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It had been so long since he'd truly been alone, he couldn't remember a time when he hadn't.
The dark, cold, stale room called eerily out to him, somehow a comforting touch compared to those he found outside these walls.
This is where he could escape. Sometimes Rorke sent him here thinking it a punishment, but after all his time in the pit, all that time being tortured, broken down, ripped apart to his simplest of thoughts, he welcomed the cold darkness.
He stood there, waiting for the panic to ease, waiting for himself to take control again. He'd lost it and killed one of Rorke's men. That was fine, he didn't care, why should he?
Something flickered in the corner of his vision, he turned so fast he nearly got whiplash. There were no windows, only one door. The room had been built with total isolation in mind. No noise or lights could make it through, minus the oil lamp he brought with him.
Perhaps it was his imagination? Dog often saw false things when he was alone.
He made a soft noise, animalistic in nature, almost akin to a tiger's chuff.
Nothing. His imagination then.
He turns back to the wall opposite the door, balling his fists as he tries to even his breathing.
He's not alone.
He didn't hear the door open, no one could have followed him, he would have seen or heard.
He crosses his arms, growling softly at whatever was to his back left.
It steps closer, silent, like a ghost.
Ghost…. Ghosts….he grabs at his head, a sharp razor like pain carving its way from his spine to his temple, tearing his head apart as it tries to focus on those words.
Go away, go away, go away!
He turns to snap at whatever is there…nothing.
"Hm?" He looks around, the flickering of the lamp casting odd shadows across the room, dancing along the bare walls and floor.
Nothing.
"Hm?" He tries again, stepping forward, the once cold room now slightly warmer. He didn't think the lamp could throw off enough heat to warm the room so quickly, but perhaps it could, It is a small room after all.
He sighs softly, looking down at the little lamp. The metal wires that once shaped beautiful designs are now broken and bent, the glass cracked in a few spots, the edges of the glass blackened from the flames.
He watches the flames flicker and grow, shrinking and waving at him, welcoming him with their warmth.
He whips around, someone was behind him. No one can sneak up on him, who the fuck is in here? He snarls, letting out a growl from the back of his throat.
"Logan…" a warm, masculine and tender voice calls from his left. He turns, ready to fight but there's nothing.
"Argh!" He snaps, frustration filling his muscles with tension. Who's there? What do you want?
He looks around desperately, begging whatever it is to show itself. He hates being watched, he's always watched, he just wants to be alone. Why can't they just leave him alone?!
"Logan….look at me.."
That voice again, to his right. He faces it, seeing a faint flickering form just as it vanishes.
"W..who?" He manages, voice cracking as he desperately turns, seeking the intruder.
"I'm here… behind you."
He turns, brown eyes widening. He takes in the short cropped gray hair, the worn and tired features of a man's face, and finally focuses on the man's eyes, warm and full of light as he gazes at him sadly.
"....Dad?" He manages, stepping towards him.
"Logan…..I'm so sorry son." He reaches out, warm air brushing Logan's cheek, but not quite touching.
"Hmm." He whines, trying to get closer to the man, but each step pushes him further back.
"I'm so sorry Logan." He says again, as if frustrated by his lack of physical form.
Logan whines, crying out to his father. He's been so scared, broken, torn apart and stuck back together. He doesn't know who he is, what he wants, what he's going to do. He's so scared, and alone.
"I love you Logan, and I'm proud of you. I'm sorry I was gone…" he flickers and Logan shrieks, stepping forward as he comes back into focus. "I'm here now son….I'm not going to leave you."
Warm tears fall from Logan's eyes, he can practically feel the heat of his father before him. He wishes so desperately to hug him, to cry in his arms and be comforted like the good old days. He wants to be told everything is alright as his father shushes him, humming his favorite lullaby's his mother used to sing to him. It'll be okay Logan, daddy's here.
He cracks, a broken sob escaping his lips as he rushes forward. Elias tries to warn him, but it's too late, Logan falls forward, hitting the cold cement floor with a harsh slap.
He looks at his hands, the ground, all around him. The warmth is gone, his father is gone. Gone. You said you weren't going to leave! He doesn't register he's screaming at first, the guttural, animalistic shriek not reaching his ears until his mind comes back into focus. He's screaming, crying, he can't stop. He's alone. He's alone. I'm alone.
Lost. Broken. Unwanted. Abandoned.
He doesn't hear the man enter, doesn't notice the cold presence until his hands are on Logan's shoulders, shaking him roughly.
"FUCK OFF!" He screams, shoving the man back with all his anger. He crawls back against the wall, curling into a ball as broken sobs wrack his entire body.
"Damnit, what the fuck?" This new voice, harsh and cold, full of malice and hatred, springs to its feet. The light from the now open door illuminates the man's weathered and scarred face. His much larger frame intimidates Logan and he shrinks further back. I want my dad, give me my dad back.
The man charges forward, kneeling by Logan's feet in an attempt to get in his face. He grabs Logan by his hair and yanks his head back to look at him. "I'll ask you again, what the fuck?" Rorke. Captain. He's angry, Logan can see it in his rage filled brown eyes.
"S…s…so ... .sorry." he barely manages, fear working its way through his body, from the aches in his joints to his quivering hands.
Rorke's face softens, barely. He sighs heavily, loosening his grip on Logan's hair. "I heard screaming."
Logan nods, attempting to convey his hurt through his eyes.
"Why?" Rorke asks, calm and cold, as usual. He never gave two shits one way or the other.
Logan frowns, pointing towards the lantern. "D-A-D." He signs, mouthing it as he does, hoping Rorke will understand.
"Dad?" He scoffs, shaking his head. He releases Logan's hair, leaning back on his heels he chuckles. "Your dad was here?" He mocks.
Logan nods desperately, anger scarring his once handsome face. He hits Rorke's chest with his finger. You. You. You killed him! He signs, growling at the man who'd ripped him from his family. Logan still had no idea how long he'd been here. Months? Years? He'd broken long ago, but every so often his shattered pieces would glue themselves back together for but a moment, falling apart mere seconds later. He was conscious here, he was alive. He wanted someone to know that, even if it was just Rorke.
"Oh…kid…" He almost sounds sad, disappointed. As if he could feel anything. "I didn't kill your dad Logan, no, you did that for me."
His face falls as Rorke's deep laughter shakes his bones. He feels himself start to slip, memories of him fighting Rorke over the gun, doing his best to not shoot his father only to watch him be repeatedly shot before his eyes. The coppery taste of blood fills his mouth again, just as did the day he watched his father's head get blown apart. The sound of the gunshot, Elias's last words, all of it came crashing down on top of him. He started panting, unable to catch a proper breath as panic settled in his lungs, Rorke's laughter taunting him from the shadows.
"Killed….dad." he mutters, internally screaming at himself for not doing more. For not fighting Rorke harder. For not succeeding in killing him in Sin City, and again on the train. Why couldn't I do better? Why didn't I fight harder?
"Yeah, that's right. You killed your dear old man, son. That shit ain't no one's fault but your own." He stands, evil smirk still scarring his ugly face. "Get yourself cleaned up, you look pathetic." He walks away, slamming the door and leaving him in the cold darkness once more.
That's how it was supposed to be, that's how he was trained. This is how it should be.
I killed dad. I killed him. I killed my father.
He clung to the wall, desperately begging for his father to come back, but no one could hear. His pleas went unanswered, sobs unheard. No one would be coming back for Logan. He was alone. A dog to be broken and used until no longer useful.
Dog would do as he's told and no more, it's all he was good for anyway.