Chapter Text
Deceit had a problem. Or rather, he had five problems and one secret. A secret that said problems absolutely could not find out about.
Because that wouldn’t be a disaster at all.
Lying in bed, he could picture their reactions perfectly.
Logic, no doubt, would start to question if Deceit was capable of doing his job properly. As if he hadn’t been doing it just fine, thank you very much, for over twenty-five years.
The Creativi-twits, as much as they might like to think of themselves as opposites, would both at best laugh and at worst find some way to use it against him.
Virgil… Virgil he wasn’t going to think about.
Morality, perhaps the most insufferable of the lot of them, would probably try to… “coddle” him. Like a child. Deceit’s lip curled involuntarily. He was perfectly capable of looking after himself, and whatever pity-induced “help” that cardigan clad clod would offer was neither needed or wanted.
He was fine.
Deceit sighed and pushed himself up to sit cross legged at the top of his bed. That statement always left the acrid sweet taste of a lie on his tongue.
It doesn’t make any sense! he thought, rubbing at his non-scaled temple. He really was fine! Better than fine! And, okay, sure, things didn’t exactly go to plan yesterday in the theatre or during the following conversation… Thomas hadn’t listened to him in the end after all… but! But he’d still been revealed. The genie was out of the bottle and he wasn’t going back in and that was…
Good.
That was good.
Deceit gritted his teeth. If he said it enough maybe it’d stop making his scales itch.
‘Who am I kidding?’ Deceit muttered, throwing his duvet away from himself and getting to his feet.
He’d always been shit at lying to himself, despite the irony of it.
No, what it was… was complicated. Stressful. Some might go so far as to say, an under-planned mess.
But if he wanted a proper say in how things went around here, Thomas actually being aware of his existence was kind of a necessary first step.
It was figuring out the other steps, whilst simultaneously keeping his secret as tightly under wraps as ever, that was causing him to lose sleep.
The thing was, Deceit was deaf. Or technically hard of hearing if you wanted to get specific about it. He wore hearing-aids, relied on lip-reading, even knew a passable amount of sign language (not that it was much use to him in a mindscape where no one else knew or used any). The whole shebang.
And the others didn’t know – and never would if Deceit had anything to do with it.
Crossing to his wardrobe, Deceit pulled out one of his yellow button-ups – the one with a black snake pattern along the bottom trim. He didn’t need his full getup today (his cloak was on point, he wouldn’t deny, but it wasn’t very practical for everyday activities), as he had no intention of going further than the dark sides common room. He’d never feel relaxed enough there to go fully informal, but when the only company he ever had anymore was Remus… well let’s just say considering the Duke’s interesting choices of attire (including but not limited to a luminescent green skintight diver’s get-up, a female “sexy nurse”’s outfit, and his birthday suit) Deceit had allowed himself to dress down a little.
He flung the empty hanger onto his bed with a little more force than necessary.
Once upon a time, he’s considered telling Virgil his little secret. He’d thought they were friends, after all, and though it went against his very nature to trust the other, he’d thought that was what friends were supposed to do. It wasn’t a mistake he’d make again.
So finishing getting dressed, Deceit swept to his bedside table, on top of which he kept his hearing aids and the bowler hat he always paired them with and donned the items, flicking the switch to turn them on as he did so.
Immediately, his previously peaceful silence was broken by a series of loud smashes in combination with a far too familiar maniacal laugh.
Remus was up early then.
Wonderful.
And, even more joyously, those smashes were far too loud to be coming from the kitchen.
Suppressing the urge to take his hearing aids out again and bury himself under his blankets for the next several years, Deceit adjusted his bowler hat so that it more fully covered his ears, and opened his bedroom door.
‘Watch out!’
Instinctively, Deceit ducked. Out of the corner of his vision he caught sight of a spinning object hurtling through the space where his head had been moments before.
‘Almost got you there!’ Remus cackled. ‘Can you imagine if it’d shattered on your throat and all the tiny shards had gotten stuck in it and then you bled out all over the floor!’
Deceit straightened. Currently all over the floor was what looked like the entirety of the porcelain dishes from their kitchen cupboards.
‘I see you’ve decided we’ll be eating out of Tupperware again until I can sneak some new dishes from the light sides,’ Deceit drawled.
Remus stuck out his bottom lip in a pout. ‘Oh, don’t be such a spoil-snake Dee-Dee. It’s fun! Here, you try.’ He produced an unbroken plate from seemingly nowhere and held it out.
Deceit looked from him to the plate and back again, eyebrow raised. The grin on Remus’ face didn’t waver the longer they stood there. It was almost funny how the man thought he had any hope of convincing Deceit to join his games, even after all these years of being refused and scoffed at.
Eventually Deceit rolled his eyes and pushed past him down the corridor, heading to the kitchen. Behind him, Remus said something, but Deceit always struggled hardest to hear from that direction and he couldn’t make it out – even with Remus’ loud tone. Though considering it was Remus, it was hardly likely to be anything life changing. Or even vaguely important. Deceit ignored him.
As he’d suspected, a search of the kitchen cupboards landed him with nothing of the plate, bowl, or mug variety; indeed all sacrificed to Remus’ latest destructive whim. What did surprise him was that the cupboard where they usually kept the Tupperware was also suspiciously empty.
Squat down and staring into the cupboard in the vain hope that something, anything, he could feasibly drink his morning hot chocolate from would materialise, Deceit almost jumped out of his scales when a foot kicked him in the side.
‘What.’ He said icily, getting up and turning to see Remus sat on the countertop and swinging his legs merrily.
‘You’re being a drammmaaaaa queen, Dee.’ Remus said, rolling his neck and undoubtedly making it crack in that way that used to make Virgil cringe. ‘I can just make more!’
Visions of crockery that melted, or worse, exploded, upon use flashed before Deceit’s mind.
‘No!’ He quickly put in. One set of Remus’ version of plates was enough for a lifetime. He forced a smile. ‘How about we do something else instead?’ If there was a class on How To Deal With The Duke On A Day By Day Basis (And Not Resort to Murder) 101, the first lesson would be distraction.
‘Oooh, I know,’ Remus sing-songed. ‘You can tell me all about how it went yesterday with my brother.’ His voice dropped dangerously on the word “brother”, a slightly deranged glint taking over his eyes.
‘It went fine.’
There it was again. That word: “fine”. He was fine, it was fine, everything was fine, fine, fine. He wanted to gauge the word out of his vocal cords. Or maybe he’d just spent too much time with only Remus for company.
But The Mission , as he’d taken to calling it in his head, had gone fin-ADEQUATELY (God, he sounded like Logic). The theatre had been, if he didn’t say so himself, a stroke of genius. Playing on Roman’s passion for theatrics had been far too easy, plus with the headsets and mics relaying what the others were saying directly into his ear, he’d had little problem hearing everybody.
It’d gotten harder back in Thomas’ living room. Virgil would hardly look at him which, considering he was a mumbler anyway, made Deceit’s life oh so easy. Logic seemed to be allergic to expressions so discerning his meaning when Deceit didn’t catch every word he used based on his face wasn’t exactly a walk in the park either. Even Thomas kept turning his head to face the others so reading his lips wasn’t always possible.
At least Roman was just as exuberant as his brother when it came to both volume and gestures.
All in all, Deceit thought he’d done okay. His dramatic villain reveal had gone well, he’d argued his point, he’d…
Gotten out of there as quickly as possible.
So sue him, he was a coward. Embodying such a large chunk of self-preservation would do that to a side. But it was exhausting trying to keep up with the scooby-doo gang’s version of a conversation, and the longer he stayed the more the chance of them becoming suspicious grew.
He’d retreated to his room and spent the whole of the last night trying and failing to figure out how he was going to keep this up.
Which led to now.
‘Come oooon,’ Remus was whining. ‘I want all the juicy, juicy details. Is the stick up Logic’s butthole just as stuck as ever? Is Virgy-poo wearing white fluffy wings now like the angel he thinks he is? Is Morality still Mr. Bossy pants?’ There was a pause where Remus visibly swallowed, his joker-wide grin not matching the swirling mix of hatred and hurt Deceit could pick out in his eyes. ‘Did my brother mention me?’
Deceit turned his head to the ceiling. He was too hot chocolate-less to be dealing with this.
He turned back to Remus, a plastic smile firmly in place. ‘Roman could hardly stop gushing about how much he missed your little get togethers for long enough to breathe. In fact, he’s probably waiting for you in the imagination right this very second.’
Remus’ face lit up in the kind of excitement that meant he was probably going to start breaking things (again). Bones, probably – though preferably not Deceit’s. He jumped off the countertop, and Deceit winced as the floor tiles cracked under his feet. ‘Sorry Dee-Dee, but I’ve got an ass-pointment to catch. And then murder!’ He added gleefully.
‘Have fun,’ Deceit called after Remus’ retreating form as he skipped away towards his room and the door to the imagination that lay within, the Morningstar he’d produced from nowhere swinging next to his ankles.
Ah, sweet peace and quiet.
It was probably cruel to lie to Remus about his brother like that, but if the oaf had yet to realise that Deceit being the literal embodiment of lying meant that he lied occasionally (or a lot), it was hardly Deceit’s fault.
Besides, he had things to do.
And since he was not brave enough to venture unaccompanied into Remus’ room to look for the missing Tupperware, stealing new dishes from the light sides was now top of the list. There was no way he was going to miss putting a plate out for the two sides in the basement; Apathy, he was certain, wouldn’t care a jot, but Rage… It was better not to provoke that particular side if one could help it.
So it seemed he would be going further than the dark’s common room after all. How to go about infiltrating the light sides was the question…
Well… fool me once, fool me twice…
‘Shame on me,’ Deceit muttered with a smile, and headed in the direction of Virgil’s old room.
***
Standing outside the door that led to the light sides area of the mind palace, disguised with Virgil’s face, badly done eyeshadow and the old black jacket he’d found and dusted off, Deceit hesitated.
He’d picked Virgil because the side was the most likely to still be in bed at this hour of the morning, and was therefore his best chance at not arousing suspicion and getting caught. After yesterday, he was sure the light’s would be just delighted to find Deceit wondering around their home – but as much as Deceit would love to find out what their reaction to his presence would be, he was really hoping they wouldn’t see through his disguise this time.
Deceit shook himself. He was only going to grab a few plates – he was hardly breaking into Fort Knox. If all went well he could be in and out in ten minutes.
Pulling Virgil’s hood up to cover his hearing aids, he pushed open the door.
Immediately he was assaulted by how bright it was. Gah, how did they live like this? He had to stand there blinking for several moments before he could even take in his surroundings.
He was standing in a corridor, the walls painted a pastel blue, and when he looked back at the door he’d just come from, it was to be faced with what looked like a traffic warning sign, complete with red triangle and a cartoon snake in a bowler hat in the centre, hanging from the wood panelling.
Deceit was almost touched that he’d managed to rattle the light’s enough for them to add the warning.
‘Virgil?’ a voice said from just over Deceit’s shoulder, making him jump. ‘I apologise. I did not mean to startle you.’
Logic. Just who he wanted to bump into; the side second most likely, only after Virgil himself, to figure out that he wasn’t who he was pretending to be. Fantastic.
He hadn’t even been there two minutes.
Logic was still talking. ‘I only thought you would have heard me coming.’
Well, there was little chance of that unless the side added a one-man-band ensemble to his outfit. Still, it was time to put his acting to the test.
He turned to face Logic head-on and twitched his lip into half a smile. ‘It’s fine. I just had something on my mind.’
Logic seemed to accept that, though his forehead crinkled into the slightest of frowns after only a moment.
‘May I ask what you are doing down here?’
Deceit shrugged, mimicking Virgil’s primary method of communication. ‘Just checking for any signs of intruders. You know, after yesterday.’
‘And did you find any?’
‘Nar, all good t-’ Deceit cut himself off. He couldn’t remember the nickname Virgil called Logic. Was it Tutor? That didn’t sound right. Shit. It was better to avoid nicknames for now; he was sure he’d gotten a few wrong yesterday and that was partially why he’d been caught out. ‘Logan,’ he hastily added, somewhat awkwardly after the slight pause.
Luckily Logic didn’t seem to notice. ‘In that case, would you care to join me for breakfast? I believe Patton is making blueberry pancakes.’
Deceit’s stomach rumbled at the thought – he hadn’t eaten yet after all, plus he’d missed dinner the previous night because he was too busy analysing every second he could remember of his interaction with the others.
‘I will take that as a yes,’ continued Logic, and span on his heel to take off at a brisk pace down the corridor.
Deceit followed him, eyes fixed on the back of the side’s head, until they reached the kitchen where Morality was indeed scraping a pancake off of a frying pan and onto an already teetering pile.
‘Virgil!’ he exclaimed happily upon noticing them. ‘You’re up early. Was the smell of Pat-cakes that delicious?’
Deceit forced a smile, hoping it looked genuine enough.
‘I’d give you a hug,’ Morality continued, and Deceit had to stop himself from recoiling at the thought, ‘but my hands are fried. Get it? Instead of tied! Because I’m frying.’
Morality giggled at his (rather awful as far as Deceit was concerned) pun but Deceit couldn’t bring himself to laugh.
The pancakes really did smell heavenly – it was the warm welcome that threw him off. He didn’t think anyone had ever been as happy to see him as Patton was to see “Virgil”. Frankly, the overabundance of cheerfulness radiating off of Morality was a little sickening.
The moral side was looking at him funny. Shit, had he said something Deceit had missed?
There was nothing for it; time to activate Plan A for these situations: hope it was a yes/no question and hedge his bets.
‘Yes,’ he blurted… probably louder than Virgil would normally say pretty much anything.
Great, now even Logic had looked up from reading his newspaper at the breakfast table to stare at him oddly. ‘Yes… what?’
Well, he’d committed to it now. ‘To Patton’s question,’ he answered, injecting a hint of uncertainty into his tone.
Patton’s wide smile had almost disappeared entirely behind an expression of confusion. ‘I… didn’t ask any questions?’ He almost sounded like he was questioning his own memory, which would have been a little funny if Deceit wasn’t standing on such a perilous knife-edge where a millisecond of misbalance could reveal him as the intruder he was.
‘O-oh.’ The broken syllable wasn’t even entirely put on. Damn him and his stupid jumping to conclusions. He was never going to get away with this ridiculous…
No. Okay. He just needed to calm down. This was fine. People misheard things all the time. He just had to play it cool.
‘Sorry, I thought I heard you say something, and then you were looking at me,’ Deceit shrugged again.
‘There’s no need to apologise kiddo!’ said Morality, and he even sounded sincere. Which made sense considering who he was, but Deceit still had memories tucked away from when they were very young and still trying to all work together as a unit.
Deceit had apologised a lot back then – for not hearing, or mis-hearing or asking the others to repeat themselves – and Morality had never told him then that it wasn’t necessary. Deceit made it a point now (at least when wearing his own face) to never apologise.
‘I was just wondering why you’re wearing your old jacket?’ Morality continued. ‘Is everything okay?’
Deceit looked down at the black hoodie he was wearing. What was wrong…?
Ahhh right, Virgil wore that purple monstrosity these days, didn’t he. It was a good thing lying was his specialty.
‘Oh that,’ he said as if it was something he’d barely noticed. ‘I spilt some eyeshadow on the new one. It’s in the wash. Figured I still had this old thing lying around.’
Morality’s relieved smile lit up his whole face. ‘That’s alright then – as long as you’re okay.’
Deceit watched as Morality expertly balanced the plate of perfectly steaming pancakes in one hand and rummaged in the cutlery draw with the other, before taking them over to the breakfast table and scooping up the maple syrup. Deceit hovered a few steps away from a chair. Maybe he could allow himself to stay for one pancake? It wasn’t like they seemed all that suspicious of him…
Logic’s voice cut through his internal debate. ‘I was under the impression that you had burned that hoodie.’
‘Burned it?!’ he exclaimed before he could stop himself. And okay, he knew the one he was wearing was Virgil’s old spare, but he’d assumed the other side had simply taken the original with him when he’d left to live with the light’s, not destroyed it.
Deceit had helped him make that hoodie; had repaired it countless times over the years. Did Virgil really hate him so much that he wouldn’t even keep something that reminded him of the good times they’d had together?
‘Apparently not,’ he replied too stiffly. Too unlike Virgil.
Okay, there was no way he was staying for pancakes; not when Logic was watching him with his head tilted slightly to the side like that.
‘Actually, I’m meant to be doing a thing for Roman,’ he said, manoeuvring himself into the kitchen and opening the crockery cupboard. ‘He asked me to bring him some plates and stuff. I think he wants to decorate them or something.’
He heard Patton exclaim something from behind him, but all Deceit caught of his sentence was ‘…pancakes?’
‘I’ll have some later,’ he hedged.
When he’d balanced four dinner plates, two bowls and two mugs on top of each other and was holding them as securely as they were going to get, Deceit turned to face the others.
Three pairs of eyes stared back at him.
Roman hovered uncertainly near the doorway.
‘What’re you doing there, Emo-tastic?’
Not your best Roman, Deceit just had time to think before Logic cut in. ‘Apparently bringing you crockery to decorate as you asked.’
Roman huffed a confused laugh. ‘Don’t think I did Specs.’
Okay, no need to panic, Deceit’s mind raced. He could talk his way out of this.
‘Did I say that? No, what I meant was I thought it might be a nice idea for Roman to decorate them.’
‘That’s a great idea, kiddo!’ exclaimed Morality. ‘Maybe we could all do it together!’
Logic did not seem all that thrilled by that plan judging by his slightly pinched expression, and Deceit wholeheartedly agreed. But before he could voice his excuses, a flicker of movement on the staircase caught his attention.
A pair of feet clad in black trainers were coming down the stairs.
Abort! Abort! Klaxons blared in Deceit’s mind as the three other sides in the kitchen turned, as if in slow motion, to face the legs now visible and which clearly belonged to Virgil.
Oh he was so screwed.
‘It’s Deceit in disguise!’ he screeched, haphazardly shifting the plates onto one hand so he could point with the other.
The kitchen descended into chaos.
‘That fiend!’ Roman cried, pulling his sword from its sheath and waving it exuberantly in Virgil’s direction.
Morality gasped, grabbing the plate of pancakes off of the table and clutching them to his chest, not seeming to notice when a glob of syrup dribbled off the plate and onto his shirt.
Only Logic stayed immobile, a single eyebrow raised in Deceit’s direction. ‘I don’t think -’
But he was cut off by Roman. ‘Reveal yourself at once you slippery serpent of subterfuge!’
When Virgil finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Deceit saw that he had a pair of headphones covering his ears and was looking down at his phone. It took a moment for him to glance up, and when he did, he did a double take.
‘What… the fuck is going on?’ he asked, eyes scanning the scene before him.
It wasn’t until they alighted on Deceit that his eyes narrowed in anger.
‘Deceit,’ he practically spat, voice going distorted around the edges.
‘What?!’ Roman yelled.
Deceit didn’t give him time to turn his sword on him – he dropped the crockery and bolted.
***
It wasn’t until he was back in the (relative) safety of the dark side’s part of the mindscape, the door locked behind him, that Deceit allowed himself to breathe.
Well that had gone spectacularly.
He let his disguise melt away, shrugging off Virgil’s old hoodie as he felt his scales return to his face, his eye burning for a millisecond as it shifted back to its reptilian state.
He sighed, and lent back against the cool wood of the door.
Nothing like giving the light side’s yet another reason to hate him to start the morning.
He hadn’t even gotten the new dishes.
It’s fine, he told himself, ignoring the way his hands, still shaking with adrenaline, had clenched into tight fists. He was a master of improvisation. It would be fine.
He glanced down at his wristwatch: ten o’clock. The residents of the basement would have been expecting their breakfast half an hour ago.
The only thing he could hope was that Rage was in a good mood.
(…As if).