The Sanders Sides

7 - Guard Dog

Roman, ever the showman, couldn't resist a bit of theatrics. "Actually," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I kind of want to see you full reptilian. Like a live special effect!"

Janus's forked tongue darted out again, tasting the sudden tension in the air. He wasn't sure he was comfortable with that level of exposure, even with Roman's newfound acceptance. "Piss me off and find out," he said with a playful growl, more to deflect than threaten.

Suddenly, a voice erupted from the doorway. It was Remus, his usual manic grin plastered on his face. "He'll probably gouge your eyes out and eat them before you do, Ro!" he cackled.

Janus whipped his head around, his reptilian features flickering into existence for a brief moment. "I'm gouging your eyes out first, Bit**!" he snarled, fangs bared.

The sight startled even Roman, but instead of fear, he saw a glint of amusement. "Whoa there, big guy!" he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Just kidding around."

Janus, realizing he'd overreacted, quickly suppressed his transformation. He felt a pang of shame, a fear that his true nature would scare them away.

Roman, oblivious to his internal struggle, clapped him on the back again. "Don't feel you need to hide anything from us, Janus," he said with genuine warmth. "We have your back, scales and all."

Janus stared at him, the sincerity in his eyes undeniable. A wave of gratitude washed over him, warmer than any sun he'd ever basked in. "Thank you," he said, the words thick with emotion. Maybe, just maybe, this group of misfits could truly be his family, accepting him for all his monstrous glory.

The sterile white walls of the hospital room felt like a stark contrast to the chaos of the past few days. Roman, his cast sporting a collection of colorful marker drawings courtesy of Patton, sat awkwardly by Virgil's bedside. Patton, ever the comforter, hummed a cheerful tune as he knitted a small, misshapen purple hat.

Virgil, pale but with a spark of life back in his eyes, looked between his two friends. The air crackled with unspoken tension. Finally, Virgil cleared his throat.

"So," he started, his voice hoarse, "care to explain what the actual heck happened at that warehouse?"

Roman shifted in his seat, avoiding Virgil's gaze. He replayed the scene in his mind, the flames licking at his skin, the deafening explosion...

A sharp sting on his wrist snapped him back to the present. He looked down to see a small flame flickering on the bedside table, emanating from a forgotten birthday candle Patton had tucked into a bouquet of wilting flowers.

Panic surged through him. His breath hitched, his vision blurring at the edges. The world seemed to warp and twist, the fluorescent lights of the room morphing into the inferno that had consumed the warehouse.

He gasped, scrambling to his feet, knocking over the chair in his haste. His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, for an exit.

"Roman?" Virgil's voice, laced with concern, cut through the fog clouding his mind.

Patton rushed to his side, his cheerful humming replaced by worried murmurs. He gently pushed Roman back onto the bed, extinguishing the candle with a practiced flick of his wrist.

"Roman, it's okay," Patton soothed, his voice calm despite the tremor in his hands. "There's no fire. It's just a candle."

But the words did little to ease the rising panic. Roman's chest tightened, a cold sweat clinging to his skin. He closed his eyes, focusing on his ragged breaths, trying to anchor himself in the present.