A-Wassailing
A/N: Takes place during episode 1.10, 'An Echolls Family Christmas'. I was watching it the other day and wondered how Logan could look so horrified, when we knew what we did about how his dad treated him. Then I thought, maybe he wasn't. My version of what was going through his head. I hope you like it, and as always, Veronica Mars and all the characters within belong to one Mr. Rob Thomas and Warner Brothers.
Logan didn't know how to feel.
On one hand, his father had just been stabbed. It was horrible, horrifying.
On the other hand, part of him hoped that some vital organ had been hit. That he would bleed to death. It was horrible. Horrifying.
But true.
He knew that he was supposed to love the man. Aaron was his father – his dad- the man who had given him life, etc., etc. And maybe he did love him. He said it, at least in public, in front of the ever adoring cameras. Sometimes he even believed he meant it; who knows, maybe he did. He wasn't a great actor (a trait he got from his dad); it was hard to believe he could even make himself believe something that wasn't at least a little true.
But he also hated him, this he was much more certain of. He hated the man who ignored him, who loved his adopted daughter more than his own son, who knew nothing about him. Nothing, that is, except where to hit Logan to make it hurt the most. Where to burn him so no one could see the marks.
This was the man who cheated on Logan's mother and made her cry. Except, of course, for when she was too numb to cry – numb from alcohol, from prescription drugs.
Fitting, really. The same crime that forced his mother to try and find blissful numbness was in every probability achieving the opposite effect for his father. Logan doubted the man was too numb right now. There was some kind of irony there, something Logan could quip about, if there was anyone to quip to. If anyone knew.
While Logan was wondering how he felt, Keith Mars was tackling the waitress with the blade, the blade was clattering to the floor, and Aaron Echolls was staggering backwards, a red stain spreading across the lower corner of his shirt.
All of it was horrible. All of it was horrifying.
He heard his mother yell for someone to call 911.
She sounded horrible. Horrified. She loved her husband. He hurt her, and she loved him. He hurt Logan, and she loved him.
So Logan picked up his cell phone, and he dialled 911, because he loved his mother. He told the operator what had happened, where they were, and who to send, because his mother was crying.
He hung up, running a hand through his hair, knowing how his mother felt, but still wondering how he did, or should. Still not sure. What a surprise; as if Logan knew how he felt about anyone or anything. Lynn wasn't the only one who revelled in numbness.
His dad was on the ground, and his mom was crying – this was bad. But, hey, help was coming. In fact, help had come. That's what happened when as your income grew – the time it took for the cops to show up shrank. Exponentially.
Logan stayed home while his parents were whisked off in the ambulance, lights flashing, sirens blaring; and while the waitress was sped away in the cop car, lights flashing, sirens silent. His parents' guests funnelled out of the house, no lights, no sirens, but definitely not silent. They murmured to each other excitedly, forgetting the boy they were leaving behind, how he must be feeling (if only he knew, he could know if he was mad at them).
Wasn't that horrible? Wasn't it horrifying? Aren't we glad we were there?
Logan sat on the floor, all alone, nursing the abandoned alcohol, staring at his father's blood on the floor.
He found himself humming. Love and joy, come to you...
Logan still didn't know how he felt. But that song, triggering that memory- he realized that a small smile was playing on his lips. A feeling of hope was playing at his heart.
Which, of course, was horrible.
Horrifying.