked, conjuring a knife. He drew it across Janus’ skin, not very deep and oh god, that meant Remus was going to go slow this time.
“Does it matter?” Virgil asked tightly.
“Maybe not,” Remus said, cutting another slice.
Remus took a step back and tilted his head, like Janus was a painting Remus was trying to finish. The next second Remus was yanking him onto his back, pinning him with thorny vines coming up from the floor.
Janus struggled without meaning to, the extra restraints igniting panic in his chest, and the thorns dug into his arms and legs, drew blood. “This counts as torture if I don’t just make them for fun, right?” Remus asked, nearly serious, and then answered, “You know what, I’m gonna say it does! Wanna see what happens if I gag you with ‘em?”
“Not particularly,” Janus said, as the vines tightened around him, digging deeper. Some of them were already snaking up towards his mouth, pushing past his lips and making him gasp.
“Well, I do!” Remus said. “How about you, Anxiety?”
“You think I care?” Virgil replied, and Janus almost sobbed.
“You know what, I’m going to take that as a yes,” Remus decided. “Which makes it two against one. Lucky you, Snake Eyes!”
Janus’s chest heaved, but he had to keep still; even the slightest motion dug thorns into his tongue and throat, choked him with blood, and if he twitched his limbs the barbs hooked and tore. He couldn’t keep himself from crying as Remus came closer and stood over him. “Tighter!” he exclaimed after a moment, clapping his hands, and the thorns constricted, making Janus scream.
“There, that’s better. I thought something looked off.” He bounced on his heels, looking down at Janus intently, and said out of nowhere, “No clue why you hugged me. That was really weird.”
Virgil startled from his ball in the corner, and Janus tried not to let the inexplicable grief show in his face. He knew this Remus didn’t care about him, that he’d only allowed Janus’s breakdown out of curiosity. It shouldn’t have hurt that he didn’t see it as any more than a foible of his master’s strange doppelganger of a victim.
“I’m kinda torn on what to do next,” Remus confided, kneeling beside him. “Termites? Slowly cutting off all your limbs with thorns and pressure like a really slow chainsaw? There’s so many options, I’m so inspired!” He wriggled in place. “Bet Anxiety never hurt you this bad.”
Janus forced himself not to wince at that. He glanced over at Virgil, who hunched in on himself, focusing on Remus as if that was easier than so much as looking at Janus. Remus looked between them and grinned, eyes going wide with glee. “What, really? You’ve got hidden depths, Misery Business.”
“Deceit said to,” Virgil snapped, almost a snarl. “I’m not sick enough to make it my favorite fucking hobby.”
The world darkened blackish-red, seared through with the taste of burnt caramel, and Remus lunged across the room, grabbing Anxiety by the hood and dragging him out of his corner. Virgil struggled loose, biting deep into Remus’s arm, and snapped, voice going high with panic, “You dick, he said not to touch me!”
“Nah,” Remus said, smile going dark and bloody, “he just said I have to make you watch. All that means is I can’t go after your eyes.”
Janus jerked against the restraints, trying to get Remus’s attention back where it belonged, but it had already shifted, Remus gone intent like an artist on a roll. More thorns slithered out of the walls, catching at Virgil despite his struggles and slamming him against the wall; he screamed as they curled tight around his arms and legs, twisted over his throat to force up his head.
They went even tighter, making Virgil gasp out a sob, and Remus took the tear from his face and tasted it, grinning. Then the vines went into Virgil’s mouth, down his throat even farther and Janus was screaming as Virgil choked, thrashing against his restraints as Virgil tried and failed to scream, as the thorns covered him more and more until they were saturated with blood, pooling with it--
Another scene-- missed time? Janus couldn’t tell, couldn’t think to try-- and Virgil was still tied, gasping in great silent sobs, too scared to close his eyes in case it got worse.
Deceit came back into the room and scowled. “You were supposed to focus on him.”
“I did!” Remus said. “Look at him, he’s all cut up and shit.”
“And yet you didn’t spend most of your time tormenting Anxiety,” Deceit hissed, stalking closer. “I’m not amazed you think I’d tolerate this level of disobedience.”
Remus drew back, face twisting in a snarl, and Deceit snapped, “Come here.”
“I’m doing my job, it’s just what you fucking told me to do, it’s exactly what you said!”
Deceit yanked up his hand, and Remus’s snarled babbling cut off. “I really hate doing this to you, but you totally seem to learn otherwise,” he said, sighing, and did-- something, too fast for Janus to see, but then Remus was staggering back with blood pouring from his mouth and eyes and ears, divested of half his senses in a moment and frenzied with it, not even healing like he should have been--
The gag was gone. Janus didn’t question why. He snarled, almost a scream, “He was helping you! Stop, stop it, he was helping, he did as you said you antithetical fucking bastard, what gives you the right--”
A shift. Suddenly he was on the floor again, Virgil trembling in the corner, and the thorns were catching on open wounds, Janus’s clothes wet with blood. He bucked against the restraints anyway, staring wildly from Remus to Virgil, neither injured more than when they’d entered the room, then sagged back and lay still, sick horror mixing with relief in his gut.
A trick. It had been a trick, meant to make him harm himself even further. Janus very badly wanted to scream.
Remus was staring at him like he’d never seen him before-- like he’d proposed marriage or promised to turn them all into newts, done something so unexpected it caught even the Duke off guard. “He’s gonna be pissed you said that,” he said after a moment, tilting his head.
“ Don’t feel free not to tell him,” Janus said through his ruined mouth, blood trying its best to run into his lungs. He still didn’t look at Virgil. He didn’t know if Virgil was looking at him.
“Secrets, secrets are so fun,” Remus recited cheerily in answer, crouching beside him and poking at the human side of his face. “Whaddaya say we finish up for today? I can draw something, that’s psychological torture, right? If I leave you so you have to watch?”
He watched Janus’s face, waiting, and Janus managed a shallow nod. “Nice,” Remus said, and inexplicably ruffled Janus’s hair. “Nice, nice, nice. I’m gonna draw two snakes 69-ing.”
Trying to picture that certainly counted as psychological torture, Janus thought in a flicker of muscle memory, his usual snarky response. He would have said it if he’d had the strength; Remus might have been delighted.
“I’ll draw it so you can see,” the darker Creativity promised, and the restraints loosened, pain abating so long as Janus didn’t pull against them. “What’s your name, anyway? Do you have a name? Is it Dickcheese?”
“Janus,” Janus managed to force out, and Remus actually faltered. “My name-- is Janus.” Raise your right hand and swear, came the thought, and he wanted to cry.
“Janus,” Remus repeated. “J-Anus. Janice like the hairdresser with the sexy dominatrix secret! Kinda boring-- but you have my approval!”
He put a hand to Janus’s neck; there was a sharp, split-second pain, and then the rest of him went abruptly slack, cut off from sensation. Janus tried to move his hand and found himself paralyzed. “There! Broken neck. That way you have to focus on what I’m doing!”
The rest of the pain had disappeared, leaving only his torn-up throat and mutilated face. Janus blinked up at Remus through tears, wondering if he realized that, and saw him already climbing up to the ceiling, making a platform out of thorns and disregarding the cuts they left in his skin.
He could feel Virgil out of his field of vision, a high-pitched ringing terror that pulled the shadows toward it; the other Side stayed, even as Remus started graphically illustrating both hemipenises, even as he colored them in and shouted down to Janus to explain what he was doing and why, even as he murmured Janus’s name in sing-song, twisting it into wilder and wilder nicknames.
Remus killed him after the drawing was done, a brush of cloth over his face and then darkness. Janus didn’t even feel himself go.