Sanders Sides One Shots(HIATUS)

Reflection(Janus-centeric Loceit)

TW: angst, swearing, nightmares, blood, cutting/self harm mentions, Janus is really fucking depressed, bad writing.

and don't expect frequent updates

inspired by a conversation/argument about whether Janus was better than Logan(he is) with @/ErinTeaNTravel on Twitter

she's freaking awesome and I consider her my mom so go check her out

     It's a wonder Janus can even see.

     He's surrounded by a pitch-black cloud of shame and horror and fear and weak and weak and weak. Out of his control, an ungloved hand reaches out and brushes the fog. It's so thick and wet and heavy that it feels like he's sticking his arm into a giant vat of tar. He flinches.

     He knows he needs to move, get out before the darkness closes in, spreading over him like a layer of cotton, a blanket of night, tendrils creeping in from under the bed, the closet door swinging open and the ropes and chains shackling him, pinning him down, trapping him, suffocating him, drowning him.

     His feet suddenly obey him and he's bolting, running away from this ominous cloud that's fogging his senses. It feels like he's moving through Jello. In slow motion his legs move back and forth in a futile attempt to propel the snake away from his worst nightmare but it's too late, he can feel it closing in. How did it move so fast while Janus was stuck here, feet almost pinned to the ground, arms pinwheeling in reverse to keep him from tripping, falling, letting this beast get to him.

      He tries to scream, but nobody can hear.

     And then he sees phantom hands, so similar to his own that it's terrifying, glowing a dim gold sheen against the pure blackness of his surroundings, gripping, yellow gloves grabbing at his clothes, his cape, his own color betraying him. And suddenly it's so much darker than he could ever imagine, the blackness surrounding him, engulfing him, swallowing him.

     It's almost as if the darkness is alive.

     He only had a moment to flinch backwards and open his mouth to scream before it melted away into something far less sinister and threatening, somethings he'd seen hundreds, probably thousands of times before.

     A mirror.

     For some reason his heart was pounding and panic jolted through him as he stared at his reflection, the scales spreading across his face and the piercing gold of his eye and the six arms that hang from his torso. He heard a rumbling, loud bass thumping to the beat of his heart, working triple time to convey his anger, shame, guilt, fear.

     Janus was afraid of his own reflection.

     His cunning little mind pointed out every little thing, vision tunneling to the flaws. The tears trickling from his eyes. The way his hair curled. How short he was compared to the others. How thin and small and broken he was.

      The bruises and scars on his wrists.

      His hand clenched and suddenly red-hot anger spilled through his veins, red spreading across his vision. A balled fist raised and suddenly there was a loud smash and shards of glass and bloody scars criss-crossing his palm. He relished in the sting of pain, so familiar to him by now.

     Shit.

     There was another mirror behind the one he had shattered.

     Tears rolled down his cheeks and a scream of rage left him, hands curling into fists as he smashed his hands into mirror after mirror, the sound of shattering glass ringing endlessly through his ears, choked sobs escaping his dry, cracked lips. And all he could see was shards and shatters and himself himself himself, the lying, deceiving, manipulative, conniving, evil embodiment of deceit himself, lies, sins, flaws.

     With one hand raised to smash the last mirror...

     He stopped.

     And for a nanosecond he thought he saw him, his savior, his love(although he was sure his feelings would never be reciprocated. After all, who could love a liar?), a flash of navy blue and black and the ever-so-faint glint of a styling pair of Warby Parker's. For a nanosecond he's filled with joy and love and hope hope hope, so warm, wrapping around him like a soft blanket, but not hot enough to burn, never enough to burn.

     And then Janus was tumbling backwards and falling falling falling down down down, so fast and far and dark and cold and terrified and lonely.

     He wakes up, jolting up into a sitting position, sweat covering his treacherous scaled face in a thick sheen, a scream ripped from his throat, breathing and panting hard, tears streaming down his face.

      For a moment he thinks he feels him, warm against the constant cold of his room, shivering and leaning into his warmth. Soft arms wrapping around him and the brush of lips against his forehead.

    He reaches out, his voice raspy. "...Logan?"

     And then the illusion breaks and he is cold cold cold scared scared scared alone.

     Janus was alone.

     ...Sometimes he wanted them to hear his screams, his terrified voice ringing through the darkness of the night, his raspy calls for him. But he knows they won't. They never did and they never will.

    He turned over, curled into a ball, and sobbed himself to sleep once more.