[This was based on another awesome person's fic. Logan is my OC, the rest of them are based on FB RPers, not mine.
Logan - Northern Ireland
Arthur - England
Allistair - Scotland
Owen - Wales ]
Logan didn't understand. The notions of war and cruelty were alien to his young mind. The only thing he understood was his brothers were sad. He curled his tiny fingers into Owen's cloak as they watched their eldest brother with wide, frightened eyes. Why was everyone so sad? Allistair would fix it, wouldn't he? He could fix anything, his strong big brother who towered over him, an invincible hero in his eyes. Alli kept telling them to hide, but no one would tell him from what or why. Allistair started away, and a sharp, sudden fear shot through him.
"Brot'er?" he called, waiting for him to turn around.
He never did. His fear turned to terror. Somehow, he knew something terrible was about to happen to his brother, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He tried to follow, but Owen held him back.
Struggling against his hold, he screamed, "No! Alli! Alli!"
Silently, Owen held him until his struggling slowed and finally stopped. He stared at his brother, eyes scared and questioning, "Owen. . . what's gonna happen to Alli?"
Owen stared back for a moment, before looking away, ". . . We have to hide, Logan. I told him I'd make you hide. You have to understand. . ."
But I don't. . .
~.~.~.~.~.~
Logan sat with his back pressed against a rough tree trunk, his knees pulled up to his chest and his small, trembling hands wrapped around them. He was wondering if he'd ever see his brother again. Perhaps he'd gone away like Mommy had. He didn't want Alli to go away. He glanced at Owen, but his Welsh brother was staring silently up at the sky. Logan sighed, plucking at the grass beneath his hand. He didn't understand. Where had Alli gone, and why wasn't Arthur here? A twig snapped, and he was on his feet instantly. One thing he did understand was that there were bad things in the woods. Owen was in front of him in the blink of an eye, bow and arrow poised expertly to shoot if needed. The deadly weapon seemed to clash sharply with his boyish face. Two figures crashed through the foilage, and his arrow drooped, his eyes widening in horror. Logan let out a strangled shriek of shock and sorrow. It was Arthur and Allistair. The Scot was bloodied and beaten, clothes torn, and shaken to his very core. Logan flung himself at his brother, wrapping his short arms as far around his legs as he could manage, sobbing. His world had just been shattered for the first time. He understood now his brothers weren't invincible. They needed protecting too, and as a shaking hand ran through his hair, he swore to himself he'd be the one to offer that protection one day.
~.~.~.~.~.~
Logan watched silently from the doorway as Arthur comforted their brother. The nightmares had woken Allistair again. Owen was behind him, his arms wrapped around his waist. Paint was curling under his fingers as he gripped the door frame in an almost violent manner. He didn't understand. Allistair didn't deserve this, why couldn't the night terrors just leave him alone? He suffered this pain for him, for all of them. Slowly, he unclenched his hand and flexed it in front of his face. Still too small to protect his brothers. One day. . . one day he'd be big enough.
~.~.~.~.~.~
Logan grunted as his still small body slammed roughly onto the hard, dirty floor of a burnt out building. His gun slid from his grasp, clattering across the floor with a number of medical supplies. He made a desperate grab for it, but an unforgiving boot ground into his hand with an echoing crack. Another foot connected with his side, robbing him of what little air he had left and forcing him to roll onto his back. He drew his hand to his chest, cradling the broken fingers. He couldn't scream, it took too much effort just to drag each painful breath into his deprived lungs. He was surrounded by a group of rebel soldiers and the streets were very nearly deserted. The hopelessness of the situation wasn't lost on him. Yet another boot pinned his right arm to the ground, making him gasp at the terrible pain inflicted on his healing burn.
"Well, look what we've got here lads, we've caught ourselves a pretty little British spy."
Cruel laughter joined the ringing in his ears, and he forced his eyes closed. The pain and the abuse would come, but he wouldn't give these bastards the satisfaction of seeing him cry. They could and would break his body, maybe even his mind, but never his stubborn nature. Finally, after all these years, he truly understood what Allistair had sacrificed to protect them all.
~.~.~.~.~.~
"No!"
Logan woke screaming, but he didn't even hear his own shout. His heart was hammering and his body sweating, despite how cold he felt. Another nightmare, he thought even as the terror has him trembling. He hadn't slept a full night since the war. He longed for someone to come and hold him and tell him it was alright. Instead, he clung to his pillow and trembled. He had sworn he'd never tell his brothers of the torment he'd endured when they couldn't protect him. They'd feel responsible, and he didn't want to do that to them, not even to Conner, even if it had been his damned war for independence that had shattered his land. Every tear he'd held back that horrific day spilled forth, leaving him to sob silently into his pillow. He understood all too well the kind of pain someone would endure for their family. He'd grown up young. . . and he'd give anything just to know that no child would ever understand as much as he had ever again.
