Trials, Traits and Truth

. . . Lose the War

When someone finally caves in, when they finally give in to sadness or despair, it's often a culmination of many things rather than a reaction from a sole event. It's a line of dominoes.

It may be a big event that is the final straw, or something as little as spilling your drink on the carpet accidentally. The weight or size of that last domino doesn't really matter: if the set up is right any size or weight could knock them all down.

Thomas received a phone call with unfavourable news after a long time of little dominoes failing to fall.

He had never been a sore loser.

Thanks to Patton, he usually focused on being genuinely happy for the person who beat him.

Thanks to Roman, he was able to creatively look at what he had done and dream up ways to improve for the next time.

Thanks to Logan, Thomas could see that it wasn't the end of the world and that more opportunities would come up.

Even Virgil would contribute a small sense of relief: that feeling of respite you get out of cancelling plans if you're really tired.

None of this happened when Thomas learned he had not got the part.

The chaos of the mindscape flashed across the mirror and the noise of sobbing, muttering, and general panic echoed around the dark room, getting caught and thrown around and amplified by Pitch's tornado.

Tristan watched Virgil, who was quite possibly nearly dead at this point, as Logan pinned him to the couch to keep him from hurting himself as he thrashed around, completely lost in the throes of panic.

Logan had a bloody nose, where Virgil had accidentally caught him with one of his flailing arms, and still wore Virgil's spare T-Shirt. He looked terrified. He was doing his best to reassure Virgil, but his rationality was being drowned out.

Virgil couldn't be swayed as every possible scenario played out for him: decline of career, starvation, people not liking them anymore, not being able to pay rent, being homeless, being unloved...

In the kitchen, Roman was just sitting there on the floor. He nearly completely blended into the grey lino. His arms were wrapped around his knees and he looked dazed, just staring at the wall.

Only Patton seemed happy.

He had locked himself in his room and was laughing absent-mindedly, bathing in the nostalgia and surrounding himself with the relative safety of the past.

"We've peaked..." Tristan could here Virgil sob - obviously Patton was inadvertently making things worse for Virgil...

And now Patton was in his room, lying again just to try and skate over what was happening. Ignoring the sadness and cheaply striving for happiness.

Tristan realised he was crying.

His beanie had long since been whisked away by the dark gusts of wind. His fringe whipped around and some stray strands of hair stuck to his wet face.

There was so much pain.

And it could have all been avoided by the Truth...but it was obviously way too late to lament that. He was now the ambulance at the bottom of the cliff.

Thomas sobbed for hours into his pillow, looking up only to howl like a wounded puppy.

He threw some things.

An empty bowl from the night before...a few books...even his phone. They had all hit the wall. His floor was now strewn with pages and broken glass. His phone was in several pieces among the mess.

Thomas didn't eat.

Thomas didn't sleep.

Thomas just existed in an endless cycle of panic and sadness.

Of Virgil and Patton.

Tristan stood and watched it all.

He didn't know if Pitch stayed there too the whole time, but eventually Tristan felt a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Well?" Pitch looked sadly smug - an unspoken told you so apparent on his face.

Tristan squeezed his eyes shut and a sob escaped his lips.

He had to be strong.

There was no right decision here...but he wasn't a factor in Morality anymore.

He was Truth, and he had been sorely needed and he had been neglected and now...

Pain.

The others were causing Thomas pain.

He had to do it.

Fixing the others would fix Thomas, but to do that he would need to...

Tristan sighed.

"Okay."

The darkness thickened around the pair, as Pitch grabbed Tristan's hands and pulled him in tight.

Tristan blinked and suddenly they were in the back of the mind.

The difference was stark - everything was calm and still. No storm of darkness. The darkness here felt warmer, more comforting, and less solid.

Tristan didn't get time to muse any more about his old home - Pitch grabbed his scarf and pulled him forward.

"This may hurt a bit." Pitch didn't hesitate, but plunged his hands into Tristan's chest.

Tristan gasped, suddenly feeling as though he had been doused in icy cold water. Pitch's grip tightened inside of him.

Where Pitch's wrists disappeared into Tristan's torso started to glow a bright silver, and Tristan closed his eyes as his form dissolved, leaving only an orb of silver essence.

Pitch started kneading it, breaking off bits of light and crushing it in his hand. He carved out what he wanted, and cast the rest aside.

He then drew the remaining light towards him, hugging it as he too dissolved into the light...

But then Pitch's darkness manifested - pouring up from the ground and swallowing the orbs of essence.

It bubbled and morphed and stretched and finally extended to look humanoid...

Then, the darkness melted off to reveal...

He cleared his throat, and conjured a small hand-held mirror.

His black coat was the same.

His eyes remained the colour of coal.

His hair was still black.

But the face that stared back at Pitch, was the face of Thomas Sanders.