Sanders Sides One-shots

Eat (no ship) [2/2]

Ship: no ship (well, I might've slipped in a tiny bit of Prinxiety, lol)

TW: Eating disorder, swearing

I made a poll on my Insta asking if y'all wanted a part 2 around the progress Virg makes on his road to recovery.

I don't know where the hell this is gonna be heading, but since I might be drawing from personal experience, it'll definitely be shitty, lol.

Enough chat. Let's begin, shall we?

Note is at the bottom!

Progress was like a waltz. A delicate dance that was all determined by who decided to take initiative. Would it be Life or would it be yourself? Who would take the first step forwards and lead the other backwards? Who would take the step backwards and let the chandelier lights focus upon the other? Who would hold the other as they twirled, trusting in the fact that they wouldn't just be left to fall?

Progress was a dance of movement. There was no stillness. Movement was the only option; whether it be backwards or forwards.

And for Virgil, his dance was exactly that. His.

And this is his progress.

~~~~~~~~~~

The tremors in his fingers reminded of him of all the times he'd felt vulnerable, and the chill that ran down his spine reminded him of all the times he felt terrified. He could feel the rush of anxiety course through him, his irregular heartbeat doing nothing to ease the turmoil he faced staring at it. If anything, it only fuelled it. The beating like suspenseful music, he approached it as if it were a trap and any wrong move would be his undoing.

How laughable. Weakened and terrified by a small slab of metal.

Actually, no. He needed to stop blaming it. This was all his doing. Perhaps not intentionally so, but all power lay within his hands. And that power, strong enough to be his downfall, has mutated itself into a fiend. A hindrance. A villain. His own enemy was himself.

And thus caused the commencement of a war. Two separate parts of his mind battling to claim what was theirs; their host.

But Virgil was hardly one to sit back and allow himself to be torn apart from a feud that challenged his own sanity. It was about time he fought back.

And even though he hated it; hated burdening others, hated feeling too weak to do things alone, hated being dependent on others, hated not being enough, he had no choice. He was a child all over again, thrust into a war zone without the experience to fend for himself. And as a child, there was one person he trusted enough to help him.

"Dad." He whispered, knowing that his voice would reach the ears of the other.

The door creaked open, and a soft smile was directed at him. "Yeah, kiddo?"

"Can you help me... um." He worried away at his bottom lip with his teeth.

"Yeah?" Patton gently prompted him to continue.

"Can you help me," Virgil repeated, "throw away the scale?"

If Patton's face slipped into an expression of proud shock for a split-second, none of them said anything.

"Yeah." Came his breathy reply. "Of course."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Salutations, Virgil." Logan nodded towards the anxious trait, who was glaring sleepily at everything in sight.

Chuckling to himself, Logan recalled the time that Virgil had downed an entire pot of black coffee and regretted it when he found himself unable to sleep for 2-3 days.