A/N: I'd like to dedicate this to everyone at Sandy Hook elementary school, as well as all of those who have gone through something like this. It unfortunately is becoming more commonplace, and the fact that it leads to the slaying of the innocent is absolutely heartbreaking. There needs to be a change in how our society works.

Inspired in part by what happened at Sandy Hook, I also looked to the song, "Don't You Worry Child" by Swedish House Mafia for inspiration. I ask that if you haven't heard this song covered by Runaground that you listen to it, for it is that specific version that inspired me to write this one-shot in this particular way. I've been listening to it nonstop during the course of creating this, the depths of which this version of the goes into is indescribable.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Don't You Worry, Child

The frigid December wind blew fiercely around Logan, causing the sixteen year old to wrap his arms around his lithe body more firmly. He surveyed the all too familiar, vast graveyard in front of him, and what little warmth his coat provided quickly disappeared. The sun had just begun its ascent, casting an otherworldly glow over the hundreds of gravestones in front of him. Somberly, Logan remained motionless, watching the morning fog as it lofted up toward the heavens, evaporating little by little as the sun continued to rise. A gentle squeeze on his shoulder alerted the teen to the person behind him.

Turning around, Logan looked up into his father's honey-colored eyes, and for a moment he saw the remnants of the past reflected back into his own chocolate ones. It had been just Logan and his father for a long time, Logan's whole life, in fact. Though the brunette's mother tragically died giving birth to him, his father made sure above all else that he felt nothing but love and happiness. And for the first seven years of Logan's life, his father succeeded. Anyone who knew the Mitchell family knew that Logan ruled the roost. Logan had his father wrapped around his little finger, and both of them knew it. Derrick Mitchell would run to the ends of the earth for his son, and lay down his very life to protect him in a heartbeat. And in turn, Logan looked up to his father, worshipping the very ground his father walked.

The adoration that Logan had grown up with shone through his father's eyes; however, in the past nine years he saw the light grow dim as another, darker emotion began to take prevalence: guilt. And today, the guilt seemed to eclipse the light in his eyes completely. Derrick had let his baby boy down in the worst possible way nine years ago today; he couldn't protect Logan when his son needed him the most. But how could he have known? How could anyone have known what would happen on that fateful day?

Derrick's hand fell away from his son's shoulder, and silently, he motioned for Logan to lead them to their destination. Inhaling shakily, the boy trudged ahead, his shoes leaving footprints upon the Minnesotan snow beneath him. The birds above him chirped happily as they sat upon the boughs of a nearby, seemingly unaware of the sorrow below them. Logan envied them, their simple mindedness…their naivety of the world's evils. They were free of it all, their wings serving as an escape rope as they take flight. Logan wished he could join them in the sky—away from the earth, away from his own personal hell. But Logan was a man of science; he knew he'd be forever bound to this life, both physically and mentally, until the day he died.

The boy's breath caught in the back of his throat as he came to a halt in front of a particular grave. Gripping the bouquet of calla lilies closer to him, Logan read the grave's epitaph:

Camille Roberts, Loving Daughter and Angel

January 24, 1996-December 12, 2003

Gone, but not forgotten

As he had done for the past eight years, Logan placed the flowers upon the burial site, his stomach in painful knots. It never got easier…if anything, Logan found it more difficult as the years continue on. As he got older, Logan began to realize more fully the long term effects of what happened to them when they were seven years old, the permanence of it all. The loss of "what could've been."

For the first time that day, and certainly not the last, tears began to trickle down his face, as the memories that have haunted him for the better part of his life surged to live, pulling him into the darkness. Logan was hardly even aware that he had fallen onto the snow-covered ground until he felt his father next to him, collecting the lost boy into his arms. Derrick embraced his son tightly, whispering words of encouragement and love as the tears began falling down his face, too. But Logan couldn't hear his father's words; all he was cognizant of was the fact that his father held him the exact same way on that day. The darkness had finally conquered him, and giving up, he fell into it completely, allowing his mind to replay the events that had led up to this day…

Camille was the new girl at school that year. Logan could still remember when the teacher introduced her to the rest of the class, how she shyly hid behind the mass of dark curls on her head. Miss Johnson had assigned Camille's seat next to Logan's, and he could still see the small girl hesitantly sit next to him, her warm brown eyes watching him warily. To assuage her anxiety, he had smiled softly at her. She seemed to perk up seeing the boy's welcoming presence, and what fear she had vanished like the last wisps of the night at sunrise. That was the day they had become friends.

In just a few short months, they had become best friends, in fact. They were joined at the hip, and when one was present, the other was surely nearby. They shared secrets, had play-dates at one another's house….seemed to get each other in a way seven years olds shouldn't be capable of doing. But here they were, best friends, taking the world by storm. Together, they were invincible. Logan knew they would be best friends forever.

That is, until December 12, 2003.

It was a Friday, and for once Logan couldn't wait for school to be done for the day. Though he enjoyed his scholastic endeavors, he and Camille were going go ice skating on the lake with their parents. Camille had never gone, having moved to Sherwood from Los Angeles, a place that she claimed never saw snow. Logan was incredibly excited to see Camille's reaction as she learned how to ice skate. He knew they were going to have the best time.

But he never got to see it.

It was during Science class. Miss Johnson was teaching the class about the solar system, when the normally closed door flew open. Before anyone could react, sounds that Logan could only describe as the popping of balloons erupted, coupled by the screams of Logan's classmates, including his own. What Logan now knows to be the "flight or fight" reflex kicked in, and he dove under his desk, seeking shelter until the sounds stopped. Logan peered from under his desk as discreetly as possible, and he saw a man standing at the room's threshold, with a metallic item in his hand. What scared Logan more than the gun was the expression on the man's face, or rather, the lack of one. Logan watched as the man's steely eyes surveyed the classroom, and for the first time, the little boy realized just how quiet the room was. The fear in his heart grew exponentially, and he tried to hold his breath so not to alert the man to his presence. After what felt like a hundred years, the man casually strolled away, as if he hadn't had a care in the world. Logan exhaled, and he was coming out from under his desk when he heard those same popping noises again, immediately followed by several screams. It was then Logan noticed his teacher, who was crawling on the ground, blood cascading down her arm. Miss Johnson saw Logan, and with her good arm, gestured wildly for him to stay hiding. Obeying her orders, Logan crouched back down under the desk, wrapping his arms around his small body as he waited.

Logan didn't know how much time had passed, but he suddenly heard footsteps approaching him. He saw a pair of black boots stop in front of his desk. Fear overtook his heart once more as the figure in front of him began to kneel. A man's face entered the seven-year-old's line of vision. It was a different man he saw this time, and instead of a scary look of nothingness on his face, this man's face radiated with concern. Logan didn't know why, but he felt safe as he looked at the tanned man before him.

The man smiled at him reassuringly, but the observant child also noticed how bloodshot his eyes were.

"I'm Officer Garcia," the man said, his voice scratchy, as if he had been crying, "I'm going to take you to see your mommy and daddy, okay?"

Logan nodded, wanting nothing more than to see his father. Office Garcia held his hand out, and without question, Logan took it. The cop pulled him out from under his desk, and as Logan stood up, he gasped at the sight of the classroom. The room was in complete disarray, papers were scattered on the ground and many of the arts and crafts they had done earlier in the year were completely destroyed. But what drew Logan's attention was the large amounts of red that he saw on the floor. He felt frozen as he looked at it, his brain trying to register that he was looking at blood.

Officer Garcia tugged at him, leading him toward the door to follow the rest of his classmates out of the school. As Logan was about to walk out into the hallway, he caught something out of his peripheral. Turning his head, he looked and saw two men crouching down, hovering over another person who laid on the ground. Though the two men's body obstructed most of his view, Logan could see a mass of dark, curly hair.

"Cami?" Logan said, as he stepped toward the girl. But Officer Garcia was shift, scooping the boy into his arms and carrying him out. Logan struggled, but the cop was too strong.

"Cami!" Logan screamed as he began to panic. Officer Garcia held him tightly, trying to comfort him as he walked down the school hallway.

"It's okay; everything's going to be okay."

When Logan and Officer Garcia finally exited the school, they were greeted by utter chaos. Ambulances and cop cars littered the parking lot, the collective flashing of their lights almost blinding. The scared boy clutched onto Officer Garcia, the screams and cries of the people around them overwhelming him.

Officer Garcia was taking him to one of the ambulances nearby when a familiar voice reached Logan's ears.

"Logan!" his father cried as he attempted to wrestle his way past two cops. "That's my son! I have to see him!"

"Daddy!"

The cops conceded, allowing Derrick Mitchell to pass. He ran to where his son was as Logan began to wriggle in the cop's grasp once more. This time Officer Garcia relented, setting the boy down.

Logan's feet barely touched the ground when he was picked up once again, this time by his father.

Derrick squeezed his son tightly, completely unaware of the tears that streamed down his face. The relief he felt was indescribable, yet at the same time the sorrow he felt ran deep. How could this have happened at an elementary school? Derrick saw the number of body bags that have already started to come out from the school, most of them children sized. He had been so afraid, not just as a father, but as a person. He still was afraid. But he couldn't think about that now, he had to be strong for Logan.

"Daddy? I saw Cami…she was on the ground." his son's voice jerked him out of his reverie. Derrick felt his stomach fall to his feet. He couldn't describe it, but he knew that his little boy's best friend had been killed. But he couldn't let Logan know, not right now. Instead, he hugged his only child fiercely, his words of comfort eerily similar to what Officer Garcia had whispered.

"Everything's going to be okay, Logan."

Fifteen children and eight adults died that day, including Camille. It was the deadliest massacre the Midwest had seen in nearly a hundred years. But the numbers didn't matter to Logan, not in the slightest. The fact that even one person had died from this killing spree was a tragedy in itself. The fact that Camille had been killed nearly destroyed him.

He spent years in intensive therapy, and continues to go on a regular basis. People tried to tell him that everything happens for a reason, some even boldly proclaiming that his mother had protected him. But it didn't matter to Logan. How could they know what it felt like? How could they even attempt to comfort him?

The therapy has helped, and he currently has a prescription for anxiety and depression. But the long term repercussions of that man's act would be forever embedded into him, leaving an indelible mark that no amount of time, therapy, or medicine could clean away. Random loud sounds still spooked him, and he still had a difficult time being out in public. It was only just this past year that he was able to go back to public school; after the shooting, he was homeschooled. His father refused his request to go back to school at first, knowing that he couldn't protect Logan there like he could at home. Derrick had failed his son once, and he'd be damned if it happened again. But after some coaxing from his son, as well as a couple of counseling sessions himself, Derrick realized that he couldn't keep Logan trapped inside their home if he was ready to go back to regular school.

It had been hard, but Logan eventually found his niche. He even made a couple of friends, one of them, as fate would have it, the son of the cop who rescued him that day. Though they had only been friends for a few months now, Kendall, Carlos, and James were like Logan's brothers. They knew his story and did everything they could to help him, from beating up any jock who tried to bully him to patiently accepting that Logan was not emotionally able to partake in "normal" activities, such as going to the movies.

Logan knew he had a long road ahead of him, but he also knew he had come a long way. He was a fighter, a survivor. It may be a lifelong battle, a battle that was thrust upon him by a sociopath of a man, but it was one he would continue to engage in. He struggled with dark thoughts, wondering if death would serve as his escape rope from this distorted reality of his. But he also knew that he couldn't let that bastard win. He would grow up to be the best person he could be, to serve and help the people around him like they have helped him. That man may have taken away his innocence, but he can't take away his future. Logan refused to grant him that power, not anymore.

Logan exhaled softly, his cry session coming to a temporary end. He pulled away from his father, and gave him a watery smile. His father smiled back at him lovingly, and rubbed his head affectionately. The tears that had been coming down Derrick's face had relented as well. Logan's conviction grew as he looked his dad straight in the eye.

"I'm okay, Dad."