Work Text:
A twelve year old Thomas was hunched over his desk, busy doodling on notebook paper. His tongue poked out between his teeth, as he continued to work. Half the page was taken up by an impressively large and spiky dragon, breathing fire towards what could be interpreted as a person. This person was sitting atop some kind of animal, with a crown on their head and a sword held high in the air.
“And then, Prince Thomas will charge into battle, on the back of a beautiful black stallion!”
Creativity gestured dramatically with his small, wooden sword, standing at the crest of the hill with the wind blowing through his hair; he may have lacked the horse at the moment, but he thought it still got the feeling across.
“…Alone?” Logic’s quiet question broke through Creativity’s reverie, as usual. “Thomas is going to fight a dragon all by himself?”
Before Creativity had the chance to point out that, we’re in the imagination, it’s a daydream, it doesn’t have to make sense! a third voice said, “He’s kind of got a point.”
Creativity spun to give Morality a wounded look, the tip of his sword dropping to the ground. The other side just shrugged and gave a sheepish smile, looking up from where he was laying on his back in the grass.
“I mean,” he went on, “I think it’d be pretty scary facing down a dragon all on your own.”
Logic said nothing, still sitting on a nearby log, but Creativity could see his mouth twist into a small smile as he glanced to one side, and tried not to feel irritated.
“Well, a prince isn’t afraid of anything,” he grumbled under his breath. “But– no, not alone. Because, what is a prince without his loyal knights?” Creativity asked, brightening considerably.
Both of Logic’s eyebrows went up and he tilted his head, as though conceding a point. “King Arthur had the Knights of the Round Table.”
“Ooh!” Morality perked up as well, rolling over and sitting up. “Like Lancelot! And… and, um…”
“Galahad, and Percival,” Logic supplied, unable to keep the edge of excitement out of his own voice at unexpectedly being able to contribute.
“And Kyle!”
Creativity’s outburst brought both of the others’ attention back to him suddenly, though not in the way he had necessarily intended: Logic had one eyebrow up, and Morality’s eyes went wide before he quickly glanced down, and the creative side immediately went on the defensive.
“What?? Thomas can have whoever he wants as knights! And,” Creativity went on, waving a hand, “why not Kyle? He’s really cool, and Thomas has been wanting to be friends with him for, like, ever.”
“Two months,” Logic murmured to Morality.
“Whatever.” Creativity rolled his eyes. “The point is, this could be our chance! We’ve been trying to figure out how to make friends with him for a while now. Thomas should ask Kyle to be a knight and go on quests with him! It’s perfect!”
“Thomas has been thinking about Kyle quite a lot, lately, hasn’t he?” Logic’s expression wasn’t quite a frown, but he didn’t seem quite certain about Creativity’s idea. As he considered it, however, something else occurred to him. “Morality? You’re being awfully quiet right now.”
And that gave Creativity pause, as he paid closer attention to Morality. The other side was picking at pieces of grass, not meeting either of their gazes. “Is everything all right?” Creativity hesitated, before asking, “Do… do you not want to be friends with Kyle?”
Morality’s head shot up. “No! I mean– yes, I do! Of course I want Thomas and Kyle to be friends.” He avoided looking at them again. “Like you said, he’s cool– and he’s nice to us, and funny…” Morality’s voice trailed off, almost wistful.
Creativity and Logic shared a look. Logic looked totally helpless; Creativity just shrugged. He usually understood Morality better, but he was equally confused this time. “Then… I don’t understand, what’s the problem?”
“Oh, it’s not a problem,” the moral side said, still deflecting, rubbing one arm with the opposite hand. “It’s just… Well, I think,” he started, then paused to take a breath. As he exhaled, Morality closed his eyes, then opened them again, seeming to work through something mentally. This time when he spoke, it was with an air of quiet realization. “Guys, I think… I like him.” And only now did he dare to look back up, glancing between his fellow sides. “Thomas likes him.”
Both Logic and Creativity stared at him in stunned silence for a full second and a half. But then Logic’s expression shifted into one of careful consideration– before immediately giving way to startled shock, as Creativity let out a loud whoop.
“This is fantastic!” Creativity’s delighted laugh seemed to fill the whole of Thomas’s imagination. Without warning, he dropped his sword and grabbed Logic’s hands, yanking him to his feet and prompting a yelp from the more scholarly side as he spun them both around. “Thomas likes Kyle!!”
Morality couldn’t help but giggle at his friend’s excitement, covering his mouth with one hand. Meanwhile, Logic pulled free of Creativity’s grasp, staggering a few steps and trying to adjust his glasses. But even as he shot a dirty look at Creativity’s back, his gaze drifted over to Morality, who raised both eyebrows. Yet again Logic seemed a little at a loss, but then shrugged one shoulder, giving a small, shy smile. At that, a wide grin spread across Morality’s face, and they both turned their attention back to Creativity, who was busy running back and forth across the hilltop, coming up with a dozen different ways to get Thomas to recognize and act on his crush.
“–or, Thomas could write him an anonymous letter! Oh! No, wait– it’s almost Halloween! He could ask if he wants to go trick or treating together, and they could wear matching costumes–”
And while the sides of his personality continued to play in his imagination, back in his own bedroom, Thomas continued to daydream and draw. Now, another knight on horseback had appeared next to the prince to face down the mighty dragon. And as Thomas continued to doodle, without entirely meaning to, the knight riding next to Prince Thomas started to look more and more like a certain boy he knew.
Morality wasn’t the only one who came to a realization that afternoon.
Anxiety knew he wasn’t wanted with the others, and he was certain that Creativity would throw a fit if he knew he was in the imagination too, especially while Thomas was daydreaming. He’d complain about how Anxiety always ruined everything, and then they would all be staring at him, and… ugh.
And yet, here he was, perched on a low hanging branch, following after them like some unwanted stray. Wrapping his arms around himself, Anxiety huffed his bangs out of his eyes, trying to shift his position and pretending like his chosen vantage point was more comfortable than it actually was.
He didn’t even have that great of a view from where he was; it was close to the edge of the tree line, but it was also at the bottom of the small hill they were all on top of. Maybe he’d be able to see better if he dared to climb higher, but as it was, he had to make do. If nothing else, he could hear Creativity making an idiot of himself as he ran around the hilltop, showing off for the other two.
So what if they didn’t like him? It was his job to make sure they didn’t do anything stupid and get Thomas hurt. A job they made a lot harder than it should have to be.
Seeing Creativity stop and pose dramatically, Anxiety scoffed and rolled his eyes, but his stomach twisted. When was the creative side going to figure out that Thomas wasn’t a little kid anymore? They were in middle school now. And every time Creativity tried to get Thomas to play pretend or try out one of his ridiculous ideas to make other kids like him, it just made them think Thomas was weird. But whenever Anxiety tried to warn the others, they would ignore him or tell him he worried too much.
Above him, he could see Creativity deflate and turn to look at the others. Good, Anxiety couldn’t help but think. Probably Logic’s doing, although Anxiety also couldn’t help the uncharitable thought of, they listen to him.
Now all three of the others were talking amongst themselves, too quiet for Anxiety to overhear, and he squirmed on his branch again, resigning himself to spending the rest of the afternoon like this. At least it was quiet.
But it was only a few minutes later that the quiet was shattered, as a loud shout startled Anxiety right off of his branch, flailing all the way.
The anxious side managed to catch himself on his hands and knees, having only fallen a few feet, but his heart was still hammering, and he whipped his head up to glare at Creativity. The other side was totally oblivious, still yelling and laughing and dancing around with Logic like a moron.
Anxiety started to push himself back to his feet, brushing dirt and leaves off of his knees and rubbing his sore palms against his pant legs.
And then.
“Thomas likes Kyle!”
Anxiety froze. He didn’t breathe.
Kyle, who lived exactly three blocks and two houses away.
Who sat next to Thomas in English and made jokes under his breath, that made Thomas giggle a little too loud and get in trouble that one time.
Who Thomas had been wondering how to invite to his birthday party that wasn’t happening for another six months.
…But not just Kyle.
Oh God, if it had just been Kyle, it would have been bad enough. Instead, Anxiety’s mind went to other memories: other kids. The way they had joked on the bus ride home. The horrible names they had used. The way they had laughed.
“That’s so gay!!” “Ha, he’s such a girl!” “What a fag.”
Anxiety startled to tremble. He couldn’t even remember who they’d been making fun of. Not Thomas– Thomas had just chuckled uneasily and kept quiet. He’d been so uncomfortable, but too afraid of getting teased to say anything more.
But now– Anxiety gasped, feeling sick. Now it could be Thomas. It could ruin everything, this could destroy him–
“No,” Anxiety choked out, startling himself. Then, after a few more breaths, he repeated it: “No.” Then he looked back up to the top of the hill, breathing hard.
He had to stop this.
Meanwhile, Creativity continued to run this way and that, ideas coming a mile a minute. Logic was growing exasperated, trying to chase after him and rein him in, but Creativity would not be contained. His joy was so infectious that the hilltop was starting to bloom with all sorts of wildflowers.
Morality just smiled and watched, chuckling as Logic once again tried to get the creative side to slow down a little, only for Creativity to grab the logical side, spin him, and dip him towards the ground. Or, at least, that’s what Morality assumed he was trying to do; in practice, it ended up with Creativity tripping and Logic flopping in the dirt. He eyed them for a moment, just to make sure nobody was hurt, then reached for another daisy to add to the chain he was weaving.
He just felt so… warm. And fuzzy. And happy! And he could feel Thomas was happy, even if he didn’t know why just yet, but that was enough for Morality. He even started humming to himself as he fiddled with the flower’s stem, content to be lost in his own little world.
It was little wonder, then, that he didn’t notice the footsteps tromping up the side of the hill until their owner was practically on top of him.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Morality jerked backwards, blinking up at the figure that was now casting a shadow over where he sat. “Oh! Anxiety! I, uh.” The moral side blinked again and pushed his glasses back into place from where they’d slipped down his nose, glancing at the flowers in his hands then back up. “I’m… making a daisy chain?”
Anxiety made a dismissive gesture with one hand, looking frustrated. “Not that,” he grit out, voice low. Morality just stared at him in confusion, though, and Anxiety let out a sound of displeasure. Was he going to have to spell it out? He really, really didn’t want to.
“Anxiety??”
Anxiety’s head snapped up to see Creativity and Logic now staring at him from across the hill. The creative side’s expression quickly soured; then he was marching back towards Morality and Anxiety, determined look on his face, and Anxiety hunched in on himself.
But he couldn’t just run away this time– this time he had to make them listen. So Anxiety fixed his gaze back on the moral side. “You’re making Thomas have these… feelings,” he said, drawing Morality’s attention back to himself.
Morality’s forehead crinkled, and he looked even more confused. “What?”
Creativity was almost on top of them, though, with Logic in tow, and Anxiety didn’t have time to let Morality figure it out; he blurted, “You’re hurting Thomas!”
For a second time, Morality reeled, this time looking like he’d been struck. Then Logic was pulling him to his feet as Creativity shoved himself between them and the anxious side. “All right, Anxiety, that is enough!” He had his wooden sword back in hand, and looked livid. “What are you even doing here??”
Anxiety eyed Creativity, his already low confidence plummeting now that he was facing all three of them, but he swallowed hard. “I’m trying to protect Thomas–”
“By bullying Morality?” Creativity scowled, taking a step forward, and Anxiety moved a step back.
“I’m trying to keep Thomas from getting hurt,” he insisted, feeling his heart pounding uncomfortably hard inside his chest.
Logic broke in, frowning. “Why on earth do you think Morality would hurt Thomas? He is Morality.”
“Because he’s giving Thomas all these feelings!” The words seemed to burst from Anxiety, and he hesitated afterwards, caught off guard by his own vehemence. “And… he needs to stop it.”
They were all staring again: Logic in confusion, Creativity in incredulity. Morality just looked taken aback, before his expression became one of chagrin.
“…I don’t want to hurt Thomas,” he started, quietly, only for Creativity to round on Morality and seize him by the shoulders.
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence! You’re not hurting Thomas.” Then he turned his fierce glare back on Anxiety, who hunched his shoulders again. “The very idea, that feelings could hurt him–”
“You don’t remember those kids on the bus??” Anxiety demanded, and again they fell into an uncomfortable silence as those words sank in. “The things they said? You want them to say those things about Thomas?” He whipped his head back to Morality. “You want them to hate him?”
Morality’s eyes went wide, and he started blinking rapidly. Creativity gaped, trying to form some kind of protest; even Logic was only able to offer a soft, “You don’t know that they would.”
Morality drew in a deep breath, then let it out, a little shakily. “I… I don’t want to hurt Thomas,” he repeated. “But… I genuinely don’t see how love can hurt anybody,” he finished softly and earnestly, trying to meet Anxiety’s eyes.
But Anxiety wouldn’t meet his; he was shaking his head, fists clenched, steadily growing more upset. “Don’t… call it that!” he suddenly yelled, glaring back at the others, who jumped at his unexpected show of temper. “Thomas isn’t in love!”
Morality recovered first again. “No,” he agreed, voice still soft, imploring Anxiety to listen. “But… he could be.”
Thomas paused, considering his drawing, blinking as though he was just now seeing it for what it was. He ran his hand over it lightly, fingers hesitating on the picture of the knight. Of Kyle.
Creativity was losing his patience; bad enough that Anxiety constantly followed them around, trying to ruin whatever they were doing, but now he was trying to darken Thomas’s very dreams and blame Morality to boot– no, wait. He blinked, looking up at the sky overhead.
It was actually getting darker. Where before there had been bright, blue skies, clouds were starting to form, and that was absolutely it!
“All right, that is enough!” Creativity turned, pushing Morality back into Logic, and put on his best glower. “Most of the time you’re just irritating, but now you’re being a jerk to Morality, andmessing up Thomas’s daydream! You need to leave. Now,” he commanded, drawing himself up imperiously.
And that should have been enough to send Anxiety running. But Anxiety was desperate. And now, he had worked his way up from ‘upset’ to ‘angry’. So instead of backing down, he met Creativity’s glare with his own and grated, “No.”
Creativity lost his composure for just a moment, looking offended, before he began to get mad himself. “No?? What do you mean, ‘no’?” He stomped forward, deliberately getting into Anxiety’s personal space, ignoring Morality and Logic calling him back anxiously. “This is my realm, and I told you to get out! So leave!” And to emphasize his point, he reached up and pushed Anxiety’s shoulders, causing the other side to stumble back.
And that was that. Or at least, he thought it was– before the others could scold him, before Creativity even had a chance to feel smug, Anxiety lunged forward and shoved Creativity to the ground, screaming, “Shut up!”
Creativity hit the dirt hard; Anxiety stared, startled by his own actions. His eyes flicked up to Logic and Morality, who were both watching him, eyes wide, like they had never seen him before. Like they were afraid of him. Even Creativity’s face had a flash of fear when he looked up.
But. They were listening.
They wouldn’t listen when he was frightened, but they were listening now. Anxiety’s breathing grew harsh, and he began to shake.
They were paying attention to him, now that he was angry, now that they were scared. Was this what it took? His heart was trying to beat out of his chest, he felt like he could barely breathe, and part of him wanted nothing more than to run away and hide. But if this was how he got them to listen to him, to get them to let Thomas hear him…
The clouds overhead grew even darker, and the flowers crowning the hill started to wilt. Seeing this, Creativity let out a cry of protest, scrambling to his knees.
“What are you doing?? Stop it!”
“No,” Anxiety retorted, feeling a twisted sort of satisfaction at seeing Creativity flinch.
“A-anxiety, you…” Logic swallowed hard, looking at the growing storm clouds nervously. “You need to calm down, and relinquish your hold on Thomas’s imagination.”
“The only one who needs to stop, is Morality,” Anxiety shot back, turning his glare on the side in question.
The stricken look on Morality’s face almost brought Anxiety to a complete halt. He didn’t look mad, or even that scared, just hurt, and guilt welled up in Anxiety, threatening to make his throat close. “I-I can’t, I’m not…” The way Morality’s voice trembled, Anxiety had to look away. Still Morality looked to him, practically pleading. “Anxiety…”
Anxiety clenched his fists again, fingernails digging into his palms, and brought them up to his face. No, he had to protect Thomas from this. From them. Even if they didn’t realize that they were hurting Thomas, they were, and he had to stop them.
If he backed down now… they would never listen to him again.
Anxiety exhaled hard, pulling his fists away from his face. He saw Morality’s hopeful expression– and his lip curled.
“No. I’m not going to let you do this. To make Thomas feel like this.” Around them, what had been a warm breeze became a cold wind, and the wilting flowers began to wither and turn to brambles. His heart still pounded, but Anxiety rode the wave of anger, refusing to let go of it. And as he met Morality’s gaze– saw the tears welling in his eyes– Anxiety’s face twisted into a snarl.
With a deliberate nastiness, he growled: “Thomas. Is not. A FAG.”
In an instant, before any of them could process what had just been said, the entire mindscape lurched– and they were one and all struck with a sudden, sickening feeling, coming–
Coming from Thomas.
Disgust. Self-loathing.
The flowers and grass surrounding them were no longer withering; instead, they crumbled to ash. The ground beneath Anxiety’s feet became a barren black that started creeping outwards in branching spikes– the other three scrambled back, Creativity staggering to his feet, as the negative feeling radiated out and started to spread across the hill.
In the outside world, Thomas flushed with confused shame, the piece of notebook paper crumpling under his fingers.
Then, in a fit, he began to rip it into pieces.
“No!!”
Creativity cried out in vain protest. Morality stifled a sob, hands clutched to his face, tears finally spilling over. Logic meanwhile, was trying to urge them away and out of there; he and Creativity each ended up taking one of Morality’s arms to yank him backwards, away from where the blackened ground was sprouting thorns worthy of Sleeping Beauty.
Before they fled, though, Creativity stopped long enough to glare at Anxiety, who was still standing in the middle of it all. Angry tears to match the ones that Thomas didn’t realize he was crying rolled down the creative side’s face, and when he spoke, it was in a strangled voice that was full of venom:
“I hate you so much.”
Then, they were gone.
Anxiety was alone on the ashy, dead hilltop.
It didn’t take long for the wind to die, and the silence to settle. Anxiety sank to his knees, still breathing hard, reeling from what just happened– from what he did. From how Thomas had responded.
No. He was protecting Thomas. It was his job to protect Thomas, even from himself.
But… the way the others had looked at him… Logic’s fear, Creativity’s hate. Morality’s teary, gut-punched heartbreak– Anxiety flinched, shaking his head, fingers digging into the ash. Maybe Morality meant well, but how could he not see that he was setting Thomas up for so much worse?And yet… The wave of self-loathing and shame. Anxiety hadn’t meant for that.
He never meant for Thomas to hate himself.
Anxiety sniffed hard, bringing one hand up to rub at his eyes– only for it to sting, and he immediately began berating himself, realizing that he had just smeared ash all around his eyes, and scrubbed at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie.
“Wow.”
Anxiety’s heart tried to leap about two feet into the air, and drag him along with it. He whirled, tense and ready to bolt– he hadn’t felt the presence of any of the other sides, but clearly–
“Relax,” the other bid him. Anxiety stared, frozen.
He had no idea who this was.
He wore weird clothes, like something from last century. He also had a stupid looking hat that was pulled low over his face, but couldn’t conceal the fact that one of his eyes was a different color. Oblivious to Anxiety’s scrutiny– or maybe just not caring– the other continued to regard the scene, and remarked dryly, “Going for the subtle approach, were we?” Then he held up a hand to placate Anxiety’s defensive reaction. “I know, you were trying to protect Thomas.” His mouth twisted in an expression of distaste. “Not exactly the method I’d have picked, but, c’est la vie.”
“Who are you?” Anxiety managed to get out, voice low and suspicious.
The other turned, giving a wide eyed look of innocence. “Who, me? Why, I’m one of Thomas’s sides, of course.”
“You?” Anxiety was never this confrontational. But is was frighteningly easy to pull that anger back up and hide behind it, especially when faced with a total unknown.
“Yes, me,” the other returned, eyeing him up and down. “You know, you’re not much of a sight yourself. Although,” he said, his lips twisting into a smirk. “You make the raccoon look really work. Very dark and edgy.”
Anxiety flushed, swiping at his face with his sleeve again, then forcing a glare at the stranger. “I’ve never seen you before.”
The other snorted, still wearing that half smile. “I like my privacy. I’ve been around, though– trust me.” And with that, his smile widened, revealing absurdly white teeth. Anxiety scoffed; trusting him was the last thing he would do. The stranger continued to watch him, before snorting again, shaking his head. “Down boy, we’re on the same side.”
Anxiety’s response was equal parts confusion and offense: “Excuse me?”
The other tilted his head back, regarding Anxiety from beneath his hat, and letting the anxious side get a good look at his strange eyes. “You and I have the same job. Protecting Thomas, I mean,” he said. “Of course, that’s not my only role. I’m also supposed to keep Thomas happy.” And there his gaze grew cool, flicking back across the ruined hilltop.
Anxiety’s stomach twisted again. “I did what I had to do.”
“Mm. I see that.”
Even though the tone was mild, it made Anxiety’s insides squirm harder, and he grew even more defensive. “I had to stop the other three, before they got Thomas hurt!”
The other turned his stare back on Anxiety. “And you did a very good job of it,” he agreed. “You managed to run off all three of them, all on your own.” Somehow, his approval made Anxiety feel worse.
“They don’t get it! Thomas can’t… like… boys,” Anxiety choked out. “Everyone would hate him. Maybe Morality didn’t mean to hurt Thomas, but I still had to stop him, before–”
“Mm, that’s cute,” the other side cut in, and Anxiety’s brow furrowed, suspicion returning. “You think Morality gave Thomas those feelings.” It wasn’t a question, and when the stranger chuckled, Anxiety hunched his shoulders up, glowering. He hated being laughed at. The other just shook his head again, then cupped one hand around his mouth, as though he were sharing a secret. “It wasn’t Morality’s doing, so much as his… discovery.”
Anxiety physically recoiled. “No. No, that’s not– Thomas can’t be–”
“Ahhh, ah ah ah,” the other side cut him off, holding up a finger. “But. There’s no reason that Thomas has to know.” He gestured outwards with both hands, pausing to let that sink in. “And, after all– what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”
Anxiety’s mind began to race, the words repeating themselves over and over in his thoughts– if Thomas didn’t know– if he didn’t have to face that self loathing, and shame– until those thoughts were abruptly interrupted by an outstretched hand appearing right in front of his face.
The anxious side pulled back, regarding the stranger, not bothering to hide his suspicion.
The other let out a sound of amusement. “I think you and I might just be able to help one another.”
Anxiety continued to watch him, still tense, still uneasy and uncertain. But he also glanced down, and at the ground around him, and a weight seemed to settle in his stomach.
The silence stretched, the other side’s hand still extended.
Anxiety inhaled, hesitating.
Thomas lay face down on his bed, having finally reached a state of numbness, of not thinking or feeling. He could have laid there all night, but…
But.
He hesitantly pulled his head up, glancing back towards his desk. For the first time that evening, that action wasn’t followed by the overwhelming need to immediately bury his face back in the pillow, and so he finally pushed himself up.
Finally, he made his way over to where the torn pieces of the drawing he had spent all afternoon working on lay scattered across his desk and floor. He didn’t actually look at them as he picked them up, but slowly collected them nonetheless.
And then, he shoved them down into the bottom of his trash can.
Where they couldn’t be seen. Where he didn’t have to think about them again.
Then Thomas stumbled back to his bed, flopping down on top of the covers, letting the silence fill the room.