Chapter Text
If Virgil could do one thing well, it was fake athletic inadequacy.
That statement wasn’t entirely fair to Virgil. Virgil was good at a lot of things, Virgil excelled at a lot of things. However, the only thing running through Logan’s head as Virgil ran down below them on the track, sporting his university’s black and blue, was how well the lanky teen blended in.
The race was a real nail biter, and Logan and Patton cheered and hollered as loud as they could from the bleachers. The piercing glow of the stadium lights cast long shadows behind the runners as the dusky sky above them steadily lost its light.
“Come on, Virgil, just a little faster!” Patton cupped his hands around his mouth and cheered, eyes fixed on Virgil’s tall silhouette below them.
“You’ve got this!” Logan chimed in, though slightly less enthusiastically present as Patton was. After all, they both knew how this race would end, same as any of Virgil’s other races. And indeed, around two hundred meters from the finish line, Virgil’s legs sped up to a blur. Where he had been hovering around third place before, he quickly surpassed second place and came neck in neck with the boy in first place.
“Use those legs, Sinclair!” The running coach for the track team shouted. Her long brown ponytail was swinging with enthusiasm, the thin strands gathered through the back loop of her baseball cap.
And with that final cheer, Virgil made what appeared to the standard audience member as a last-ditch push as he surpassed the boy in first. The crowd screamed for him as he crossed the checkered line in a photo finish.
“Woohoo! Yes! That’s my boyfriend!” Patton practically shrieked, jumping up and down in his bright red converse once or twice more. The middle aged couple to their left smiled and giggled a little bit. Patton clapped a bit more before turning to face Logan with glittering eyes. “Quick, let's run down! Maybe we can catch him for a few minutes!”
And that’s how Logan found himself squirming past bleachers worth of people trying to make it down to the track level. College kids snagging warm, salty pretzels bumped elbows with him as he followed Patton down the metal stairs, murmuring apologies to everyone they ran into.
They found Virgil off to the side of the track, talking with his coach and a couple of other runners from the race. Observing the small crowd, Logan spotted Bruce, a distance runner with an afro and bright orange sneakers, but none of the other faces struck him as particularly memorable. That wasn’t a surprise. Virgil didn’t really introduce him to his track friends, it was actually quite rare for Logan to even recognize one of the many faces surrounding Virgil after one of his races.
As Logan watched, Bruce fist bumped Virgil. “You’re a machine, Sinclair! Did you even break a sweat?”
Virgil just laughed at that and ran his fingers through his stringy hair, which had grown out a little bit, and it flopped pathetically back over one of his eyes. The tips were still purple, but he hadn’t dyed it in a while, and his natural black hair was showing through. “You’re not so bad yourself, Reynolds. I saw you on my tail, you were just as close to first as I was!”
Patton bounced up to the chain link fence separating the runners from the general population with a big grin, lacing his fingers through the blackened metal. His nails were painted a brilliant green. Logan suspected that it was Remus’ work.
“Oh, please,” Bruce scoffed, before looking over Virgil’s shoulder. A big grin spread over his face. “Your boyfriend’s here to see you.”
Virgil whipped his head around, a brilliant smile lighting up his face even despite his friend’s teasing. “Pat!”
“Virgil!”
“I won!”
“You won!”
Logan and Bruce shared an amused look as Virgil darted up to the fence. It was just as the other runner had said, Virgil had barely broken a sweat. In fact, he looked more out of breath just being in Patton’s aura than he had looked as he crossed the finish line of the race. Virgil and Patton linked fingers through the fence, and Logan averted his eyes, instead focusing on Bruce, who had walked up behind Virgil.
“Nice race,” Logan said, for lack of anything else to say.
“Thanks,” Bruce replied, seeming quite pleased with himself. “I set a personal record with this one, so I’m pretty pleased!”
Logan nodded, something inside of him twinging with the want for Roman to be here, step in, say something. Roman was so good at this, and Logan… well… he was doing his best. “That’s great. Besides,” he responded, “with both you and Virgil washing away the competition in long distance and the other strong athletes at your school, I’m sure that you will win the meet.”
Bruce just laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “That’s the hope.”
Good, that seemed like an adequate interpersonal interaction.
Meanwhile, Patton and Virgil were arguing dinner schematics.
“Well Virge, Logan is staying over tonight, can’t you wait a little longer? That pizza place on 12th is open fairly late,” Patton offered.
“But Patton, I’m withering away over here,” Virgil protested, clutching at the front of his jersey dramatically. “Merely provide me with one morsel of food to tide me over, please? This thing won’t end until nine thirty!”
This was always how it happened; Virgil finished his race, Patton ran to greet him, and Virgil begged him to sneak out into the town behind their college to bring him illegal food. Patton would shuffle from one foot to the other with discomfort, Virgil would pull out the puppy dog eyes, and Patton would get him whatever he wanted. Usually a scone or pastry from a nearby bakery that kept odd hours.
Patton looked up at his boyfriend and bit his lip, and Logan knew it was only a matter of time until Virgil convinced him, like he always did.
“But bringing junk food to the athletes is prohibited,” Patton protested weakly.
“Of course it is,” Virgil replied, nodding like this was a very serious protest. “And you care more about what’s prohibited than you do about your poor, starving boyfriend, don’t you?”
“No, I didn’t say that…” Patton frowned.
“No, it’s fine. I understand.” Virgil sighed dramatically, putting one hand over his stomach.
“You’ve been spending a bit too much time with Roman,” Logan cut in, though not without an endeared eye roll. “We’ll pick you up your usual?”
“That would be amazing,” Virgil flashed him a toothy grin.
“We’ll return with sustenance,” Logan promised, and with a final wave to Bruce and one last goodbye kiss from Patton to Virgil, he and Patton set off again, in search of Bobbi’s, the aforementioned little corner bakery in the college town.
Logan kicked absentmindedly at the rocks on the ground as they walked, scuffing the heel of his boots. As soon as they exited the stadium, the lights and the noise diluted into a dull roar behind them, and Patton sighed a little bit, shoulders sagging.
“You okay?” Logan asked him, glancing over.
“Yeah,” Patton hummed, skipping a little. “It’s just a lot, you know? Like, you get so used to being on your own, with just a few people around, and then bam! College lecture hall. Lots of voices, lots of desires, lots of emotions. And then you come to something like this, and it’s a bit like opening up the floodgates.”
Logan thought about that for a minute. “That makes perfect sense,” he replied, pushing his glasses up his nose. Then, “You and Virgil seem to be doing well.”
Patton seemed to glow. “Yeah,” he replied, his tone unbelievably softer than it was mere moments before. “Yeah, we’ve been doing alright. He’s been really good for me.”
“And you for him.” Logan looked over at the other boy. “You seem to perfectly compliment each other’s positive attributes, and appear to want the best for one another. An ideal match.”
“Well, you and Roman aren’t so bad yourself!” Patton ribbed back. “He staying home to feed October tonight?”
Logan envisioned his boyfriend, who was probably cracking open a can of wet food for their little tabby cat right about now, and smiled. “Among other things.”
“We would have happily had all three of you over, you know,” Patton said, “I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Prince could have taken care of October.”
“Roman didn’t want to leave Remus home alone,” Logan replied, “It wouldn’t have felt right.”
Patton pursed his lips together sympathetically at the topic shift. “How is Remus doing?”
Logan took a moment to consider it. “A little subdued, but better. He is trying more experimental things with his art now, making strange mixes between vases and bowls and human features. He mostly looks tired.”
“Is he still going out at night to look?” Patton asked, and Logan felt a muscle in his jaw tighten as the other boy danced around speaking Janus' name.
Instead, he just shook his head. “It’s a wonder if we get him to leave the house.”
Patton just nodded, a little bit sad. “Remus didn’t want to see us.”
Logan tilted his head to the stars. A brisk wintery breeze whistled past him, and he zipped up his coat. Beside him, Patton snuggled a little deeper into the varsity jacket he was wearing. “I don’t think it’s that, Patton. I don’t know what went down between him and Janus before I made it to the–” he felt his voice catch in his throat, “–the gym, but clearly it had a strong impact on him. He’s on his own path, much like you and me.”
“And how are you, Logan?” Patton turned to him, and suddenly Logan was caught in the teen’s piercing stare. “You’re twenty-one now, you’re smarter than anyone I’ve ever met, and you’re working part-time at a grocery store. What are you doing?”
Logan felt his chest seize up. He thought about Roman and Remus back at home, and October, begging for her dinner. He thought about his twenty-first birthday, a few months ago, and he thought about the look on Ellie’s face as she slid into his bedroom somewhere around 12:01 AM, a magnificent birthday cake lofted triumphantly in her arms.
“Happy birthday to us… happy birthday to us… happy birthday dear us…” Ellie was singing in a low tone, sneaking his door closed with her free hand. Her hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and she was wearing a baby blue apron atop her usual black apparel. In the glow of the cake candles, she appeared warm, a light in the dark. She cocked one eyebrow at him expectantly when he didn’t finish the verse.
Logan looked up from the book he was reading, and smiled. “Happy birthday to us,” he finished, though a little less musically than she had. Putting his book aside and sliding down from his bed, he admired the cake as she spun it around for him. Atop the triple-layered chocolate masterpiece was a waxy ‘52’.
“Now,” Ellie said, pushing aside some random papers Logan had lying out and putting the cake down on his desk, “I know we can’t celebrate this year exactly like we usually would, what with the others being here, but I figured we could still keep some of our traditions intact.”
It was true, with Roman and the others sleeping soundly right down the hall, this birthday was likely to be a little unorthodox. Everything had been unorthadox in those final few months at the Safehouse. And then it had all been gone soon after. If he had known, maybe Logan would have appreciated the moment a little more.
But Logan did not know, and so he just nodded, looking up at his older sister and admiring her exquisite cake-decorating skills. “Fifty-two now. We’re getting old.”
“Senior discount,” Ellie joked, taking the cake knife and offering Logan the first cut.
As he cut himself a slice, she asked, “do you plan to tell them?”
He made a face as he thought about the others, still unknown variables, and passed her the knife. “Why would I?”
She shrugged. “They’re our guests.”
“They hate us,” he replied. “Not to mention, they’re on a need to know basis.”
She snorted at that. “And your birthday this year counts as classified information?”
“Considering that this information is restricted due to my lack of a birth certificate, I would deem it somewhat classified,” Logan replied.
Ellie just laughed at that. “You know, fifty-two is a big year for you.”
“Is it?” Logan feigned.
“Mmh-hmm,” Ellie replied, eyes brimming with amusement. “Do you know why?”
Of course Logan knew why. Logan had known why since the time he was eight. Yet he feigned ignorance, a small smirk dancing at the corners of his lips. “Why, I’m sure you are more than happy to enlighten me.”
“Oh shove it, we both know you’d sooner die than admit I know something you don’t.” Ellie reached behind her, pulling two minis out from behind her back. “May I do the honor of offering you the first alcohol of your life?”
Logan scoffed. “This is hardly the first alcohol of my life.”
She rolled her eyes, but unscrewed the tops on both the little bottles anyway, passing him one. “Not something I need to think about, Lo. Your first legal alcohol, then.”
He accepted it, squeezing the cool plastic of the bottle with a thin lipped smile. The yellow and red label was smooth against his palm. “To fifty-two.”
Ellie clinked her bottle with his. “To fifty-two.”
Logan put the bottle to his lips and tilted his head back, ignoring the heat of the fireball trickling down.
“Logan–hey, Logan? You okay there buddy?”
He blinked, and there he was again, standing in the middle of the street on a cold November night. Ellie was gone, his home was gone. Patton was looking back at him with concern. Logan shuddered involuntarily, hand reaching up to trace the phantom burn in his throat.
He cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. My apologies, I got caught up in a thought. Let us continue.” He looked off into the distance, seeing the bright neon lights of the pizzeria flicker.
The sidewalk was empty save for them and a figure about a block away from them, walking in their direction. The street lamps illuminated the three of them with heavy top-down lighting, the kind that made it impossible to see any distinct features. The street was quiet.
Patton gave him a small nod, and the two of them moved on. Logan was grateful for that small courtesy, letting the previous question dissipate. Patton would give him as much space as he needed, the other boy wouldn’t pry and pick and scratch at things that were better left untouched.
“Sometimes I can’t believe we lived through it,” Patton whispered, as though the open air was watching them. “We made it out, we’re here, back in college. Like nothing ever happened to begin with.”
Logan reached out and touched his hand, feeling Patton’s warmth creep up his arm. It was a gesture meant as much to quell the racing emotions in Patton’s head as much as mask his own. “It happened, but we are here. We survived and we made it out and it was all real. Everything that you feel right now is real.”
Patton smiled at him, squeezing his hand. “At the end of the day, I’m glad that we at least found you.”
Logan smiled, and opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment a figure bodied passed them, sending Patton stumbling.
Whiring around to face the individual, Patton protested, “Hey!” and his hand slipped out of Logan’s.
Logan blinked quickly, unnerved. He'd seen them in the distance, clocked their presence, yet they'd managed to slip out of his awareness so easily. Brushing it off, he pursed his lips. "When you bump into someone, it is polite to say 'Excuse me,'" he informed them.
The individual just stood standing there, come to a dead stop in the middle of the sidewalk. They weren’t even facing the two boys, and the hood of their black jacket obscured their face from view.
Logan felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise, and he reached for Patton’s arm again. I was so in my own head that I didn’t even realize them. I'm slipping.
“Hey there, friend!” Patton chirped, never one to be disenchanted by awkward silences. “It looks like you ran into me there!” Then, his eyes flicked to the space above their head, where no one would have any reason to find anything, and he took a small step back.
Something was wrong. “Patton–”
“Logan I can’t sense them,” Patton whispered, taking another step back. “It’s all jumbled, everything in their head is jumbled.”
“Patton, move!” Logan shoved the other boy out of the way as the figure tensed, almost imperceptible, before launching into an attack.
Logan blocked the kick with a slight umph, both hands in front of him to catch the leg. He felt himself slide back slightly under the force, his sneakers gritting against the concrete. Shit.
In a heartbeat the assailant was on the move again, slipping back just out of reach as Logan tried to return the kick with one of his own. The tip of his shoe grazed the tip of the unknown figure’s nose, rustling the hood of their jacket.
They traded blows for a moment, Logan using the momentum of his first kick to spin into a second, which the attacker flinched away from and struck back. Logan shifted his weight to the left and the fist barely grazed his cheekbone.
Patton tried to help with a surprise low-sweep, but the figure jumped ever so slightly from reach again, and something in Logan’s chest pulled ever so slightly.
“I’m calling Virgil!” Patton cried out; speed-dial had become vital and handy when trying to contact his boyfriend on a time limit.
The hooded assailant lunged for Patton’s phone as soon as the words left his mouth, and the blonde chucked his phone into the soft grass a ways away from the sidewalk.
Logan looked around them for something, anything that could help while Patton had their attacker distracted. His eyes flitted quickly from place to place, assessing. Some branches, part of a rubber tire, there.
A rusted metal bar lay on the side of the road, most likely having fallen off of some kind of truck. Logan didn’t stop to question why as he thanked his good fortune and stooped low to pick it up. His fingers closed around the rough edges and he looked up, ready. In that moment, his head snapped back with a sickening crack and he felt his vision fade out, blackness closing in at the corners.
The assailant had kicked him while he was low to the ground, sending him stumbling backward in pinwheeling motions. His glasses were nowhere to be found, and he was ninety percent sure that his nose was broken. He tripped over the edge of the sidewalk, his head hitting the road as he tried to remember where he was.
How did they get the jump on me? Logan rolled to one side, ears ringing. Behind him, Patton was screaming, Virgil was there, (ah, good, punctual as ever), the assailant was standing over him as he lay there on the concrete. Everything felt foggy. They raised the metal bar he’d found above their head, ready to strike him again. Virgil was running now, launching into motion before he could even blink.
And then a particularly strong gust of wind blew the assailant’s hood back, and Logan’s world screeched to a halt. “Stop!” he cried.
Virgil knocked into the assailant with every fraction of momentum he possessed, and Logan watched in horror as she tumbled overhead, landing in a heap in the middle of the road with a sickening crunch. The metal bar came to a clattering halt a few feet away.
For a moment, none of them moved, not even Virgil. The assailant sat in a pile under the streetlight, fluffy black hair rustling slightly in the wind. And then she picked herself up, mechanically, like she had forgotten how to walk. Rolling her neck and popping her wrist back into place, she hunched over and clutched her elbow, letting out short, harsh breaths. When she looked up, the mess of scarring on her face glowed under the lights.
“Ellie,” Patton whispered, but Logan couldn’t believe him. His vision was still blurry, he was seeing things that weren’t there, ghosts. He wasn’t supposed to see her anymore. He wasn’t supposed to see her anymore.
Her eyes, usually the same piercing blue as his own, were pure, undiluted white.
As all three of them watched, she backed away slowly. Shadows obscured her face once more as she left the meager circle of lamplight. Logan felt his own eyes roll back into his head, and his vision went entirely black. The last thing he heard were Virgil and Patton’s horrified cries, and then he was gone.