Sanders Sides One-shots

Broken Promises (BROT4/OT4 - Poly) [3/4]

Ship: BROT4/OT4 Poly

TW: Blood, references to self-harm, swearing(?)

Word count: 1357

In this third part of the series, Virgil is the focus character.

Note is at the bottom!

He knows what it is. He's read every article imaginable; online, in newspapers, in books. Every article imaginable. His research was thorough, enough so that his knowledge on the topic was more likely than not able to rival Logic's.

As Anxiety, it was a given that he would not let any nook or cranny go unsearched. As Anxiety, he naturally felt the urge bubble up within him, and spew out in a sudden outburst of paranoia as he read and read and read.

But knowing and believing were too separate things in this moment, where his body was cold and stagnant, immovable. Like the weight that held him down daily, evident in his slouched posture, had materialised and was suddenly pressing down on him. His ribcage felt squandered and tight as his lungs expanded rapidly, breathing in short bursts and spasms.

Fingers twitching with the urge to grab his blanket and throw it at the black silhouetted figure in the corner, shrouded by the shadows of a barely moonlit room. Anything to stop its faceless form from staring at him. It had no eyes, no mouth, no nose, no anything. It was wrong, wrong, wrong.

It just stood there, gazing ominously with its non-eyes with its claws, sharp and long enough to be called talons, twitching up, closer, until it was pointed at him. Accusingly, almost.

And it approached. Just one tiny shift closer, but already, he could feel the weight push down harder. Like his ribs were trembling with effort, about to snap.

Perhaps he was the one trembling. Perhaps he was the one about to snap.

Another step. The talons sparkled in the moonlight, beautiful. Fierce. Terrifying.

He felt sweat run down the side of his face. He felt tears run down the side of his face.

God, he wished he could run.

Another step. He got the sense that it was smiling at him. Bared teeth and all.

The talon pointed at him curled. A hook.

He wanted to scream.

Another step. It was hovering over him, watching, staring, smiling.

He stopped breathing. He held his breath, said a prayer.

The hooked talon grazed gently over his skin.

It trailed, slowly, slowly, slowly, to his stomach.

It pressed in, slowly, slowly, slowly, digging into the fragile layer of skin.

The skin broke. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to---

"VIRGIL ANXIETY SANDERS! WAKE UP!"

His breath was back. The weight was gone.

The sweat was worse. It was cold.

Why was it suddenly so bright? Who was breathing so heavily?

Who yelled?

Snapping his eyes open, Virgil blinked rapidly to clear the bleary glaze that had settled over him. He bolted up, nearly clashing against someone's forehead. He paid it no mind, scrambling to push up his shirt. His fingers swept over the surface.