I don't own them! Dalton Academy and Kurt Hummel are property of Fox; Logan, Julian, Adam, Dwight and Derek belong to CPCoulter, borrowed from her fanfic Dalton. Supernatural belongs to someone else who is not me. I make no money off of this. Thanks for not suing!
Dwight is paranoid during the best of days, but these, well, these are quite possibly the worst days of his life, right up there with losing Alan. So when Logan shows up at Dwight's hospital bed looking like he's been dragged through hell a la Dean Winchester and resurrected as a zombie, Dwight is more than a little terrified, flinging holy water and salt at the blonde.
Logan doesn't even flinch.
He simply reaches out, grabbing Dwight's hospital gown, and says, "You know all that supernatural shit, right? The doctors are useless, Julian's not waking up, and I know you know how to fix it. So tell me."
Dwight does have an idea; and it had worked with Bobby, right? And this time, there (probably) isn't going to be a sociopath running around the dream world trying to kill everyone, either.
So Dwight tells Logan everything he wants to know.
It takes a week after Dwight's discharge before he gets it. Silene Capensis, African dream root. Brewed into a tea and mixed with a small piece of the person you want to dream walk with, it sends you deep into their dreams. Dwight stirs a few strands of Julian's hair, taken from the brush laying on his Dalton dresser, into the steaming liquid.
Logan gags at the smell and the taste, and shoots up from the bed, ready to swear at Dwight for his bullshit "help"-except Dwight isn't there. And this is most certainly not the Stuart dorm room he'd started this in. This room, rather than the clean white walls and dark trim of Stuart, has soft charcoal grey walls with white and blue accents and arty prints spaced here and there.
He spends a good five minutes wandering around the room, trailing fingers over linens and wood and windowsills before he ever notices the silver frame on the nightstand, and even longer before he wraps a trembling hand around the thing. It's a black and white photo of him and Jules, arms wrapped around shoulders, laughing, with love in their eyes. There's a glint at Julian's shoulder, where the actor's left hand is reaching up and touching Logan's, and the matching rings are catching the slanting sunlight.
He chokes, air escaping from his lungs in a hiccup of minor hysteria as he wonders if this is his or Julian's dream.
Julian. He has to find him and wake him up.
Logan sets the photo down, gently, fingers lingering just a half-second more before her turns and steps through the door.
The hallway is unremarkable except for the poster sized frames on the walls, and Logan looks at each one as he passes. Here's a memory of Logan running lines with Julian, and the actor laughing because Logan just can't act, not for the female character, and he's ripping the insipid words to shreds. There's another memory of Julian curled around Logan, pain in his cinnamon eyes as Logan sits still and silent in his drug-induced haze. A third shows a day in the Hamptons, floating in the pool, laughing as they yank Derek into the cool blue water.
As he passes the last of the memories he hears a noise from down the stairs; a clatter and a curse echo up the wide stairway at his feet.
He finds Julian in the sunlit kitchen, hips swaying as he hums in front of a pan.
Pancakes. Logan's favorite food on Sunday mornings, and the large calendar by the back door tells him it's an important Sunday-the date is circled in green pen.
"Jules? What's going on?"
The brunet turns and smiles, and Logan catches his breath. This is the Julian he remembers from the memories, this happy, beautiful Jules and not the pale, scared, and comatose Julian lying in the hospital.
"Morning, Lo! Happy anniversary," Julian says, moving forward and giving the blonde a kiss. "Pancakes will be done soon, so why don't you set the table?"
"Jules. Julian. I don't want pancakes. I just want you to wake up."
"Logan, I'm already awake. I can't make anniversary Sunday pancakes while I'm sleeping, dumbass." There's a hint of the familiar snark in the tone, and Logan's chest aches a little more for it.
"No, Julian, you're not awake. You're in a coma, in the hospital, after Ad-"
"No! Don't say his name!" Julian's shrill shout cuts across Logan's explanation as the kitchen warps from a sun-warmed beauty to a grey nightmare of dark flickering shadows and rising heat. "He'll find us if you say his name. He always finds me." Julian's sepia eyes are wide and panicked as he looks around, snatching a knife from the floor and backing into the corner. The sarcasm has fled, and what faces Logan now is a mirror of the Julian in the art building.
And Logan is furious.
The little prick Adam has terrorized his best friend for months, stalked him, held Julian at knife point, and damn near killed ten people and is responsible for Harvey's death. Suffice to say Logan had some rage built up. He thinks it's past time for payback, imaginary as it may be.
"CLAVELL!" The blonde's roar echoes through the empty house, and Julian cowers in the corner, making Logan's hand curl into fists. His friend should never look so scared, so defeated. As he reaches out to calm Julian, a pale hand clamps down on his wrist, and he's facing Adam Clavell once again.
"Don't touch him, Wright. You'll only destroy him again. Just like you've done before, over and over. You can't protect him when you're the one breaking him." Adam's voice is calm, and he's still wearing that fucking smile that unsettled so many Hanovers.
"You're the one trying to break him, Clavell. You call what you're doing protecting?"
"Of course. I'm protecting him from you, and everyone else who wants to hurt him. People like you, like Derek Siegerson, like that irritating diva Hummel. I'm protecting him from all of you." Adam glances at Julian and then back to Logan. "And then I'll take him away, where you can't reach him, and it will all be over."
And Logan's fist is meeting Adam's face, pushing the other boy to the ground and drawing blood from nose and lip. Logan doesn't stop; he's too far gone into the swirling rage that he's always felt and could never find an appropriate outlet for, but God knows that Adam deserves it. Logan hits him over and over, grunting and snarling until something sharp and hot slides through skin and Adam Clavell is holding the missing knife from the Hanover kitchen, bright with blood.
Adam's face is a macabre mask of blood as he grins at Logan, flicking the knife to spatter drops of blood on the hot floor as flames creep through the walls and the door is consumed in fire. Julian stares in shock at Logan's hand clamped over his ribs, red liquid seeping through the shirt and over fingers. Logan falls, thoughts blurring- Wait it's a dream right it's just a dream so why the fuck does this hurt?-and Adam grins, raising the knife to finish the task of killing the number one obstacle in his way, and chokes as the knife Julian had snatche from the floor pierces his skin.
Julian stands, gasping and swiping at tears trailing across pale cheeks as he looks at the boy who caused him so much pain and terror and says one thing.
"Never."
He reaches for Logan as Adam and the art hall waver and warp back into the sunny kitchen Logan had first found him in, and pulls the blonde up and into a hug that desperately tight and trembling. Logan just clutches him back, smoothing the chestnut hair he misses so much and resting his forehead on Julian's.
"It's over Jules. It's okay now, so can you come back to me? To us? I need you."
Julian nods, and laughs a weak little laugh. "Hey, Lo? Can we eat first? I'm really hungry."
Logan laughs, and nods, and sets the table for pancakes.
He wakes up with the worst crick in his neck, with Dwight sitting next to him with a rosary, praying quietly. He groans, and Dwight is up like a shot, checking his vitals and his eyes and babbling questions.
"Not now, Houston. I have to get to the hospital. He should wake up." Logan pushes away the sophomore's insistent hands and stands up, staggering for the door before Dwight catches up and informs him he's not driving.
They get to the hospital in record time, and Logan is all but running down the hall to Julian's room, ducking past Dolce and flinging himself toward the bed where Julian's eyes are still closed. "Come on, Jules, you promised you'd wake up," he mutters, squeezing the chilly hand. He almost drops it when Julian squeezes back, lightly at first, then getting stronger as his lashes flutter and seia eyes open for the first time in over a week.
"Lo?" Comes the hoarse rasp. "Weren't we eating pancakes?"
"Yeah," is Logan's slightly hysterical reply. "Yeah, we were, but we're going to have to postpone that for a while, Jules." He rests his head on the gown-covered shoulder and lets the tears fall.
"Welcome home."