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Logan paced the length of his room, measured steps gradually losing their consistency as his composure began to crumble. One hand dragged repeatedly through his hair, an unconscious disruption he would usually correct.
This whole ordeal was infuriating.
When had it become acceptable to disregard his contributions entirely?
Every endeavor required planning and consistency. He provided those things. Without them, their efforts would surely fall to chaos.
And yet
He remained irrelevant.
The conversation had begun easily enough, an analysis of Thomas’s trajectory. His accomplishments, his failures, his satisfaction with his current state. Thomas had achieved much. Objectively. Creative pursuits, mostly, had garnered him success. Roman’s influence was evident there, imagination, ambition, spectacle. Patton ensured those pursuits aligned with emotional fulfillment while still achieving goals that aligned with Thomas’s morals and beliefs, though occasionally impractical, still effective. Even Virgil acted as an engine to keep Thomas in motion. Inertia and momentum , even when driven by fear of consequences, served a function.
Each of them contributed.
Each of them was necessary.
And Logan?
Logan organized. Logan maintained schedules, proposed strategies, performed foundational tasks. And yet Roman was right. he had flippantly pointed out something Logan himself didn’t wish to recognize.
He had become something truly terrible. Obsolete.
Logan had returned to his room after that comment.
“I need time to think,” he had said before nodding and retreating. He continued to wrack his brain, but no alternative hypothesis came to him. There was not one task that he performed that another could not fulfill.
He was:
Redundant,
Unnecessary,
Replaceable,
Not helpful,
He felt his heart stuttering in his chest.
His skin burned, like every molecule that littered it was being perceived as a threat. It hurt. He just wanted it to stop, everything to stop. This odd feeling in his chest was too much to conceptualize. The sensation in his skin, unexplainable. He began to pull at it, his hair, his arms, his legs like he could pull himself away. He was an unnecessary facet, his own manifestation taking up space in Thomas’s mind that could be used elsewhere more efficiently. If only he could leave his skin without having to do the unthinkable. If only he could exist somewhere between time and space, where he could truly be as inconsequential as he felt.
Where everything would just
Stop.
Stop.
Stop.
And then
He could not feel his hands. Could not feel his breath adding through his lips. For a moment he considered the possibility that this was death. One of the world’s greatest unknowns ,unexpected and unwarranted, and coming for him.
“No,” he said or thought he did. The sound felt far from his own ears. “No, this is… incorrect.”
Would he miss himself?
Even if the others didn’t miss him,
In death, would he crave life?
He had already come to the conclusion that he would.
“Come back, please.” He heard the desperation in the tremble of his own voice.
With a swiftness he couldn’t quite understand, the world blurred, and he found himself under the covers of his bed.
Hiding?
He was logic, there was no reason to hide. He must be malfunctioning. If a manual reset was possible, he was going to attempt it.
But could he do that?
Was it possible?
An experiment was the only way to find out.
He could be better.
He could fix this.
He just had to recalibrate his processes to better serve their functions.
When he lifted his hand and still could not feel it, he willed himself to make a fist
Then laid a firm punch to his thigh.
Test 1: Unsuccessful.
Test 2: Inconclusive.
Test 3: Something?
Not normal sensation, but something.
Like he was drowning but had suddenly, momentarily, gotten a breath of oxygen.
And then he began to rain down punches onto himself. Kicks to his own shins, hands pulling at his hair, punches to his chest and legs. Anything to bring the feeling back.
Test 4:unsettling breakthrough.
Sensation returned, but not as it should have.
His nerves were on fire once again.
He gritted his teeth before beginning the experiment again.
What a sight he must be ,
fighting nothing but himself.
He stayed like that for quite a while, caught between feeling too much in his body and not enough.
Finally, he grew tired and decided one final test was necessary. He held his breath and waited for the world to close in on itself.
The world grew dark and then, an unexpected variable.
Hands held him.
Explosions fired through his nerves, but he held steadfast.
“Lo”
Arms wrapped around him, cradling him, calling him back to consciousness.
But he was too far.
He must complete the experiment.
“Lo…gan, plea…”
And then he was gone.
Test 5: Successful.
A singing in his veins is what he remembered. Darkness, and a damp metallic smell lingering in his nose.
He opened his eyes, glasses askew on his face. As far as he could tell, all his faculties were in fine condition. He wiggled his fingers and toes while glancing around the room. Not a thing was out of place, save for the carpet that had shifted in his panic.
Then he looked up to see whose arms he was in.
Patton glanced down, worry etched on his brow. His hands moved up and down Logan’s arms.
Ouch.
His face must have twisted into one of discomfort because Patton’s hands ceased movement. Injury status: unknown but likely superficial. Cognitive function: intact. Emotional interference: diminished.
This was better. The experiment had been successful.
He attempted to sit up.
“What you have witnessed,” Logan began, voice steadier than he felt, “was nothing but a controlled experiment.”
Patton’s hands didn’t tighten, but there was a shift in his posture.
“Logan,” Patton spoke with a softness that unsettled him.
“As I was saying, a controlled attempt to restore sensory feedback and optimal function. Though the methodology was somewhat unorthodox, I assure you that the experiment was necessary and partially…”
He stopped again when he felt Patton’s fingers trace his forearm.
A bruise.
Discoloration already at his wrist where he’d gripped too hard. A smear of red at his knuckles he hadn’t accounted for.
He blanched.
“It is minor. No lasting damage should come from this.”
Patton’s thumb twitched against his skin. It was so small and gentle that he didn’t know how to classify it.
Logan shifted as his chest burned with something unfamiliar.
“I have not been functioning correctly. I was becoming ineffective, and I had to reset. It was necessary for Thomas’s productivity.”
“Is that what you think this was?” Patton’s tone wasn’t cold, but the question lingered over Logan skin like ice.
“Yes.”
Logan could feel his resolve start to crumble. He knew his experiment was flawed, but what else was he supposed to do? Patton’s hand hovered over a bruise, and Logan watched as the blood on his knuckles trickled over his fingers.
“Logan, honey, look at me.”
Patton looked more serious than Logan had ever seen him.
“Please don’t try to fix yourself by hurting yourself.”
It hurt to hear. He must not understand this was required of him to preform better. Somewhere in his mind, Logan knew Patton was right. The experiment had been dangerous. Unethical.
“I needed to regulate. I was trying to improve my function.” Logan felt himself trembling, trying to steel himself away from the truth.
“No,” Patton said gently. “You were trying to make the feelings stop.”
Patton’s answer caught him off guard once again.
He smiled softly as he brought Logan’s arm closer to examine it. Logan flexed his jaw. The damage was more than he had anticipated. He remained silent. Patton wasn’t wrong. In fact, he was more right than Logan thought he had any right to be.
“I needed to regulate,” he repeated but his voice broke. And with it, everything else followed. Tears spilled, hot and heavy down his cheeks.
“I didn’t intend…”
“I didn’t know how…”
“I didn’t mean to…”
He broke again, all that he had worked to fix now feeling futile.
He tried to shake the feeling out of his hands as it began to creep back in. He came away from Patton, who remained steady beside him. “I know you didn’t mean to,” Patton said softly. “But you don’t need to be fixed. You don’t have to be perfect. You are perfect for us, you are perfect for Thomas. Not only do we love you, but you are good at what you do.”
Patton gave him space, looking at him earnestly. Logan felt it again that slipping feeling.Patton couldn’t possibly mean what he was saying.
“We love you more than your function.”
Logan couldn’t comprehend it.
Love him? More than what he provided?
He cried harder.
All Logan wanted now was to be held, for Patton to hold him together and make the feelings stop.
He grabbed Patton’s hand, who in turn pulled him in and held him letting him fall apart.
Logan felt the ache in his entire body and knew he could not do this again.
He wouldn’t.
“Please tell me how I can help,” Patton’s words were soft against his ear.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe we start with some ice and bandages.”
Patton placed a small kiss to Logan’s temple before summoning a first aid kit and all of their ice packs.