Chapter Text
It was a day like any other in the Mind Palace.
Thomas was reading a book, so Logan sat near the window looking out, seeming interested and thoughtful, writing notes on a notebook like he was running out of time.
Patton was preparing him a cup of coffee, and baking cookies for Virgil.
And Virgil was swimming on a sea of self-deprecating thoughts up in his room, wishing he could just shut down his brain and enjoy some damn cookies, like a normal side.
Because Virgil was anxiety and Virgil really, really, really hated himself. But he kept being himself, because that’s what Thomas needed. If not, well, he would’ve stopped. Thomas needed to be afraid, in order to take care of himself. Virgil got that. And it did make sense that therefore he was needed, he wasn’t worthless or useless or so many other things he had thought himself to be.
But still, why did he have to be anxiety. Thomas needed him but did he really need Virgil to be scared of every social gathering, or find ways to twist other’s words to convince himself they hate him, or have panic and anxiety attacks almost every night so Thomas didn’t?
Because, fine, being anxiety was as important as being morality, or logic, or creativity. But it certainly wasn’t as fun.
Logan, Patton and Roman could just be, without doubting themselves or being afraid. But that meant it was Virgil who had to doubt them, because that was his job.
And every time he shut down one of Roman’s ideas, or convinced Patton he was being too trusting of someone, and their eyes lost that little light that brightened them up just for a moment before they shook their heads and forced themselves to smile, Virgil hated himself a little bit more.
Now, they knew how he felt, they cared about him (didn’t they?), and they worked hard to make him feel useful and like his input was appreciated. But it wasn’t- it was needed. He knew they hated him, and his negativity and his… his paranoia.
Needed isn’t the same as loved.
He was just having a bad day. He knew that’s what it was. One of those days he wants to lock himself in his room, scream My Chemical Romance lyrics at the top of his lungs and cry himself to sleep. A typical Sunday night.
But there was something bothering him so much from this bad day in particular and that was- Roman hadn’t knocked. He hadn’t asked Virgil how he was doing from the other side of the door, he hadn’t practically begged him to open. Not that Virgil liked him begging, but he did like to feel like the thoughts he was having were bullshit.
Today, it didn’t feel that way. Today, everything he thought just, made sense to him. And that was bad, super bad. And he knew he should call Logan, because he was always the best at reasoning with him and bring him back to the ground. But he was so tired of needing someone, constantly, to be fine.
Why couldn’t he be like the others? Patton never locked himself in his room like a fucking teenager. Roman never hurt himself like a fucking coward. Logan never, ever, needed anyone. So why him? Why did he have to be anxiety and be always moody and act like he hates everyone and put everyone down all the time and make Thomas want to kill himself?
Virgil gasped. He had forgotten about that. How, how the hell does someone forget about that? How do you forget that time when the only person you’re supposed to protect cries and cries asking you to stop and you don’t because you just don’t know how and next thing you know is there’s an empty pill bottle in his night stand and you can’t do anything but watch and hope someone finds him before it’s too late-?
Oh. Virgil hadn’t realised he was crying. He hadn’t realised he couldn’t breathe either. Is his room getting blurry? No, it was his eyes. He was starting to feel dizzy. Was he dying? God, he hopes not. They need him… Not love him, but at least they need him…
„Kiddo! I made cookies!“
Virgil, though close to fainting, sat up, quickly.
Enough bullshit, he thought, standing up. He was dying, he was fucking dying and pride wouldn’t be the thing that killed him. He needed to get to the door, and open. Get to the door. Open. Get to the…
„Kiddo? Are you alright?“
He tried to hurry, before Patton gave up and left him to die. He didn’t want to die, he didn’t. He was what felt like an inch away from the door when his legs gave up, and he fell with a loud thump.
„Virge?!“
„Patton…“, he tried to say, but he couldn’t catch his breath. „I… I think I’m dying“.
The door handle started to turn, but it seemed so, so far away. Virgil could only see black, and the last thing he heard were loud footsteps getting away from the door.
Virgil found the strength to laugh. So stupid. You’re not dying, it’s just a panic attack. They don’t care about that- you can’t die from that. They just need you alive.
And you’re needed. Not loved.