Sanders Sides Oneshots and Short Stories

The Manifestor // pt.2

Not requested.

Ship: Platonic LAMP+T

Category: idk lmao

Warnings: None

Summary: Someone shows up on Thomas' doorstep with an offer he can't refuse.

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White blinds click beneath Thomas' fingers as he peers out at the street. A thin ray of sunlight streams through the crack. Outside, people bustle up and down the sidewalk, cars honk in the distance, and birds chirp merrily in the gentle embrace of tree limbs. Nothing out of the ordinary for a Saturday afternoon.

"How are you feeling, kiddo?" Patton asks softly. He sits at the kitchen table, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed with concern. The lights are off.

Thomas sighs. He releases the blinds, which snap into place with a clatter. "Just a headache, although I also think I'm gonna be sick."

Patton hums in contemplation.

"I feel dizzy and like I'm about to have a heart attack," Thomas rambles on, tugging aimlessly at his sleeve cuffs and tapping his foot rapidly. "It's hot and freezing in here at the same time, which doesn't make any sense because the thermometer says it's 71° and-"

"Thomas," Patton interjects, cutting off his long-winded tangent. "You need to relax. Take a deep breath and sit down."

Rubbing his arms as if to rid himself of a chill, Thomas pulls out a chair and sits down, exhaling shakily.

"Virgil's freaking out upstairs," Patton informs him, not unkindly. "And I can agree that we did a risky thing, manifesting in public like that. He's really worried about our safety."

"Tell him to lay off, then," Thomas snaps. Then he groans and buries his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, Pat. Been upset doesn't give me an excuse to be rude."

Patton nods slowly, smiling sympathetically. "It's okay. We're all worried. Virgil just tends to obsess sometimes. That doesn't make his input any less valuable."

"I know, I know," Thomas mutters. "I just- you don't know what's going to happen, and-"

Ding.

The doorbell. Thomas freezes. Something rabid and wild grips his fluttering heart painfully. Patton shoots him an alarmed look, but before he can react, Thomas roughly yanks him back into the Mindscape. All at once, a cacophony of urgent voices rings in his ears, each one offering different advice. He closes his eyes and silences them, one by one, until only Logic's even tone is audible.

"The most peaceful route we can take is to open the door," Logan instructs calmly. "There is a 50% chance that the ringer is benevolent, and a 50% chance their intentions are malevolent. If a conflict happens to break out, we are always here for you, Thomas."

"Okay," Thomas whispers, more for his own comfort than acknowledgement of Logan. He exhales slowly.

Ding.

Thomas flinches.

"One moment," Thomas calls, jumping out of the chair. His socked feet slide soundlessly across the wooden floor as he creeps over to the door, his breathing shallow and uneven. He quickly straightens his shirt, relaxes his fists, and opens the door.

An older man stands there, dressed in a black suit and pants, his red tie covered in little Captain America shields. His salt-and-pepper hair is close cropped, military style, and his eyes are colored a sharp blue pigment akin to the sky. His lips are set in a thin line.