#author ari

All-nighters were better when they weren’t ‘all-alone-nighters’ as Remy liked to call them. Luckily, Logan wasn’t currently dealing with loneliness. No, it was quite the opposite.

“Oi, Squid-nerd, check it.” Logan’s very important financing for props of an upcoming video was suddenly blocked by the Sleep aspect’s phone, which contained a meme of some sort. He squinted wearily and adjusted his glasses, leaning in to get a closer look. It appeared to be Winnie the Pooh (what was a ‘pooh’ anyway?) effectively mimicking Logan’s current expression. The top mentioned something about someone’s mom looking at memes, and it was all he could do not to sputter.

“That is not nearly as amusing as you seem to find it, Remigius, and it doesn’t- it’s not even accurate, I can’t- I’m not your mother, that’s impossible- stop laughing-“

Remy was rolling on the floor now, knees to his chest, absolutely weeping with laughter. He got far too giggly when he was sleep deprived, in addition to the sass, and it was as frustrating as it was endearing. “I can’t believe that worked! Girl, you are too much!” He shrieked and wiped his face, chest seizing with giggles.

“How do you expect anyone else to be asleep with all this pandemonium?” Logan couldn’t quite hide all the fondness from his voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be monitoring Thomas’ dream activity, anyhow?”

“Boring business,” the diva wheezed, waving Logan off dismissively. “Same old stuff, weird self-inserts he won’t even remember when he wakes up.”

“Remigi-“

“Remy.”

“Yes, fine, Remy. Your job is important, you should be taking every aspect of it seriously.” Logan lifted an eyebrow at him, managing to pull a serious enough expression for how late at night it was.

The figment in question was sitting up in the blink of an eye, grinning smugly. His shades obscured his eyes for the moment, but Logan knew they were gleaming with mischief.

“Ha. You said ‘Spec.’”

“Really? That’s what you went with?”

“The best jokes are unanticipated and take time to understand,” he stated matter-of-factly, in an infuriatingly accurate impression of Logic himself.

“You shut your mouth, sir.” Logan shoved a hand in Remy’s face in a feeble attempt to get him to stop.

Instead, he took Logan’s hand and, making eye contact over his shades for a split second, pressed a gentle kiss to the back of the side’s knuckles. “Like this?” He purred, lips curling into his usual smirk.

“That’s acceptable, yes.” Logan, determined not to be deterred from his signature stoic state, took back possession of his hand and patted Remy twice on the head before returning to his laptop. He bit the inside of his lip to avoid smiling at Remy’s obvious deflation. He continued his budgeting uninterrupted for a few blissful moments.

“Hey L, I have a proper- poorpro- a propsit-“

“Proposition?”

“Yes, a that. I have one of those for you.” Remy stared up at him through his shades, now kneeling next to Logan’s swivel chair. His arms were folded on one arm rest and he had his chin on them, successfully equating him to the puppies that Roman summoned so often.

“All right, Remig- Remy, what is it?”

“Get your ass in bed and go the fuck to sleep.”

“Profanity does not make one more appealing.” Logan didn’t stop typing. “And you should also be sleeping.”

“I don’t need sleep, honey, I am Sleep.” Remy stuck his tongue out teasingly.

“Falsehoods are not a good look on you, sweetie,” Logan deadpanned. Remy fell backward with a gasp.

“Who are you and what have you done with my Logan?” He demanded. At the end of his accusatory point, the side in question tried not to preen at the (admittedly over-dramatic) reaction to his outburst.

“I am still present.”

“Good. Go to sleep.”

“Why?” Logan waited patiently for his desired statement.

“Because you need it.”

That wasn’t quite it, so he tried again. “And why is that?” He asked evenly, adding Roman’s desperately important party poppers to the budget and scrawling a sticky note reminder to warn Virgil of the prince’s plans. The last thing they needed in a lighthearted video was an attack from him. Or on him. Logan added another sticky note directing future Logan to further explore Virgil’s role as anxiety, if he was the cause or effect, or if he could be both. He almost missed what Remy said, which would have been a disaster.

“Because sleep is important, Dumbo!”

“Ah ha!” Logan whirled in his chair triumphantly, the tip of his pen pointing directly at the figment’s nose. “So we are in agreement, then.”

Remy blinked in bewilderment. “What?”

“We both agree that you-“

“Stoppin’ ya right there, babes.” He waved a hand and conjured green tea in a Starbucks cup (not sponsored), a peculiar ability of his that Logan had yet to discover the reasoning behind. “I didn’t say nothin’ like that.”

“Why are you using double negatives? That is a disgusting misuse of the English language.” Logan, a certified nerd, gave Remy the dreaded Stare of Disappointment™️. Everyone in the Mindscape trembled in their figurative boots. But they were also asleep, so… figurative dream boots. Unless they weren’t wearing boots. They trembled in their figurative dream boots-or-other-footwear. Logan almost missed what Remy was saying for the third consecutive time.

“English is already disgusting, she doesn’t need my help.” He waved a hand. “End scene. Go to bed.”

“Roman appears to be rubbing off on you.” The creative side was the one to originate the habit of saying ‘end scene’ when he wanted to drop a conversation, and lately had begun to use it more and more seriously.

“Bitch, what did I say?” He pointed sternly at the bed, sitting with his legs crossed in the floor like toddler.

Logan tilted his chin upward defiantly. “Only if you sleep with me.” He was promptly hit in the face with a pillow.

“Ew! Nasty! No ma’am! Not in my good Christian household!” A multitude of other objects were thrown at him, luckily light and mostly harmless.

“Remigius, please- Remy! Let me rephrase, I did not intend to imply that we would, ah-“ he cleared his throat. “-have intercourse. If I am going to sleep, I want you to as well. Nothing more.” Logan adjusted his glasses awkwardly.

“Oh. Well, in that case, you’ve got a deal.” Remy looked around at the mess he’d made. “This looks like a problem for future me. I’m gonna get changed, see ya in a bit, boo.” He stood, winking. “Unless you want to join me.”

“No. I can change quite well on my own, thank you.” In a split second, Logan was wearing a science pun t-shirt (courtesy of Patton) and constellation pajama pants, and was idly removing his glasses to place them on his nightstand. He smirked to himself as Remy disappeared into the closet, complaining under his breath about how unfair his powers were and the fact that he had to change by hand.

About ten minutes later, Remy was in a tank top and shorts and his sunglasses still, lying next to Logan in bed and scrolling through his phone idly while the other attempted to sleep.

“Remy,” Logan whispered after a moment, harsh and sudden enough to make the figment jump and drop his phone. “Go to sleep.”

“Not until you do, wise guy.” He immediately regained a cool composure and reached for his device carefully.

“Are you always this hard-headed?” Logan sat up.

“Darling, have you met me?” Remy quirked an infuriatingly perfect eyebrow.

“Remigius-“

“Don’t call me that!” Sleep looked as stunned as Logan felt at his own outburst, then stiffened up and focused on his screen again instead. “Please.”

“Apologies. I wasn’t aware your proper name was a… sensitive… subject.” Logan rubbed one eye, staring downward. The other didn’t look up.

“It isn’t. I just don’t like how similar it is to… his.” He tapped his phone once with odd finality. “End scene.”

“I’m sorry, Remy, truly. I just believe that things should be called what they are, but I shouldn’t have applied that to-“

“End scene, Logan,” he persisted. “Please.” His voice broke a little, startling Logic, which was a rarity.

“Of course.” He fell silent and turned back to the blankets, rewinding the events in his mind and wondering what he’d done. It was unusual to see Sleep silent, still, and just… not causing general mischief. Where was the giggly figment he’d seen less than an hour ago? “Will you at least try and rest?”

“No rest for the wicked.” Remy smirked, typing something to someone, but it lacked the usual fire. “I meant what I said earlier. After you.”

“Remy…”

“It’s no biggie, Issac No-Fun. Go ahead and nod off, I’ll be here.”

“Rem-“

“I can hold down the fort, you know. My incredible humility prevents me from sharing my immense capability.”

“Remy. Look at me?”

“‘Course, I’d never complain about getting to- woah!” He jumped slightly when Logan took a light hold of his jaw, not daring to pull away.

“You mean that literally, don’t you?” Logan swallowed, all of his late nights or totally sleepless ones crashing back with a wave of a guilt to accompany them. “You are incapable of sleeping until everyone in the mind palace is no longer awake.”

Remy shrugged and opened his mouth, as if preparing a snarky comeback. Instead, what came out was, “It’s my job.”

Logan pushed Remy’s sunglasses up into his hair carefully, revealing dark, watery eyes shadowed by sleepless nights too numerous to count. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, “that you feel the need to use caffeine to stay awake.”

“I’m so goddamn tired, Logan,” the poorly named figment whispered, head falling forward to rest against Logan’s chest. “I can’t even take naps, it’s so fucking miserable…”

Logic softened, lifting his arms after a moment to wrap them around Remy. One hand cradled the back of his head as his body trembled against Logan’s and he let out a single, shuddering sob. “I know. We are- I am going to set a more steady sleep schedule. For all of us, including you. Would that be alright?”

Sleep nodded slightly against him, sitting up enough to try and rub his face. Logan lifted a tissue. “May I?” At another nod, he wiped Remy’s eyes, then handed it to him. “Blow. I will return with some water.” He pulled away slowly, then left the room after pausing to glance back.

Upon his return, Logan found Remy still sitting up smirking a little at something on his phone. He tried not to focus on how nice the figment’s eyes looked now that he could actually see them. He offered him the glass of water instead, then slid onto the bed next to him. “Drink at least half,” he advised.

Remy nodded, downed the water according to his orders, then wiped his mouth on the back of his arm. “Thanks, L.”

“No need. Lie back.”

“Dominant, are we?”

“Remy, lie back before I push you.”

“Okay, okay, I’m doing it. No need to get your tie in a twist.” He shifted to lay on his side, eyes still a bit teary. Logan reached out a hand to wipe them away gently. The tears. Remy’s eyes remained stationary. He tugged Remy’s shades from his hair and placed them on the nightstand next to his own glasses.

“Good. Relax, I am going to sleep so that you can. Please take advantage of it.” 

“I will.”

“Good.” Logan closed his eyes, lying down as well. He scooted a bit closer to Remy to wrap an arm over him from behind, no matter how it made his skin burn with heat. No one else was around to see.

“Night, babe,” Remy whispered, and that was the last thing Logan heard until morning.

The next day, the two would share knowing glances while going about their daily tasks. Logan would present his sleep schedule, Remy would deny everything that happened the previous night, and then eventually he would confess the nature of his powers. He would receive shock and some concern, and everyone would abide to Logan’s plan. And everything would be fine.

Sometimes Darius wondered if he was actually a good person. To be honest, he wondered about it a lot. Pretty much all the time. He’d settled for a no, he wasn’t, because how could he be when he let people get hurt and killed and made messes and screwed up and didn’t do anything to fix it-

“Hey, Double D! Get to the guy, my distraction won’t hold up forever!” The harsh, raspy voice of The Duke tore through his thoughts, making him gasp and stumble a little. Remus’s nose was wrinkled in concentration, eyes locked with the shooter. The team of heroes had been called out to deal with the mess caused by the guy, in a school no less.

“Of course, it would be my pleasure,” he drawled smoothly, pretending he wasn’t startled by the noise. He ambled along at a slow, leisurely pace, ignoring his racing heart and shallow lungs, trying desperately to maintain an aura of smug confidence. He stopped directly in front of the shooter, smirking slightly, and opened his mouth to speak. “I do wish-“

“Deceit!” a voice shouted, shrill and desperate and afraid. He blinked, and suddenly he was against the wall and Slo-Mo was against him and everything hurt.

“What the hell?” he hissed, gasping in pain.

“He was going to shoot you, asshole.” Slo-Mo was wide-eyed and visibly shaken, pulling back and dusting his suit off as he copied Deceit’s signature tactic of pretending not to care. His dark hair was matted to the barely lighter skin of his face and he was panting desperately, though trying to play it off by running his shaking fingers through his hair and using his free hand to push his tinted goggles up in the process.

“You’re over-exerting yourself, Nate.” He frowned.

The hero’s face twisted in defense. “Yeah, and why do you fucking care?”

Something about the sharp tone of his voice made Darius want to throw himself right into the line of fire again. It felt like someone had dropped a football dipped in cement in his stomach and was now digging around trying to get it back out. He swallowed the lump in his throat and his humiliation, lifting an eyebrow. “I do apologize, I never meant to give off that impression,” he hummed, voice dripping with silk and venom.

“ ‘s what I thought.” Nate yanked his goggles back down and stalked off, shoulders hunched. Deceit scoffed and shook his head, but the sting was still there.

The fight continued. Remus had lost his control over the man with the gun, causing him to open fire again. Deceit had to keep trying to get close to him.

Minutes passed, or maybe seconds, but they seemed to be losing.The Critic was nowhere to be seen. Deceit swallowed and peeled himself off of where he’d been tossed to the floor, cupping his hands around his mouth. “I do wish you would keep the gun!” he shouted, and immediately the weapon was dropped.

“Cut his head off, Crit!” Remus squealed as their leader appeared from seemingly nowhere. The Critic had a bad habit of doing that, just sort of… appearing. It was a common thing among the group, really, especially for-

“Oh hell no, sweetie. Do you know how much blood that would spill?” The masked man lifted an eyebrow at Remus, who was spinning his morning star like a very dangerous baton and bouncing on his toes. His face was split with a too-wide grin that Deceit wanted to slap right off, along with that stupid, stupid mustache.

“No, sir,” he purred disgustingly, winking and puffing his chest out. “Why don’t you show me?” Darius shuddered and Nate made a face, but Crit seemed entirely undeterred, apparently used to it.

“Not now, Duke. We would want to… sully our good name. That would be dreadful, now wouldn’t it?” The leader inspected his nails and Deceit was personally threatened by his composure. It wasn’t fair.

“I think we’re already sully enough, papi.” This time the line was paired with a growl, and Deceit felt himself puke in his mouth a little. He was pretty sure that wasn’t even the correct way to use the word.

“Remus, do shut up. There are children here.” To his credit, The Duke snapped his mouth shut and was quiet for a whole seventeen seconds.

Something purple flashed in the corner of Deceit’s vision and he stiffened. He tried desperately to keep his grip on reality and not look, but he did anyway, despite already knowing who it was leading the kids to safety. Renowned hero-turned-vigilante, Tempest. Virgil.

“Deceit! We’re leaving this dump.” The Critic waved for him, and he approached obediently, although his eyes were narrow.

“But-“

“Butts are for assholes, dear.”

“Sir, the children-“

“Are in perfectly good hands, are they not?” He halted to look Darius directly in the eyes, making the younger hero’s legs shake a little.

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Then I trust you have no further qualms?” He tilted his head and quirked a brow, challenging, daring him to press it further.

Darius shook his head slightly. “No, sir…”

“Good. Close your mouth more often, it’s a good look on you.” He was already power walking majestically away, and Deceit heard a not at all subtle ‘ooo’ from Slo-Mo and The Duke. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor and drown choking on earth. Nevertheless, Virgil would not leave his mind.

When they returned to the base for celebratory takeout? Virgil. When Remus wouldn’t stop talking everyone’s ear off in rapid Spanish? Virgil. When he finally returned back to his own apartment to get some rest? Virgil, Virgil, Virgil.

The violet-clad vigilante had run away months ago. Everyone else was fine with pretending he’d never been there in the first place, but Darius was far from it. They acted like nothing had changed, like everything was fine and dandy and wonderful, like his only- his friend hadn’t betrayed them, hadn’t left for them. The vigilantes, or HILT as they were calling themselves, were their sworn enemies who thought they were better than them. The clean up crew.

Deceit and his team were the heroes. Of course they were, everybody said so. Lately, though, that hadn’t seemed entirely true. It felt wrong, like he was lying to himself, again. He was Deceit, he lied to himself all the time. I am a good person. I don’t need them. I can’t possibly mess up boxed mac-n-cheese again. I’m a hero. What kind of hero left people, victims, behind? What kind of hero left messes behind for others to clean up? What kind of hero snapped at his best and only friend and hurt him so badly that he felt the only answer and way to be free was to run away and leave him behind and abandon him and what kind of hero just let that happen?

Darius Lyre was not a good person at all, he realized. He stared at himself in the mirror, hating, hating, hating. He made up his mind. The bare minimum went into a suitcase. Three numbers vanished from his contacts, he changed his own number, Lace the corn snake was placed in her tank on top of the suitcase. He left no note, vanished late into the night. Virgil wouldn’t want to see him again, Hilt wouldn’t take him anyway, he was the enemy, after all. Instead, Darius went to the streets. He wandered.

The sun rose and set. He saw nothing of his old teammates except in his dreams-- nightmares-- when he dared stop to sleep. Head spinning, feet pounding a steady rhythm his heart followed, he realized his snake was more well-fed than he was. He questioned if Virgil hated him still. Darius wandered.

The sun rose and set many more times. He ate where he could find food and slept in the smallest nooks he could fit into. He still saw no sign of anyone he knew. He could live like this. Darius wandered.

Still the sun rose and set, almost the only constant in his life. It scorched his skin and all he could do was use aloe, a gift from a kind older woman who insisted that he looked “Just like my dear grandson!” His heart twisted at that and he thanked her many times. She’d given him money as well; he spent it on food for Lace. He contemplated what dead mice tasted like. He thought about Virgil. Did he hate him? Would he care if he died? Would he want to see him again? Darius wondered.

Soon his vision spun and all his thoughts were occupied with survive, survive, Virgil, survive. Too much effort went into putting one foot in front of another and his head pounded, hands shaking. It was warm. Too warm. He looked for shade and found it beside a building facing the sun. Ducking behind it, Darius leaned against the wall heavily to try and recover a little. It didn’t get better. His vision turned white, then black, he felt the handle of his suitcase leaving his hand, then he was on the concrete and his head throbbed worse than ever. Snakes were supposed to like heat, but Deceit was not a snake, so he was less fortunate. He closed his eyes. Perhaps he would just rest, his eyes and his feet were so sore. Just for a moment, he promised himself. Only a moment and then I’ll get back up.

•*•

missing in oblivion

i guess i forgot to shut the door

darkness beckons with a string around my throat

i remember

time was slow back when i knew serenity

now it rushes past

quick like my thoughts

wouldn’t it be something

to be happy more than somber

i guess i’ll never know what song you would have written

your music faded long ago

the final notes echo in my head for eternity

a merciless symphony that forbids me to forget

•*•

It was more than a moment. Too long later, someone was shaking his shoulder. Darius barely managed to peel his eyes open, expecting to see an angry or confused or sheepish employee. Instead, he was met with a masked face suited in dark blue.

“Apologies for the abrupt awakening Mx., but it is getting rather late. This particular area of the town is even more unsafe in the dark. I implore you to come with me to find somewhere else to spend the night.”

“Y’re helpin’ me?” Darius slurred, tongue thick and dry in his mouth. His chest was empty and he felt close to dry heaving, vision still spinning. Was this person even actually here?

“I am. And I assure you that I am physically present, neither hallucinated nor holographically projected nor any other possible method of faking one’s existence.” Their voice was smooth and rich and they were so tall. Just the sight of them, not even considering their face, was enough to make Darius even weaker. A large hand was held out to him. “Shall we, Mx. Lyre?”

Wait. Something’s wrong here. But… what? ‘S not them, it’s- oh. “He,” Darius croaked, wincing at the sound that came from his throat. It was both physically and emotionally humiliating. He took the hand anyway and was hauled to his feet. He stumbled and staggered, his vision flashed again, and he barely registered the firm grip on his shoulder.

“Mr. Lyre, do I have your permission to lift you and carry you?”

He made a noise of confirmation, really too out of it to do anything. “Wh’re?” Then his feet were swept out from under him and he was held against the stranger’s chest and oh no they were hot.

“A base where I currently reside with a small number of my peers,” came the fading response. Darius just nodded slightly and closed his eyes again, almost immediately passing out.

The last he heard was a small, mildly concerned, “Darius?”

•*•

often i return to september

sun-kissed skin glossy with sweat

how i wish to stop that day and keep it frozen for a while

just to see

just to embrace

just to stay

gunshots shatter time

glass shards tumble to the earth

dirt stained red

pain is unforgivable if you aren’t willing to try

and i?

i prefer revenge

•*•

Darius was just coming to when he heard it. A whisper, soft and earnest, from someone nearby. The echo hinted that he was inside, but where, and why?

“I would die for you,” the voice stage-whispered. His eyes shot open. He was in a room, like a bedroom, Lace’s tank was in the corner, and she wasn’t in it. Instead she was in the hands of a stranger who held her and cooed at her softly as they rocked in a chair. “You’re a cutie, you’re just the sweetest little spaghetti aren’t you? Yes you are, good girl, so pretty. Such a pretty lady, hi pretty! Oh, look at your little tongue! How do I smell, sweetie?” Darius laid there, stunned into silence for a long while. Eventually he cleared his throat and they looked up, eyes wide. He froze, but then they smiled in a way that was warm and soft and felt like the sun, eyes crinkling a little and shimmering with relief. It was quite a bit overwhelming how much emotion this person wore on their face. “You’re awake!”

He looked away. “...yep.”

They were seated at the edge of the bed in moments—he was in a bed, he hadn’t been in one in forever, it felt so good—staring at him with concern. “You passed out from dehydration. How much do you remember?”

“I remember leaving. And someone in a mask, was—that wasn’t you. Who was that?” He frowned. “Who are you? Where the hell am I?”

“Woah, woah, slow down there, kiddo!” The person held their hands up in surrender, laughing a little. “Let’s start over, I’ll fill you in in just a moment. My name is Patton, he/him! And you are?”

He swallowed. “Darius. Same.”

“Good! That was helpful, thank you so much!” The man seemed a little overly thrilled at the response.

“Thank… you?” He started to sit up.

“Be careful, you were really dehydrated. I’ll have someone bring you some water. Right now you’re at our base.”

“Base? Base for what? Is it secret? Does anyone know I’m here?” His chest constricted and his mouth was still dry. Every time he spoke it was like someone was raking barbed wire down his throat and it hurt. He swallowed.

“You don’t have to talk so much if it hurts. I promise you’re safe, and we can talk over the details more when you feel better,” Patton assured. Something familiar about him did make Darius feel safe and secure and protected. He almost wanted to sleep. Scratch that, he really wanted to sleep, every part of him screamed with exhaustion and strain, but it could be a trap and unsafe and someone could be there to hurt him, or--when did he close his eyes?

“Darius? Honey, can you hear me?” He jumped a little.

“Y... yeah, I hear you, sorry.” He rubbed his eyes and opened them, then lowered his hand to massage his throat as well, wincing.

“Why don’t you talk a little less for now?” Patton urged gently. “Just nod or shake your head, things like that.”

He nodded slowly, raking his fingers through his hair. The man across from him held out Lace, and he took her almost immediately. She curled around his wrist like a large, clumsily made bracelet.

“Good!”

“Hey, Pat, I got the- what the fuck?” Darius’ head shot up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash as he stared at the man in the doorway. Painfully familiar purple hair and dark eyes, with a hulking figure behind them. Virgil. Wait, if Virgil was here, then he was-

“Hilt,” he whispered, just as Virgil shoved the tray into his companion’s hands and stormed forward. Darius refused to flinch, pretending his hands weren’t shaking.

“What are you doing here, you son of a-“

“Virgil!” Patton scolded lightly. “That’s no way to treat our guest, be nice!”

“I’m nice to people who deserve it,” Virgil sneered and, ow, that stung. “Why is he here?”

“Oh wouldn’t you like to know, Judy Moody?”

“Of course I would, that’s why I asked. Pat, do you have any idea-“

“Virgil, please,” Deceit interrupted, less smug and more desperate.

The vigilante flipped him off. “Patton, you have to listen, he’s-“

“I want you to tell him who I am,” Darius suddenly blurted, words painful in throat, burning worse than just the dry scratching of dehydration. Virgil’s mouth snapped shut and Patton stiffened. His expression twisted with worry. A gasp came from Virgil’s companion.

“I know who he is, Vee,” Patton soothed.

That made Darius go rigid. “Wait, you know? And you’re still helping me?”

“Of course we are, silly, you need help!”

“But I- we’re enemies, and I literally just… I don’t understand…”

“Relax, don’t hurt your throat,” he told him. “Can Virgil still speak?”

“He can,” Virgil spat, shooting Darius a look that, could looks kill, would have dismembered him, harvested his organs, cremated him, brewed his ashes into coffee, and downed it in one gulp. “And he has many concerns about this.”

“We can talk about it, then. But first, Darius, would you like to stay here?” Patton looked back at him, eyes soft and sincere and so kind it almost made him want to throw up.

“Stay?” he croaked. “For- for how long?”

“Well, as long as you’d like!” The older man grinned. “I’d be happy to have you here, especially while you’re recovering.”

“I… for now, I suppose…” Darius nodded slowly.

“Excellent!” Patton clapped and stood. “Virgil, come with me. What has you so worked up? What’s going on?”

As the two voices and pairs of footsteps faded, he became more aware of the fourth person who had been in the room, but was now the second. They were tall and familiar, and their face was open and glowing with curiosity.

“Mr. Lyre,” they began, and suddenly it all came rushing back.

“That was you?!” he shouted, startled, grabbing his throat as it split with pain. How could his savior have been so tall and gentle and stomach-twistingly gorgeous?

“Indeed. I suggest you refrain from excessive speech for the sake of your throat.” He swallowed and nodded, no longer trusting himself to speak eloquently anyway. “In the moment, the situation required immediate action, and I was barbarically forced to put aside formalities and could not introduce myself. If I may, I’d like to make up for that now. My name is Logan Sagong. He/him, if you will. And yourself?” Logan lifted an eyebrow and Deceit tried desperately not to melt in on himself.

“You… said my name.”

“Ah, yes, I did, didn’t I?” The man looked mildly amused. “I had forgotten. You see, I have access to information about people, regardless of either of our consent. Knowing someone’s name without them giving it to you, however, has proven to raise defense levels and lessen the chance of trust, therefore I try not to use it so much.”

“What can you see?” he asked, picking his words carefully.

“At the moment, your heart rate and breathing are nearly normal. Slightly raised, but, given your current situation, that is a reasonable expectation.” Logan nodded slightly, as if to affirm his own statement.

Darius rubbed his eyes. “That’s… different.”

“But not nearly like yours. ‘Reverse psychology,’ it is listed as. Is that what you did to Virgil a moment ago?”

Every nerve in his body told him to answer a simple ‘no,’ or a ‘who’s to say’ or a ‘who’s Virgil?’ However, his mind moved too fast and he nodded before he could say anything.

“Fascinating. So you make people do what you wish by telling them to do the opposite…” Logan sat on the bed, studying the empty air around Darius. Well, perhaps the air wasn’t empty to him.

“Yeah.” He scooted back, blinking hard.

“Oh, my apologies. I had no intention of overstepping any boundaries.” Logan also moved away, making Darius’ heart sink a little.

“No, no, it’s fine, I just- I’m not sure what you want with me…” He winced, swallowing.

“There is nothing we want with or from you, we are only here to help. Patton was right, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like after you recover.” The vigilante reached for the tray that had been placed on a side table to offer him a glass of water. “Here, drink. And rest as well, please, you frightened us all.”

“I did?” he mumbled, taking the glass and sipping from it slowly. The water tasted dry and bitter for some reason. He watched as Logan’s face darkened a little and his eyes turned to the floor.

“Well, me,” he corrected, not sounding nearly as put-together as he seemed to be. “You frightened me.”

Darius’s face warmed and he stared into the glass instead. “Oh.” It was quiet for longer than he cared to know, both him and Logan unsure of what to say and simply settling for nothing at all. Finally, Logan was gracious enough to break the tension.

“Would you like me to go and let you rest? You appear to be drained.”

Darius nodded slowly. “I’ll rest, but… you don’t have to go. Not for long, anyway.” Please stay please stay please stay-

“Very well. Get some sleep, I’m sure Patton will have made something for you to eat by the time you wake up.” Logan’s expression turned soft and fond and half-amused, and Darius again found himself wanting to melt into a puddle and cry because it was so cute.

“Thank you, Logan,” he managed smoothly, laying back. 

“Certainly. You are welcome here as long as you wish to be here.” A hand rested on top of his and Logan was looking at the floor again. 

They kept saying that, but ... what about Virgil? he wondered quietly. What would he do to me? “I’ll ... think about it.”

Silently, he contemplated his friends. His family, Patton would have insisted, had he been there. If he could even still call them that. The peppy puppy padre of a werewolf was nowhere near as vicious as stories made everyone to believe. He liked baking and playing fetch and laying in the sunlight that streamed through the large window. He liked cuddling and affectionate kisses to cheeks, foreheads, noses, hair, hands, anywhere and everywhere people would let him, and Patton loved, loved, loved his family. He was never, ever dangerous, Dee had come to understand, unless you threatened the people he cared about. He had also come to understand that, unfortunately the hard way.

The fairy, Roman, was naïve. He was predictable and easy to manipulate. He was, unsurprisingly, the first next to Patton to accept Dee into their home. He was all charming smiles and flourishing gestures and sweeping bows to make you feel like royalty. Roman was a man of theatrics as well, to the surprise of no one. Everything was a big deal. His toast popped up unexpectedly? Roman became a woman in a horror movie. Patton made breakfast for everyone with personalized blueberry shape in the pancakes? He was a god who bestowed a great blessing upon undeserving mortals. Virgil was wearing a skirt? A funeral was arranged for Roman’s confidence. Roman was princely and prideful and perfect, all the time, never stopping, no exceptions. Until Deceit made his mistake, of course.

Then there was Virgil. Edgy, snarky, harmless little harpy. Virgil wasn’t very loud unless he wanted to be. He liked the quiet, and he liked the dark, and he liked the calm. He liked Dee, too, because the naga was all that wrapped up in the body of a snake-human thing. Many nights were spent with the two curled up together in a blanket nest. Virgil would settle himself among the coils of his friend’s body, wrap a wing around his shoulders, and relax. The silence was comfortable. The darkness was nothing to fear. They never shared many words during this time, unless one of the duo needed comforting or calming. It was usually Virgil. If that was the case, Dee would turn on one of Logan’s classical CDs, curl himself gently around the harpy with blankets and pillows and tea, and just hold the younger and remind him to breathe. Virgil was snarky and sarcastic and stingy, but he was far from mean. His talons were sharper than his tone when he spat insults he never meant, mostly at Roman, but occasionally Deceit. He never meant them. Until he did.

Then, there was Logan. Of all the members of their messed-up little posse of creatures, he was by far the most intimidating. He was even above Deceit himself, which felt odd. Logan was a centaur, a towering Clydesdale who shadowed everyone below him in both height and intelligence. He was strong, stoic, and cold. Deceit knew the least about him, because he preferred to be left alone. But that was fine with the naga, he possessed no desire whatsoever to venture near the huge, thundering hooves. Logan had his own stable, where he kept to himself and rarely accepted visitors. The extra stall was to contain Patton when he turned, to avoid him causing anyone harm. He never did, Logan made sure everyone was safe. He didn’t let anything get past him, except a certain slippery snake.

In his defense, Dee had not come into their lives wanting to deceive them. (Patton would have been proud of that one.) He just had to. It was his job. He was paid to infiltrate other organizations or homes to unusual creatures and people, gain their trust and find out all he could, then report it to his boss. Then, he would return, and they would be terminated. The naga was exceptionally good at what he did, and that was why he had the job. He was good at gaining someone’s trust, he was good at faking friendship, he was good at not getting attached and pretending the deaths he caused didn’t sting. He was good at it. Until he wasn’t.

Dee made a mistake. He tripped up, he fell, he flopped. He did the one thing he wasn’t supposed to do. Deceit got attached. He had never been in a group- no, family. They were a family- that was that close. They were loving, truly loving, and accepting, and they made him open up in ways he knew he shouldn’t. He said things he didn’t want to and did things he wasn’t supposed to for reasons that were beyond even him, and yet... he didn’t care. Dee liked them. They showed him what a home was, that it was more than a place and a word. It was close people, and caring words, and kind gestures, and unconditional love.  Deceit had worked up the courage to ask Logan what that meant one day, after hearing the centaur use the word to describe Patton’s love.

“Unconditional means unrestricted, whole-hearted, or absolute,” Logan had explained, dark eyes leaving his book to meet Deceit’s. “It means that Patton loves people, regardless of their actions, mistakes, or unworthiness. I have yet to deduce whether it is admirable or perilous.” Deceit had shuddered as Logan’s cold, calculating gaze scrutinized his very soul. It was like everything he’d ever done had been laid out for the centaur before him to analyze, and his skin began to feel unusually hot with shame.

“Do you think he...cares about me that way?” Dee had finally inquired, picking at his nails and drawing out the ‘s’ a little in his nervousness. He couldn’t bring himself to drag his eyes away from Logan’s, blood pulsing in his ears and muscles tended to flee, should the centaur try anything.

Logan had only blinked slowly, then gone through the process of little actions he did when focusing, which Dee had previously observed. Tightening his tie. Nudging his glasses up. A hand raking through his hair and a flick of his tail to scatter the flies from his flank. His nose wrinkled slightly, and the left corner of his mouth turned upward in thought, or possibly amusement. Dee couldn’t have been sure at the time. “Undoubtedly. Patton is... simple. It is not difficult to gain his affection, but it is very difficult to lose it. I would not worry.” And then he had gone back to his book.

That night, Deceit contemplated this. For the first time, he found himself wanting people to like him, and not just because he had to. Because he liked them, and he cared about them, and he wanted to tell them the truth. He wanted to spill everything, because though Deceit’s very name embodied his lies, this one hurt. It twisted inside his gut like a thousand smaller versions of himself and pressed against his chest, aching and causing sharp pain and desperate to be let out. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. Dee was living a lie, as he always was, but he didn’t want to any longer. But Deceit, the liar, the faker, the snake, was born for this. And so he continued. Until he couldn’t.

It was two weeks later, early December, when he asked everyone into the living room. Deceit explained. He told the truth. He was sent as a spy by an organization who wanted to capture or kill them. He didn’t want them dead, he promised, over and over. He was going to find another way, he promised. He was going to fix this, he promised. But promises after lies were as solid as ice in summer. It was too easy to fall through.

Dee would never forget the looks on faces of his friends family victims. Roman was pale. His eyes were confused, stunned, as if he didn’t understand what had happened. He blinked, looked down at the floor, then back up at Dee. His wings, transparent and a brilliant ruby red, quivered once. He heaved a heavy sigh. “You are a snake, after all,” was all the fairy said.

Logan showed nothing. That terrified Deceit. He didn’t know if the centaur was angry, upset, or if he’d expected this. Logan was silent. He was a stone, a stronghold, a wall Dee could not get through. He held Patton back tightly.

Patton screamed. He screamed in agony and terror and anger and tried to lunge for Deceit, only held back Logan. The werewolf breathed in growls and whines, kicking and struggling and breaking Deceit’s heart mercilessly with his pleas. “Don’t do this! Don’t let them kill my family! Why would you this?! You don’t have to go, we can help you! Please!” The poor man worked himself up so much he started to turn unwillingly. The only words Logan spoke were soft reassurances into the werewolf’s ear, calming words that Deceit couldn’t hear. Even while the centaur soothed his wounded friend, his steely eyes never left the traitor before him.

Virgil didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His eyes told everything. When he glared, the darkness beneath them seemed to grow. His jaw locked, his fists clenched, his shoulders stiffened at Patton’s sobs, because how dare Deceit do this? How dare he break the heart of their family, betray the trust of the only person who might have loved him? Virgil’s feathers flared. His talons dug into the carpet, but he did not move. He glared at Dee and his shoulders shook as his breathing grew more ragged. His eyes displayed an angry, well-deserved message that he didn’t need to voice. How dare you? I thought we had something. I thought you were different. I thought you cared.

And Dee could only offer a pathetic half-smile. So did I.

The next moments were a flash. Patton gave up and slumped against Logan, sobbing openly. The centaur hugged him closer to his chest, cradling him quietly with a tenderness Deceit had never seen before, especially not in Logan. Virgil stomped his foot and snapped his wings open in a terrifying show, one arm thrusting out to point at the door as he shrieked, “GO!” His moment only lasted that long, however, because then the tears escaped and slid down his face. The harpy choked on an angry sob and clamped his hands over his mouth to muffle the noise. Roman’s arms weaved around him, gently turning him away from Deceit. He gently took Virgil’s wrists, encouraging and reminding him to breathe, then wrapped his arms around the harpy again. Virgil’s hands grabbed Roman’s shirt in a death grip and he stubbornly refused to look at Deceit. Roman locked eyes with the naga, however, then nodded toward the door lightly.  They needed space. Dee slithered out the door. He could feel the eyes of Logan on his back, and the last thing he heard the broken sobbing of Patton.

It was still freezing. Deceit stirred, coming to the equally thrilling and utterly disappointing realization that he was, in fact, not dead. He felt like his eyes were frozen shut, and he didn’t want to open them again, but he felt a warm torso pressed against his, the owner carrying him close. The rest of his body was piled behind them somehow, on something large and furry and equally as warm, and he was soothed a little from his initial panic by a gentle rocking motion. He made a small noise of concern, and immediately whoever was carrying him halted.

“Hush,” a smooth, cool, silvery voice murmured. It was oddly calming. A gloved hand was rested over his forehead, and Deceit whimpered and pressed into the touch. Oh, how he missed Patton. “You will waste energy. Try and stay awake, now that you are up, or else you may not wake again.”

Oh, lovely. He pressed closer to his savior, desperate for any form of warmth. “But ‘m sleepy,” he whined, clinging to their shirt.

“Drowsiness is an unfortunate symptom of hypothermia, which you appear to be suffering an extremely dangerous case of. It would be ideal for you to remain conscious. Loss of it could result in death.”

“Y’sound like Logan,” Dee slurred, eyelids opening a sliver and vision swimming for a moment. The blur above him was dark blue with black hair, and the stranger nodded.

“There would be a reason for that.” The centaur’s mouth quirked upward slightly in the closest thing yet to a smile, and Deceit was unfortunately too out of it to see.

It seemed like hours before they arrived at... wherever they were going. He heard whoever was carrying him knock on a door, then the gasp of the person behind it before he drifted off again.

“Logan, what happened? Where did you find him? Is he okay?! Are you okay?!” Patton rocked on his feet nervously, watching as the centaur ducked low to carry Deceit in.

“I am quite well, Patton. If you could take care of him... warm him up slowly, remove any wet clothes. That is the most efficient method. I must return to the stable.” He settled the naga on the couch and turned back towards the door.

“Why?”

“Pardon?” Logan glanced back, adjusting his glasses.

“Why do you need to go back to the stable, Lo?” The centaur had unfortunately come face-to-fade with Patton’s legendary ‘puppy-dog eyes.’

“Because that is where I belong. In here, I will only make a mess.”

“Baby, it’s cold outside,” Patton suddenly sang.

Logan lifted an eyebrow, watching the man below him. “We are not romantically involved, Patton.”

“I know.” The werewolf pouted. “I just...worry. About you.”

“What for? There is no need to be worried for my safety, I assure you, I am quite capable of-“

“It’s freezing, Lo. The stables don’t have heat. How long were you out there?”

“Longer than I would have hoped.”

Patton took a few steps toward the centaur, taking one of his hands. He gasped softly. “Oh, you’re shaking! Logan, stay inside, we can-“

“Patton,” Logan interrupted, pulling his hand away quickly, “it is urgent that you stabilize Dee as soon as possible. I will be perfectly fine.”

Not looking happy with the answer, the paternal werewolf started to pull off Deceit’s shirt in order to get him warm. “Roman!” He called aloud. “Can you grab those towels and blankets from the dryer?!”

“You got it, padre!” The fairy sprinted down the stairs, only sticking the landing thanks to his wings, then went still at the sight before him. “What’s that slippery snake doing here?” He asked, voice lowering in both concern and anger.

“Lo found the poor kiddo out in the snow! Can you believe that?” Patton was chipper as ever. “We gotta warm him up before he freezes. Blankets and towels, please?”

Roman folded his arms, looking to the centaur. “He’s got to go.”

“Now, Roman, I know he hurt you,” Patton began, but he never got to finish, because the fairy interrupted him mid-sentence with a scoff.

“Me?! I dare say he did not! I was merely disappointed. However, he truly upset Virgil. I fear having the two together would be a recipe for disaster!”

“Roman is correct,” Logan contributed.

“I am?” Roman looked surprised for a brief moment before he recovered. “I mean, yes, of course I am!”

The Clydesdale sighed and shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Attempting to repair a relationship such as theirs so soon after it was torn apart is not a good idea. They will only fight and argue until we all grow tired of it, or one of them gets hurt. Though I am unsure of where you two stand, I have no desire for either of those outcomes. It would be best to keep the two separated for now.”

“That’s exactly what I meant,” Roman announced, eager to claim at least some credit. Patton nodded sadly after a moment, eyes taking on the kicked puppy expression.

“I guess you’re right. Roman, towels and blankets. Then can you let Virgil know what’s going on? Don’t let him come downstairs, though.”

“A quest it is! I shall not fail you, sweet Patton! I will mend this broken romance-“

“-it is not a romance-“ Logan interjected.

“-if it costs me my life!” At some point, Roman switched from speaking to singing. “I shall climb every mountain, I shall search high and low, I shall follow every rainbow-“

“Roman. Now, please,” Logan interrupted again.

“Ah, yes, of course, my apologies!” The fairy sprinted off. Logan and Patton exchanged a glance. The centaur shook his head slowly with a sigh.

Virgil stared at his ceiling, listening to the downstairs door creak open. The thud of hooves signaled Logan’s entry into the house, which was unusual in itself. Rarely did the centaur come inside, mostly because of his own insistence that he would make a mess or break something by accident. It was a reasonable... reason, Virgil supposed, seeing as how it had happened before. When the conversation began, Virgil growled through his teeth and yanked his headphones on, feathers ruffled with agitation.

Apparently, getting some peace and quiet around here is impossible!

Thankfully, the headphones blocked out the noise well enough, and Virgil was able to focus on counting the glow stars stuck to his ceiling (courtesy of Patton) and arranged in the shapes of constellations (Logan’s idea, as carried out by Roman, because the centaur couldn’t get up the stairs.) He counted forty-seven, but he should have had fifty, so he started over again. He reached about twenty-four when a star fell off and hit Virgil in the face. The harpy huffed. At least now I what happened to the missing three...

“Oh, Sultan Sulkin’,” an endearingly annoying voice twittered, far too loud to be blocked by Virgil’s headphones. He pulled the glow star off of his face and sat up, moving his headphones to around his neck.

“What do you want, Princey?” He watched the overdramatic fairy enter his room.

“I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?” Roman held up his hands, each with one finger up. Virgil lifted an eyebrow.

“Uh... good?”

“Excellent choice! The good news is, Logan has finally acknowledged my brilliance!” He struck a triumphant pose. The harpy hunched on the bed rested his in his hand, not even attempting to feign amusement. When Roman shot him an offended look, he held his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, fine. Good job, Roman. Are you gonna tell me the bad news yet?”

Suddenly, the fairy’s expression turned serious. Virgil felt his stomach drop. This was bad, bad news.

“Virgil, we- er, Logan found Dee. He was freezing to death, and Patton’s working on warming him up. Don’t be mad?” Roman begged, eyes pleading.

The harpy stiffened, and he saw Roman do the same. “I’m- I’m not mad,” he managed quickly, then hesitated. “Okay, I’m a little mad. But... what if he tries to hurt us? What if he tries to hurt you?!” Virgil narrowed his eyes. “He could be faking it! Trying to get us to feel sorry for him so we let our guard down and then he can finish the job! He’ll jump up with like, I dunno, a knife or something, and he just-“

“Virgil, slow down. You’re overthinking again. Dee’s not gonna hurt anyone, Patton and Logan will make sure of that.” Roman rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, sitting across from him on the bed. The younger still looked uneasy, but he nodded after a moment.

“Right. Yeah. It’ll... it’ll be fine,” he assured himself aloud, the fairy across from him watching earnestly. Virgil swallowed. “It’ll be fine. Thanks, Princey.”

“Of course. What sort of hero would  be if I didn’t provide aid to those in need?” He flashed a bright grin, which only earned an eye roll from the harpy.

“Don’t push it. I would have been fine alone.”

“Of course you would have. The thing is, you didn’t have to be.” Roman patted his edgy friend’s wing lightly, then Virgil heard a murmur of, “oh, that’s soft...” Fingers brushed lightly across his feathers, and he pushed the limb forward a little so Roman could reach better.

“Why are you petting me?” He snickered.

“Oh, shut up, you like it!” Roman stuck his tongue out, then paused, seeming to cave in a little. “You... do like it, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure, it’s... it’s whatever.” He smiled slightly, picking at his nails. Chipping black polish flaked onto the bed. Suddenly Roman was behind him on the bed, pulling the harpy back against his chest. This only put Virgil on edge again, and he gasped slightly.

“Relax. We’ve decided it’s best for now if you two don’t interact. It could be... dramatic.”

“Like you?”

“Perhaps.” Roman laughed, leaning back to let Virgil recline against him.  The two sat in silence for a little while. Another glow star landed in Roman’s hair, and the fairy just kind of left it there. He refused to let Virgil take it out either. “It suits me,” he protested. “Don’t you think?”

“It makes you look like a Christmas tree,” Virgil countered, looking up at him from below.

“‘Tis the season.”

“You’re weird.”

“He’s... he’s going to be okay, right?” Patton looked up from where he was seated in front of Logan, eyes alight with worry. “I mean, I did everything right?”

“Of course. You have aided him to the best of your ability, Patton. It is unlikely that his condition will deteriorate.” Logan reached up to adjust his glasses. The naga had been plopped across the couch, swaddled effectively in warm blankets and towels from the dryer. The heat had been cranked up, the fire was going, and Logan felt almost dizzy at the amount warmth filling the room. It seemed to be just right for someone else, however, because Dee stirred on the couch a few moments later.

“Deceit!” Patton rushed over to the couch, shifting nervously near the naga. “How are you feeling?” He asked, softening his voice. Logan watched from where he was, not really interested in getting up. The naga still looked dazed, looking at Patton in confusion.

“Cold...”

“That is a reasonable answer,” Logan pointed out, and Patton giggled. He lay down next to Dee and wrapped his arms around him to help keep him warm.

“I’m sorry,” Deceit murmured softly. “For not telling you, and putting you in danger, and-“ his voice wavered, “-and everything...”

“Oh, no, don’t cry!” The werewolf holding him fretted, squeezing him closer. Logan decided to allow Patton to deal with the emotional portion of their drama fest, as he was not quite cut out for that sort of thing. “It’s gonna be okay, we’re going to figure this out.”

“Do they know where we are?” The centaur broke in suddenly. The naga looked nervous and shrank away. Logan sighed. “I will not be angry, but I need the truth. Did you tell your boss where we are living or not?”

“...no. He doesn’t know. Still believes I’m collecting information.”

“Good.” Logan nodded. “That will provide us with an easy cover while we search for a solution.”

“I might be able to get enough evidence to report them to authorities for physical abuse,” Deceit mumbled thoughtfully.

“Wouldn’t that put you in danger, though?” Patton frowned, visibly worried, down at the Naga in his arms. “I mean, you working with them and all...”

“I probably deserve it. I mean, I’ve let them hurt so many.”

“Falsehood. You may have let them, but that does not mean you are at fault. You are simply a pawn in the large game that life is to them. And should they happen to accuse you, I happen to know you as an exceptionally convincing liar.” Logan pushed his glasses up, locking eyes with the golden yellow ones of the naga.

Patton gasped. “Logan! Don’t encourage him! Lying is wrong.”

“Under most circumstances, yes.” The centaur nodded in agreement. “I am not encouraging him to state a falsehood, I am simply making a suggestion. It would be to his benefit and to ours. He never intended to cause any harm.”

Patton hesitated. “If... if he won’t be hurting anyone, I guess it isn’t wrong...” Dee sighed in relief. “But!” Patton added, making him jump visibly. “Don’t think you’re getting out of a punishment, mister! You don’t get to leave the house unless totally necessary for two weeks, and you have to have someone with you at all times.”

“Are you...grounding me?” Deceit looked confused. Logan felt amusement bubble in his chest.

“Yes! I am!” Patton gave him as stern of a dad look as he could manage while cuddling the naga. “And after that, we will be making you do charity work!”

“Okay, what kind of charity work?” He seemed more humored than intimidated.

“I volunteer at a pet shelter on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You’ll be coming to help me for at least a month,” Patton ordered. Deceit smirked slightly.

“If you insist, Dad.”

Patton gasped for an unusually long amount of time, leaving Logan to wonder if the werewolf ever intended to exhale. He turned to Logan, eyes sparkling. “He called me Dad!” He whispered, looking very close to tears. This resulted in a giggling Dee and a very awkward Logan.

“So I heard. Con...gratulations?” He spoke slowly, hoping he was saying the right thing. Patton squealed and squeezed Deceit even tighter, to the point where Logan began to grow concerned for the state of his rib cage.

“This is the best day of my life!” Patton gushed, and Dee just smiled tiredly up at him.

“Make sure he rests,” Logan advised, turning his attention to the snow falling outside the window. Perhaps the issue was far from being resolved. Perhaps more issues were to come. But Logan knew they would find a way through it, because they always did. Things were always fine. The winter, too, would pass.

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