Saving Prince Charming

s O iT b Egin s

Alrighty, guys! I know I'm known for my angst, but this chapter is super bad. I'm not kidding this time. If you think you can handle it and don't want the spoilers, skip the rest of this A/N. If you can be sensitive to / have triggers, read this and seriously consider whether or not reading this chapter is worth it. Always always always put your mental health above your readership, guys!

Trigger warnings are as follows:
(kind of) Character death,
Graphic depictions of martyrdom / suicide, suicidal ideations.
None of them are going to actually die, you will see them all again, but the rhetoric of this chapter rings of all of this.

Please stay safe.

*

It was so

cold.

But- but at the same time.

Where was the fever?

Where was anything?

Gosh, he hopes Anxiety doesn't start to worry. They were supposed to meet up this morning and this- this wasn't his room.

Was he dead?

Logic did say- a few weeks in. In the beginning, that he was dying.

Maybe he was right.

Was this purgatory then? He'd deserve it. Probably deserved worse, all things considered, like-

Anx, no, don't do this to me. No, please-

...Logan?

Anx- Anx, no--

Anxiety!

God please don't leave me here-!

*

All was quiet.

This wasn't unusual, these days. He could barely make sound at all, after all, and his and Anxiety's friendship had never been the loudest. The strongest, the surest, the most reliable and warm and secure, sure. But never the loudest.

Though, Morality had started talking to them more, these days. The Prince, as well. So that had put a little burst of color and at least a small cough of noise in their lives (they were sick, after all, and it was not as if they had the energy or even ability to replicate the old cacophony the warmer traits kept up during the 'colder' ones' isolation, but who is keeping score, anymore. Things were rough and they all needed each other now more than ever.)

But no, today was quiet. Perhaps even quieter than on average for what has become the norm for the past few weeks, as Logic was left alone here with nothing but his thoughts and metaphor ('cough of noise' versus cacophony, really? If it weren't so cheesy he'd have had to consider writing it down into the little black book he kept of rhymes, beats, and verse. But then, thinking of that book made his heart ache, anyhow.)

Where was this going? Ah yes. The quiet.

The quiet, the quiet. Something was off about this quiet-

Something... missing, perhaps.

But he was not left with much time to ponder this, because just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard a blood-curdling scream that could only belong to one trait, one person in this head, because he had never heard him sound like this before, but he had glimpsed what that sound might have looked like in panicked eyes and what it might have felt like in a racing heart, and oh god, that sounded like Anx.