natural (disasters)(sanders sides)

white pills & white panic

i'm gonna start this one off with a trigger warning. remember not to read while vulnerable or at a rough patch. message me if you need to. tw for this text: self injury, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, negatively opinions on mental illness
a/n: this is an au about sanders sides where they are assigned their own powers.

Years since the first appearance of Virgil, the people around him had learned to love him as a person. A person he was not. Despite the lies, back-stabbings, and constant fear he caused; they still made room in their hearts for him. Looking back on it now, he realizes he should be grateful or at least act like it. And some parts of him are; though he knew even the human part of him barely cared.
With his mental state rapidly deteriorating, he still found time to think about them. In death and in life, had they left a bigger impact than initially realized.
"Nostalgia is a dirty liar that insists things were better than they seemed. -Michelle K."
He couldn't recall where he remembered the quote from, though he found it quite true at the moment. Hours of scrolling through the internet had helped shape his view of the world and himself, figuring out things about himself he would prefer not to know. Everything about the past was terrible. He was still figuring out the Earth and himself. A long trial of figuring out rights and wrongs. All of them. Oblivious and hopeful. The worst traits he'd ever come across and he had interacted with three of them for years. The light sides were accepting, yes, but even he grasped how blasphemous his actions were against Thomas (even if he wasn't the darkest side, he was still dark). Virgil could only imagine what they were thinking of him in return.
Returning to darkness was sort of a Stockholm Syndrome case for him. The effects of his death sill lingering, an aching returning when he felt alive again. He knew this was no way to live or die, yet, the comfort was louder than logic. Wasn't everything louder than logic for humans? Killing people, the planet, anything, in order to serve something had had no meaning. Whether it be money or religion or personal greed. It was something mankind was guilty of enough, yet they saw no consequence. The deaths, the dying planet, the sadness they caused meant nothing. It was all his problem now. Becoming human meant becoming a problem.

He suddenly felt himself being called up, the feeling was strange but familiar. He hadn't been called up since he turned human. How did that happen by the way?

A dark presence made itself known and brought Virgil back to reality. He immediately stood in a position of submission; standing up straight, hands to his side, blank face. The figure, which had no real body, loomed over the anxiety-riddled boy. Minutes passed without words or thoughts. The anticipation gave Virgil an unfamiliar feeling of dread, hopelessness, and general discomfort.
This hadn't been the plan he was craving. Yeah, he knew the drill: down the bottle, die. Those were the results he expected each time but he never really got past the pills part. Each time he felt his soul slip away, the feeling shrunk and his eyes would shoot open and his body would ache like the aftermath of a panic attack. He'd never been human before so he assumed it was all apart of life: to try to die, feel disgustingly numb, become alive and repeat. It was a fun little hobby Virgil had kept alive and secret. Only things got a bit different.

"Did they cry for you?" The voice whispered. Because sometimes to frighten people; you have to give them the idea that they have more power than you. But he wasn't so easily fooled, he knew his place and his worth or he at least knew his lack of it. Still, he remained silent.
"Did they fill the oceans with their regret?" Virgil closed his eyes and whispered.
"Yes..." His voice trailed off, wanting to elaborate but also not wanting to speak in the first place. Torn between speaking up or speaking lower, he waited again.
"Good." Spoken so quietly with such little remorse for anything really. "Consider this a token of my.... appreciation." Virgil's mind (cause he had his own now) saw strings of yellow in the cold blackness but when he strained his eyes, the endless black remained still. A new feeling washed over him, it felt like the joy of a rainy day. Death was too confusing.
Then, the aura of the terrifying creature lifted from Virgil's clouded mind. He could think again. If he could in his subconscious, he would've gasped.
"Deceit," He put the pieces together. A rattling laugh filled Virgil's head, confirming that the one and only Deceit had brought him to Hell and back, and back, and back, and back and-