#murdle dispatch au

The blue light of the computer screen felt like it was burning Logico’s retinas by now, leaving him to squint at the case files he still hadn’t finished updating. Irratino had teased him about it frequently, told him if he kept this up, both of them would need glasses. Logico had just met it with a scoff and an eye roll. He’d been staying late to work for ages, it wasn’t going to magically become a problem now.

The city was strangely quiet tonight. There were no cars honking outside his windows, no artificial light save the glow of the sceeen. Were Logico a less rational man, he’d think the night itself was holding its breath, as though waiting for something—but Logico was a rational man, and seeing omens where none existed was more Irratino’s thing. Never this late, though. Irratino was, as he himself put it, a man of morning tarot reads and vibes from the sun.

Logico sat back in his chair with a sigh, blinking to relieve the fire in his eyes. Just a couple more profiles to fill out, and then he could get into his pajamas, slip into bed, and attempt to sleep in the next morning. He was unlikely to stop going to bed so late, no matter how much Irratino attempted to “seduce” him into healthy sleeping patterns, but he could, at the very least, get some shut-eye long after the sun had—

BRRIING!

He let out an undignified shriek at the sudden ring of his phone and nearly fell off his chair. Heart racing (goddammit, how did he get jumpscared by his phone?!), Logico fumbled for it on the desk, not even checking the caller ID before he answered. “H-hello?” he asked, trying to will his heart rate down to normal.

“Is this Deductive Logico?”

Logico paused. An odd, cold dread began to pool in his stomach—late night phone calls were never a good thing, especially when the voice on the other end sounded so hushed, yet urgent. Like they were about to drop something on you that’d change your whole universe. “…yes?” he finally said, voice weaker than usual.

“This is the Superhero Dispatch Network. You’re Inspector Irratino’s emergency contact—”

The phone slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor. “What?!” Logico wheezed, stomach clenching in sudden terror. Emergency contact. Emergency contact. And—SDN? Irratino didn’t even work for them. What could have possibly—?!

The person on the other end started talking again, and Logico scrambled to grab his phone, lifting it back to his ear with shaking fingers. “—out of the ocean while he was unconscious. We’ve gotten the water out of his lungs, but he has a severe spinal fracture and it may be…”

The words faded into white noise. Logico was already running for his coat, phone squished between his ear and shoulder so he could frantically rifle through the pockets. “Where’s my keys,” he whispered to himself, heart hammering so loudly in his ears he barely heard his own voice. “Where’s my fucking keys—”

“Sir?”

“What?” Logico snapped—too loud, too sharp—as he finally yanked his keys free from his coat pocket, nearly dropping them immediately from the sweat in his hands. “I—”

“I need you to breathe.”

“I am breathing!”

“You don’t sound like it. Deep breaths—”

“Give me a bit!” Logico all but screeched, nearly tripping over his own coat as he fumbled it on and dashed for the door at the same time. SDN. SDNSDNSDNSDN— He flung the door open and barely remembered to close it—let alone lock it—before racing into the elevator and punching in the first floor button so many times it was a wonder it didn’t get stuck.

“Sir,” the person on the other line said, their voice slow and patient. “Can you take a deep breath?”

Logico didn’t respond at first, staring blankly ahead as the elevator doors closed. Then, after a second that felt like forever, he inhaled—slow, shaky—held it for a moment, then exhaled. “Okay,” he whispered, voice still raw.

“Are you on your way?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Another too long second. “Bye,” Logico said, too quickly, then hung up, stomach twisted into knots.

The elevator ride to the bottom floor of his apartment building felt like a snail trying to flee a tsunami. It couldn’t have taken that long, surely, but it was long enough—enough for Logico’s stomach to turn and flip to the point he feared he’d be sick right there in the elevator, enough for his mind to fill with all sorts of worst case scenarios of Irratino being comatose or brain dead or another call coming in to let him know Irratino had passed away while he was on the elevator—that when the doors finally dinged open, Logico could’ve collapsed in relief.

He didn’t, of course. He just made a mad dash out the lobby and to his car. The door jammed once before he opened it, prompting a flurry of curses, and the stupid key wouldn’t fit and that just frustrated him more. He— he had to get there, had to, had to—

The car finally started, and Logico broke at least three speed limits just pulling out of the parking lot. By the time he reached the call center, he had to count himself lucky he hadn’t been spotted by anyone with the authority to arrest him for reckless driving.

Not that Logico would’ve cared—nothing short of a room made of titanium could’ve kept him from Irratino in that moment. He crashed through the doors with a loud BANG, causing the receptionist to shriek in surprise, and dashed forward to slam both hands on the front desk. “Where’s Irratino?!”

“U-uh” was all said receptionist could manage.

“I-Inspector! The— Him! Guy!” Logico frantically waved his hands, all eloquence failing him. “Brown hair! Curly! Green eyes—”

The receptionist blinked, realization seeming to dawn on his face. “Starcaller?”

“Yes!” Logico exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. (Later, he’d feel bad about accidentally outing Irratino’s identity to a stranger. Not now, though. His brain was too scrambled for that.) “Can you—”

The door to what was likely the conference room opened, and a woman in a blue blazer stepped out. “Are you Deductive Logico?” she asked.

Logico snapped to her, eyes wild. “Was the trench coat not an indication?!” he yelled, the receptionist wincing at the volume. The woman, for her part, simply raised an eyebrow, and Logico sighed, rationality finally winning out. “Yes,” he repeated. “Can I—”

“Medical facilities. Come on.” She gestured to the door, and Logico tore through, trench coat flapping behind him. He barely registered her shout of surprise as he tore down the hallway, (too bright, too sterile, the scent of day-old coffee was too strong), skidded to a stop at the medical facilities, and pushed the door open to see—

His heart dropped.

Irratino—lively, energetic, unceasingly bright like the stars he loved so much Irratino—lay motionless in a hospital bed, surrounded by machines with an oxygen mask over his face, every inch of exposed skin bruised and bloody. Beside him, a heart monitor ceaselessly beeped, the only sound in the room. The only one Logico could hear. Everything else had faded to white noise again.

The woman—who’d only now arrived—said something. Logico didn’t hear her. He just stepped closer, reaching out a shaking hand for—for his partner. His partner who was lying in a hospital bed, on assisted breathing, with a heart monitor, after breaking his back and falling into the ocean—

Logico’s rationality finally snapped, and he collapsed forward, buried his face in the sheets, and sobbed.

XXX

By the time he was done crying, his eyes were mere slits. His whole face was red and splotchy, and he hardly even had the strength to protest when the employee led him out of the room for a quiet explanation of just what had happened.

“One of our subscribers called to report what they thought was a fire at the docks,” she began. “The dispatcher was about to suggest they call 911 when there was an explosion mid-call…he sent his team over immediately. We think there was a fight—”

“Think?” Logico’s voice was distant to his own ears.

“Well, any other parties had vacated the scene by the time the heroes showed up,” the employee explained. “But Irratino…Starcaller was found in the ocean, pulled out, and given CPR. Vitalia managed to heal whatever damage the water caused, but…”

“But?”

The employee hesitated. “Well…he’d hit a girder on the way down. Broke his spine. We’re not…entirely sure how well he’ll recover. It could be nothing but chronic pain issues, or it could be paralysis from the legs down. Either way…”

The words hung in the air, like the beeping monitor Logico could still hear.

“We’ve made a call to have him transported to a hospital,” the employee murmured. “They’ll call you when he wakes up. Until then…try not to worry about it too much. He’s in good hands.” She offered Logico a small smile he didn’t return.

“…yeah.” Logico gave a jerky nod, staring blankly ahead. He could die. He could die, or be crippled for the rest of his life, or…

The employee stepped aside. Logico walked back down the hall in a daze, hardly registering anything save his own footsteps on the carpeted floor (he only now noticed he was still in just socks and had left his shoes behind in his haste). He didn’t even realize he’d left the lobby until he felt the cold glass of the door against his fingers as he pushed it open, then the biting chill of the night air. He was on autopilot: heading to his car, opening it, entering, shutting the door. Staring blankly at the steering wheel he was gripping but couldn’t turn.

Irratino. His Irratino. God, Logico had— had always been worried about the superhero thing. From the moment he’d learned of it, his anxiety spiked every time he heard news of Starcaller, every time he saw his boyfriend shoot off to fight supervillains. Irratino insisted he’d be fine, every time—that the stars were on his side, that he’d feel awful if he just let the bad guys get away with it, that no matter what happened, he would come home because Logico was too good to lose (a sentiment that had made Logico turn the approximate shade of a tomato when he’d first heard it).

And now—

Logico pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, and found he still had some tears left to give.

XXX

Logico didn’t sleep much that night, kept awake into the early hours of the morning by his own anxieties and the growing terror of losing the love of his life. He didn’t sleep much the next night either—what had happened at the docks had quickly hit the news cycles, and Logico found himself doomscrolling about the incident on his phone, each post and comment made worse by his personal ties to Starcaller. He wanted so badly to not think about it, to do anything else—but he had no idea what else to do.

Trying to go back to his usual work was hell, but then again, the suspects didn’t quite seem to know what to do with themselves either. Today’s death was an amazingly sloppy job by Miss Saffron in the coffee shop, and the only reason it took any length of time was because Logico’s brain was too scrambled to make his usual easy deductions.

“Rough day?” Obsidian asked, sliding into the opposite end of the table he sat at with a raised brow.

Logico, who’d had his hand pressed against his temple, raised his eyebrow right back. “What gave it away?” he asked flatly. He looked like even more of a wreck than normal—darker eyebags, disheveled trench coat, and he hadn’t bothered putting on his hat, leaving his horrendously messy hair in full view.

“That you look a bit like you got run over,” Obsidian quipped. She leaned in closer, voice softening just a tad. “The news getting to you?”

“I—” Logico hesitated. Irratino had a very short list of people allowed to know his secret identity—his cousin and Logico himself—and Obsidian was decidedly not on it, so the exact reason for his stress was something he couldn’t reveal. “You could say that,” he decided on, fingers twitching for his coffee before remembering he hadn’t ordered any.

Obsidian chuckled, but it wasn’t as smooth as usual. “Quite the thing that happened,” she mused. “You’re the detective. Who do you suppose did it?”

Logico’s shoulders slumped. “I wish I knew,” he mumbled. He didn’t track the city’s caped criminals—that was Irratino’s job—and he sincerely doubted an ordinary crook would be able to deal that sort of damage to the dock and to a superhero. The only “mundane” criminal who could possibly do so—and “mundane” was used very loosely in this case—was the Butterfly Man, but he was supposed to have died two years ago.

Then again, Logico’s subconscious reminded him, he was supposed to have died all those other times too.

“You think he’s still alive?”

Logico jolted—did she read my mind?! “What—”

“Starcaller. Who was last seen having fallen off a dock into the ocean.”

“…ah.” Logico’s shoulders relaxed, and he suppressed a snort. She doesn’t even have superpowers—god, I really am losing my mind. “If he was dead, they’d have said so by now,” he said, using as objective a tone as possible. “Given they have yet to confirm it, we can assume he’s alive…wherever he is.”

Logico knew exactly where Starcaller was, that being a private hospital SDN had paid to not ask questions or leak anything to the media. But again, it wasn’t as though he could say that.

Obsidian clicked her tongue. “Logical as ever, I see.” She sat back in her chair, casually examining her nails. “I do hope we aren’t dealing with another big threat. Always such a hassle.”

“Yeah, well—” Logico sighed. “Most likely, whoever did this is a newcomer who’ll let the thrill of taking out one of LA’s big heroes go right to their head and get themself pounced on when their luck runs out. That’s how these things usually go.” He didn’t want to consider the alternative: that there was another big threat out there, one who could take on someone like Irratino and win.

“What were they doing at the docks, anyway?” he murmured, more to himself than to Obsidian. Surely, there had to be some big strategic play there. Something that the criminals had wanted. Or maybe it had been their base? Or maybe he was walking into a trap the whole time…

Logico sighed, head thunking uselessly against the table. “Not getting anything?” Obsidian asked dryly. When he nodded, she sighed. “Come on. Chin up. I’ll buy you some coffee.”

“That would be nice,” Logico mumbled into the wood.

The coffee did help. Somewhat. Mostly because the beans had expired at some point, and if he was focusing on that, he wasn’t focusing on Irratino nearly dying. He’d take his comfort where he could get it.

XXX

It was the next day—as Logico headed down the grocery store aisles, looking for bread—that his phone rang.

His eyes went wide, and he dropped the bread he’d been looking at to the floor, fumbling to get his phone out. Hospital— has to be— is it—? Hands trembling ever so slightly, he pulled his phone from his pocket and took the call. “Hello?” he said, heart pounding—whatever was coming was either good news or bad news.

“Is this Deductive Logico?”

“Yes,” he whispered. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—

“Your partner’s just woken up. If you could—”

Logico’s phone slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor again, this time for an entirely different reason. The deductive himself just stood there, eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar.

He’s alive.

He’s awake.

He’s—

He barely remembered to grab his phone before sprinting out the door, leaving the fallen bread behind.

Fortunately, Logico broke much less traffic laws on his way to the hospital this time—though, admittedly, the bar had been set so low it qualified as a speed bump—though his heart was racing just as much. He pulled into the parking lot and sprinted into the hospital, taking just a few moments to ask the receptionist for the room number—Room 3, fifth floor—before rushing into the second-longest elevator ride of his life. The second the doors dinged open, Logico was out into the hallway, making a beeline for Room 3. He pulled the door open—and froze.

Several of the machines were still there, including the monitor, and Irratino was propped up in the hospital bed—but the oxygen mask was gone, bandages around his arms, and he was awake, staring at Logico in surprise.

Irratino opened his mouth—

—and didn’t get out a word before Logico surged forward and locked his arms around him in a crushing hug, squeezing tight as though Irratino would disappear the second he let go. “T-Tino—” He let out a less than dignified sob, squeezing his eyes shut when tears began to prickle at their corners. “I-I’m so—”

“Logico,” Irratino wheezed. “Spine—”

Logico’s eyes flew open, and he quickly let go and stepped back with a quick “sorry”. Irratino adjusted his position in the bed with a soft sigh, brushing some curls behind his ear. “So—” he began, but Logico cut him off with a frantic “Are you okay?!”

Irratino blinked, then sheepishly smiled, letting out an awkward chuckle. “Uh. Well. Spine needed surgery, but the doctors say I am gonna walk, just with…a brace. And a cane.” He dramatically sighed. “Aiding my glasses in making me look aged beyond my prime.”

Logico raised an eyebrow, the panic giving way to more standard-issue exasperation. “Tino, you are thirty years old and don’t look older than twenty-four,” he said bluntly. “Glasses and a cane aren’t going to change that.” There was a distinct note of relief in his voice, though—he’s okay. He’s gonna be okay. The ever-present knot in Logico’s chest finally began to unwind.

“But it’s the aesthetic,” Irratino whined, dramatically throwing a hand to his forehead. “I can’t look like a mystical old master until my hair’s actually gray…”

Logico had to stifle a snort at that, reaching out to pet Irratino’s hair. “You’ll age beautifully, Tino.” His fingers curved ever so slightly, Irratino leaning into the touch like a flower to the sun. “There isn’t…anything else, right?”

Irratino paused, a flicker of something crossing his face—gone before Logico could identify it. “Nope,” he said, voice just a bit too bright. “Just some minor injuries. Gonna be on the mend for a bit.”

Logico frowned slightly, but decided it was best not to press for now. Not this topic, at least. “How…did it happen?”

That question elicited another pause, this one longer. “…went to check on some rumors,” Irratino said slowly. “At the docks. And then…” His eyes darted to the side. “They whaled on me for a bit. And tossed me into the ocean.”

Now, parts of that were definitely bald-faced lies, but Logico knew—from having known and loved Irratino for quite some time now—that when Irratino was stubborn about something, he’d dig his heels in and refuse to move even more than Logico did. Logico could also tell when Irratino would be stubborn about something, and this definitely qualified. “…alright then,” he murmured.

Irratino’s shoulders sagged with visible relief, before Logico gently grabbed them, leaning down to Irratino’s level. “Tino,” he said quietly, “do you realize how scared I was?”

Irratino hesitated, then looked down at his lap. “I wouldn’t’ve done it,” he muttered, almost defensively. “If I knew—”

“I know. But—” Logico’s hands shook, grip on him tightening. “Please don’t…do anything like that again. Okay?”

Irratino did not say anything for a few seconds. Logico thought he caught a mutter of “not like I could anyway” before Irratino looked up at him. “Yeah,” he said, voice raw. “Got it.”

Logico sighed in relief, before pulling him into another hug—gently. “Thank you,” he murmured, and this time, Irratino hugged back, and Logico could feel him smile into his shoulder.