Chapter Text
Thoughts whizzed around Logan's room, day after day. His job was cataloging them, organizing them, deciding what to keep, and deciding what to forget. The memories usually went to Patton's room, and Logan dealt with cold, hard facts. That was just the way he liked it.
The facts would come in, some raining in from the ceiling, some rolling in through his door, and others simply appearing out of thin air. They were written on small, balled up pieces of paper.
When Thomas was little, Logan ignored the paper planes that flew close to the ceiling, too high for him to reach. He didn't know what they were, and he didn't care. As Thomas grew up, the paper planes became increasingly rare.
One day though, when Thomas was at a banquet, his brain was in overdrive. Virgil hated the amount of new people, Patton was urging Thomas to talk to someone, and Roman was just gushing over the high-class food and decor surrounding them. Logan retreated to his room, not wanting to be in the way, but still putting ideas in Thomas’ head every now and then.
As Thomas overheard the conversations around him, the paper balls were appearing all around Logan. He knew that there wasn't much useful information in any of them, and discarded the majority without bothering to give them a second look.
Then, there was a paper plane. Logan hadn't seen one in years, but he'd always wondered what they were. It was too high for him to reach, so he stood on top of his chair, stretching up his arms and standing on his toes, trying to wrap his fingers around it.
It almost seemed as if the ceiling was growing taller just so that the plane could escape Logan's grasp. As it moved closer to his open window, Logan jumped for it, narrowly missing it as it flew away, and he crashed to the floor.
Sitting up, Logan rubbed his arm that he'd hit during his fall, frowning as the paper plane disappeared from sight. Then, he heard a taunting laugh from his doorway. Without having to look, he knew who was standing there.
“What do you want, Deceit?” Deceit just laughed again.
“What were you trying to do?” He hissed, a bemused smile on his lips. Logan frowned and stayed silent, not wanting to admit that he'd been chasing after a paper plane. As the cold silence settled in, another paper plane flew overhead. Logan made a half-hearted attempt to snatch it out of the air. When he failed, Deceit chuckled. “Keep trying to grab those planes, Logan. It'll definitely work one of these days.”
“Just...go,” Logan sighed. “Unless you have any useful information for me, just leave.”
“Okay. Before I leave, I just want you to know that I have no idea what those paper planes are,” Deceit grinned, and Logan snarled at him. “Anyway, talk to you later…” He started to turn on his heels.
“Wait!” Logan said, sounding a bit more desperate than he'd meant to sound. Deceit turned back around, a proud smirk on his face. “What...what are the planes?”
“Oh, because I'd totally just tell you that,” he scoffed. Logan glared at him, but Deceit stayed silent. A paper ball fell from the ceiling, and Deceit easily caught it in a yellow gloved hand. “What are these?” He asked, throwing it at Logan’s face.
Deceit had become an expert at communicating in mostly questions. Because questions weren’t technically a truth or a lie, it made talking to the other sides a bit easier. He had also become an expert in managing to convey the most condescending tone possible through a seemingly innocent question.
Logan rolled his eyes and unfolded the paper, reading it over as he answered.
“Facts. They're facts.” It was a meaningless, unimportant statement. Logan threw it in the trash can.
“How do they get here?”
“Well, I assume that Thomas hears or sees them, processes them, and they are sent to me so I can cataloge and use the data,” Logan replied, proud of his succinct response.
“Now, why would there be facts that you can't access? What step along the process turns them into, well…” Deceit smirked as yet another paper plane flew over their heads. “...those?”
“Well…” Logan paused. “Possibly, it's data that Thomas himself is incapable of processing for one reason or another. The planes could be facts Thomas doesn't understand,” Logan said, slowly realizing what exactly they were.
“Huh, whose job would it be to make sure that Thomas understands things?” Deceit asked. Logan knew the answer, but he stared at the ground, not wanting to give Deceit the pride of answering.
At the banquet, a man began giving a speech, and because of Thomas’ mounting anxiety and lack of focus, he didn't absorb much of the information.
A fleet of paper planes soared into Logan's room. Logan stared at them helplessly.
“The others would never be disappointed in you for failing to do your job...losing all this information,” Deceit crooned.
“I am doing my job,” he insisted. “I-I...Thomas doesn't need to know everything.” Logan was trying to convince himself more than Deceit. It was now practically storming planes. Trying to ignore the tears stinging at his eyes, Logan made futile attempts to snatch them from the air.
“Keep trying, Logan. You'll catch them one of these days.” And with that, Deceit vanished, leaving Logan, paper plane after paper plane soaring right over his head.