Rating: M, for swearing, violence and possible sexual situations
Pairing: Cargan, past Kames
Warnings: Violence, past character death
Notes: I am so in love with gang related fics and I am totally excited to start writing this. It's been in my brain and half on paper for the longest time and I just recently fell back into love with it and started writing it again. I really shouldn't be starting another multi-chapter fic but I just can't help it. Let me know what you guys think.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

2am. He sat in the waiting room, witnessing sheer destruction. Happiness, love, life quickly and violently vanished, fading as each tense, anxiety-filled minute passed. His heart thudded in his chest, racing from the adrenaline, worry, fear. This swirl of emotion spun around him like a tornado, destroying everything and everyone in its reach.

A blood-covered hand against the white of the gurney turned his stomach and rose the bile in his throat. His best friends screaming deafened his ears and shattered his heart. He dare not look over there; he knew he couldn't handle the sight of his friend's life come crumbling down around him. He was just a spectator to this gruesome event and even he was forever scarred.

Carlos woke up to the surprisingly unstartling sound of gunshots. The noise used to terrify him, making him particularly jumpy but now it was just another background noise, a soundtrack to his life. He didn't bother to further investigate these gunshots. It was such an often occurrence that it eventually became exhausting to try and keep track.

He rolled out of bed with a lethargic groan and stumbled off to the bathroom for a shower. It was typically only a five minute task but it was the one thing that seemed to actually wake him up in the morning. Maybe it was the cool water hitting his skin that physically made him feel more awake or perhaps it was the time (however short) it gave him to think. Think about anything and everything while he had a few quiet, peaceful minutes to himself.

He dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist, returning to his room. His eyes scanned across the floor, scoping it out. He sighed in annoyance, setting out to find something that was relatively clean to wear. After picking up and sniffing a few that could probably be smelt across the room, he finally found a shirt and jeans that would suffice. Green wasn't his favorite color and the multiple tears and holes in his jeans were probably against dresscode (considering the size and location of some) but they would just have to do.

He grabbed his backpack and headed downstairs, finding the reason for the dead silence within his home. He snatched the note off the fridge and read it: working a double shift today. won't be home til late. should be something in the fridge you can make for dinner. love you. mom

He tried to ignore the pang of loneliness that pierced his heart. He wasn't sure why he still always reacted this way; he was alone almost every day of the week. His mom's job wasn't exactly a high paying one so she had to work insane hours at two different jobs to compensate for that and be able to afford life essentials.

He did what he could to help but it typically didn't amount to much. He was constantly looking for a job though no one seemed to want to hire a kid like him. It was frustrating but he turned to other methods to get what he wanted, what he needed. Things that were helpful to his mom but she would be devastated if she knew he was doing them on a semi-regular basis.

He shoved all these thoughts and feelings aside, grabbing an apple out of the fridge for breakfast and running out the door to catch the bus. He made his way towards the middle of the bus, finding an empty seat. He hated sitting in the back, where all the hardcore delinquents sat and he preferred not to be associated with them more than necessary. A myriad of illegal activities took place back there: the kids smoked back there almost daily (the bus driver just ignored the obvious smell), multiple stabbings occurred and a handful of oral sex stories were rumored. Carlos didn't necessarily believe every single story but he still didn't want to get caught up in that kind of stuff.

Despite his unfortunate location in the city's most violent neighborhood, notorious for stabbings/shootings, Carlos tried to keep his head above water and not give in to all the gang related crap but he was already neck deep and it was getting harder and harder to stay above water. He would've liked to say that he was a good kid and never did anything wrong but he knew that there wasn't an ounce of truth to that. He did a lot of things he wasn't proud of, things he never wanted to mention again but ones he'd inevitably end up doing again. Carlos insisted it was purely for survival purposes, taking part in things that were only essential to his quality of living and that made him feel a little better about all the horrible things that he did.

But due to certain circumstances, he really couldn't help it. He didn't want to be judged for where he came from or what he did to help his family but it was slowly becoming who he was. He spent the bus ride eating his apple and wondering what joys he would experience at school that day.

Normally, Logan loved school. He was one of those rare few that genuinely enjoyed it. There was just something so calming and familiar about it. No matter how many times he moved or how many things changed in his life, school was always the same. but this time, it was different.

He approached the doors to his new high school, sudden outrage flooding his system. His eyes widened in horrified shock as he noticed the metal detectors at the doors, students passing through them like it was nothing. Logan wasn't sure how these students could be so calm passing through the metal detectors. Beside the detectors stood a few policemen, ushering the kids along. Logan wasn't sure whether that made him feel safe or not.

When he arrived at school that morning, after easily passing through the metal detectors (ignoring how shocked the policemen seemed at his lack of weapons), he couldn't help the overwhelming fear and anxiety that washed over him, replacing the usual serene, content he felt at an educational facility. Instead of lockers, books, classes and materials, he was worried about all of the people who looked like they could and wanted to kill him.

He found himself mildly confused (a state he wasn't too familiar with); none of his previous schools were like this. They all consisted of preppy, rich kids (not completely unlike himself) who enjoyed social gatherings and high-end dinners. Despite being extremely snobby, those kids weren't any real threats. He always felt safe at those schools but this was a completely new experience. His eyes scanned all down the halls, noting the diversity. Almost everyone had one common trait though, they all looked intimidating and menacing. He gulped and began walking down the halls, wondering what, if any, joys he'd experience that day.

Classes sucked, more so than usual, Carlos thought as he sat in his English class, staring out the window absentmindedly. He was consumed in his thoughts and thus, ironically, couldn't focus on his schoolwork. That was the last thing he was concerned with, if his failing grade in almost every class was any indication. Stressing out and working hard to complete and excel at school didn't seem worth it; he had enough baggage to drag around.

He was so detached from reality that he didn't register his teacher's irritated yelling until the man was standing right in front of him, snapping his fingers in front of his face.

"Mr. Garcia," he spoke condescendingly. "I know it's nearly impossible for someone of your intelligence to focus but for god's sake, at least pretend like you're not completely incompetent. Even you can do that."

Carlos couldn't stand his rude, pretentious teacher or his classmates lowly snickering. He was already fed up and pissed off; he already met his bullshit quota for the day. Today was just not the day to get on his last nerve.

"Fuck you," he muttered calmly, gaze still focused distantly out the window.

"What was that?" his teacher snarled.

"Oh I'm sorry," Carlos spoke up this time, voice edgy with annoyance. "Are you fucking deaf? Then let me repeat myself." He wore a slight smirk as he yelled once again. "Fuck you!"

The class gasped in shock, watching intently as the teacher's face contorted in a mixture of outrage and anger. "Detention!" he shouted. "Room 20-"

"Yeah, yeah. I know what room its in," he interrupted dismissively, grabbing his backpack and then the slip his teacher shoved at him.

He sighed, slowly making his way across campus to the designated classroom. He handed the slip to the supervisor, who met him with a slight smile. "What brings you in today Carlos?"

He shrugged, taking a seat at the first available seat. "The usual."

"Which usual?" the woman asked with a chuckle. "Swearing, violence, blatant disrespect..."

"Pick your favorite," Carlos replied, resting his head on his desk. He liked Mrs. Harrison; she seemed to be the only teacher who saw past all the trouble he caused and didn't judge him for it. She was also extremely laid back; she didn't care if he followed the rules. She let them do whatever as long as it wasn't disruptive. Carlos typically choose to catch up on sleep rather than school work. There wasn't a point when he was so behind anyways. He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep doing what he did best. Dream.

All of his anxiety and fear from earlier quickly dissolved when he stepped foot into his advanced math class. It was the one sense of familiarity he had felt all day. It was also the first time he hadn't been scared out of his mind, that he felt secure and in control. That's why he loved math; it was consistent and never changed, much unlike his own life.

For once, he felt at home in the new town. He happily walked across the classroom to introduce himself as the new kid. The older man congratulated him sarcastically, demanding he take a seat. Wide-eyed and terrified, Logan did just that, silently sitting down in the first row, hoping the Satan-esque teacher didn't ruin his one escape.

Sorrow surrounded him as he stood on the soaked ground, silent and stoic. The air was thick with depression and one breath left him suffocated. His red, tear filled eyes peered around at all the sad faces, contorted with grief and wet with tears. He didn't know how to feel because he felt everything. Anger, sorrow, disbelief.

There he was and he still couldn't believe/accept it. The sad words washed over him and affected him so deeply, causing an aching pain to stab at his heart. He stole a glance at his best friend; he was staring at the scene, tears pouring down his cheeks, chest shaking with broken sobs. He couldn't imagine what he was going through. He was only experiencing a fraction of what his friend was and he felt like his world was completely interrupted. The other's world must've completely stopped. He hoped he would never have to endure that same pain.

Logan, for the second time that day, was thoroughly confused. He was a good kid, always happy to help out. But he couldn't help but question, as he roamed the halls aimlessly, why the teacher would send the new kid, across campus on his very first day to retrieve supplies from another teacher. He walked and walked, lost but too shy to ask anyone for help. Twenty minutes (at least) must've passed before he finally found his destination. He opened the door and walked in quietly, expecting/dreading everyone's eyes to be all over him. He was surprised to discover that no one was staring him down; no one seemed to care even the slightest, one kid was even sleeping. He wondered how the teacher could tolerate such blatant disrespect.

"Sorry, am I interrupting your class?" he asked, hesitantly approaching her desk.

"Oh no sweetie, this is just detention," she replied kindly. Logan's shock must've shown through because the young woman was chuckling lowly. "I know, I love that they use my math class for detention."

"Seems fitting though."

Logan turned around to see the sleeping kid was awake now to offer a snarky remark.

"No offense."

"Very funny Carlos," the teacher quipped, "So who sent you for what?"

"Mr. Johnson said you have some advanced calculus textbooks we could borrow," he answered.

"How many?"

"Well there's only 17 kids in the class," Logan chuckled awkwardly.

The teacher got up from her desk walking over to the cabinets. She opened one and crouched down, searching for the designated books. "Carlos!"

"What?" he questioned shortly, eyes focused on his unsteady, well broken in desk as his pencil scribbled across the worn, cracked surface.

"Erase it and get over here," Mrs. Harrison demanded in a knowing tone, without even turning around.

Logan's eyes widened a little in shock, watching as the boy in question grumbled and flipped his pencil around, rubbing his eraser against the desk surface. This woman was good.

Carlos sighed and stood up, deciding that he was in detention far too often. He trudged, somewhat reluctantly to where the other two were standing. Despite his less than willing attitude in the first place, Carlos had to admit this kid was kind of cute. He had a distinct innocence that not many in the area possessed. It wasn't just his appearance either; the way he carried himself, his over-expressive nature, the fact that he was in advanced calculus screamed obliviously innocent. This kid had to be new.

Carlos prided himself on his ability to read people, a gift acquired over the years and he could tell this boy was absolutely petrified. He couldn't say he blamed him; he would be terrified too if he was short little white boy in an equally diverse school where gang violence was rampant. Though he tried his hardest to stay away from all the violence (which was nearly impossible in his neighborhood), he was still extremely grateful for certain qualities of his that, in a sense, saved him from a lot of torment and ridicule. His Latino ethnicity and his myriad of tattoos painted on a facade of toughness kept him safe.

Though that was not to say he couldn't hold his own because he could (and win) his own battles. He often times had to, just to survive around these parts. Luckily, he wasn't completely alone; his best friend, Kendall, had his back.

He shook all this analyzation out of his head because it wasn't like him anyways. A solid weight dropping into his arms brought him back to reality and he peered down at the stack of textbooks he was now holding, face contorting in disinterest. His nose scrunched up in distaste.

"No thanks," he replied instantly, unable to stop these words. His hatred towards math was more than obvious but he honestly didn't care who knew because by now everyone did.

"Help Mr. Mitchell carry these back to his classroom, then come right back," Mrs. Harrison instructed, stacking a few more books onto his pile. He grunted at the extra weight but wasn't fazed by it, due to all the extra gym time he endured to improve his strength in case he got in any particularly nasty fights. It never hurt to be prepared, especially in a school with metal detectors at the front doors and policemen roaming the halls. Sure, inside the school was pretty safe but everywhere was fair game. He felt this was prime information for the new boy but he had a feeling the kid had no business out back of the school.

The ten advanced calculus books he was carrying made the fact that this kid was unbelievably intelligent very apparent and, because of this, he was hesitant to question the boy's path but they were passing the library for the fifth. He would've thought a kid enrolled in such smart classes would know where the library was. It must be his very first day.

"What room are these going to?" he asked lightly. He didn't want to offend the new kid but he had a feeling they'd wonder around forever if he didn't say something now.

"437," he replied timidly.

Carlos would be lying if he said the other's sweet shyness didn't bring a smile to his face. "That," he declared, spinning around and walking the other direction. "is the other way." The Latino smiled to himself as the kid quickly followed after him, almost like a little lost puppy.

By the time lunch rolled around, which signaled he was only halfway through the day, Logan really wanted to go home. He'd never felt so alienated and out of place before, especially at school. These education facilities were always a sanctuary for him, a safe haven of sorts. His old school was nothing like this; they had strict uniforms (parts of which he still wore), strongly enforced rules (most of which he felt were appropriate to follow all the time) and excellent academics.

This school had a very loose dress code (or maybe no one cared to reprimand the girls who exposed way too much of everything nor the guys who were sporting sagging pants as well as violent, offensive shirts), no rules to enforce (the only enforcement there was the law enforcement) and academics were obviously not a priority (if the idiots in his normal classes were any indication). Honestly he was surprised the school had any advanced classes at all. Granted he was enrolled in the only two; his calculus class and college level physics class, both of which were necessary pre-med classes.

He sighed; how did his mom expect him to succeed and become a highly esteemed doctor while attending a school like this? Now more than ever, he was questioning his mom's decision to uproot them here to Minnesota of all places. Not only did LA hold many opportunities for him, the weather there was actually meant for humans. Under his multiple layers, he was still freezing in the Minnesota cold. After he was unable to locate a safe seat inside, he settled for a table in the outside courtyard. Alone, like he was used to.

He was biting into his wholegrain turkey sandwich when, much to his surprise, someone was sitting on the bench beside him. He looked up, wiping a smudge of mayo from his lip, as he recognized it to be the kid from earlier. Swallowing his bite, he was about to ask what the other wanted when he was beat to it.

"You gonna finish that?" he asked, gesturing towards the other half of his sandwich.

Logan shook his head gently. "No. Go for it," he muttered, taking another bite of his own half. He was absolutely shocked to see the other boy wearing just a thin long sleeve shirt. How was he not freezing to death?

"Why're you sitting outside?"

Logan was slightly confused why the poorly dressed boy was question his location outside. "Because everyone inside looks like they could kill me," he answered meekly, finishing the last bite of his sandwich.

The most worrisome fact was the other's simple shrug and reply of, "Touche."

He took a bite of his apple, willing his sudden apprehension away. He was already nervous; he didn't need reassurance that everyone at this school could kill him.

"So what're you doin' here?"

"Going to school," Logan replied slowly as if it were the most obvious thing in the world because what else would he be doing here, at school.

The Latino boy chuckled, shaking his head. "I meant in Minnesota."

"Oh," Logan whispered, cheeks flushing in embarrassed realization. "Honestly? I don't even know why. My mom said it was a great job opportunity for her. But I don't see how taking a doctor position at a hospital in Minnesota is a great opportunity..."

"Your mom's a doctor?"

Logan nodded.

Carlos cringed. If this kid's mom was a doctor, then they were certainly pretty well off, probably fairly rich. That was dangerous around these parts; he knew this first hand. Rich kids were like bait to the greedy, aggressive predators of this school. And with such a sweet innocence, this boy would be eaten alive. Carlos already felt a strong urge to protect this boy. It was fairly obvious the other couldn't do it himself; despite being extremely cute, his purity and lack of muscle wouldn't help the least bit in a fight. This school was notorious for those.

"Being a rich kid around here will get you fucked up or mugged," Carlos seemed to notice his wide-eyed, horrified expression. "For your own safety, you should probably hang with me. I can protect you." The boy's lips were just about to curl into a smirk when a tall blond boy interrupted, taking a seat beside the shorter Latino boy.

Kendall sighed irritatedly, glancing around the cafeteria to locate his best friend. After searching the cafeteria to no avail, his eyes drifted to the side, noticing his friend sitting outside with the new kid who was in his gym class. He watched the two for a second, observing their casual conversation and how the new kid bit his lip and blushed. Kendall felt a strange anxiety rush over him that, for a second, he couldn't place.

Then it hit him; this had heartbreak written all over it. Nevertheless, he went out there, more than a little curious about the situation. His teeth chattered at the cold air as he rubbed his gloved hands together, trying to regain some of their warmth. He smiled as he sat down next to his friend.

"Hey Kendall," Carlos chirped. "Logan here is rich so I told him we'd protect him."

Kendall felt a deep pang in his heart. He felt almost like someone had knocked the air right from his lungs. Rich. Protect him. He had to shake the vivid image of his sweet brunette out of his mind. It hadn't even been a year yet and it still hurt like hell. Some would call it denial but it was self preservation; he knew what a single thought of the brunette would do to him and he couldn't put himself through that agony again (he'd already endured it a total of five times that day so far).

Logan tried to ignore the way this stranger's eyes darkened with a morbid knowledge. He could easily sense there was something wrong; he'd always been extremely perceptive. But he didn't even need intuitive perception to see the deep sorrow the other felt. Despite his nagging curiosity, he knew it was not an appropriate time or matter to discuss. Granted, he had just met these two but he often found himself pondering people's stories and this was no exception.

He watched only mildly confused as the blond shook his head and abruptly got up, storming away. The weirdest part was that Carlos wasn't even phased by it at all. Logan found he didn't have time to think about it as the ending bell signaled and their next class would start in five minutes. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, the brunette gathered his trash, throwing it away in the garbage can inside.

Stealing a glance left then right, he reached into his backpack pocket to retrieve his schedule to check his next class' room number. Panic rushed over him as he began to frantically search the pocket, unable to find his schedule. How did he lose it? He was so careful and meticulous about these sort of things; there was no way...

That's when the anxiety set in. If he didn't have his schedule and he couldn't figure out where his class was, he would surely be late and then it would go on his permanent record and he'd have a black mark on his record forever to follow him everywhere. He could feel the strain to bring air into his lungs and no amount of breathing exercises could help his heaving chest.

Just then, the Latino boy, his forced acquaintance, popped up beside him, reading a folded white piece of paper. "Cool, you have choir with me and Kendall now," Carlos commented casually.

Logan's eyes went wide in realization and he snatched his schedule back. "How'd you get that?"

Carlos shrugged. "Took it."

"When?" his face contorted in shock and horror.

"Right before you got up," the other boy answered honestly. He didn't seem to be affected by Logan's disbelief.

"Let me lead the way to class!"

"Only if you promise not to steal anything else," Logan murmured bitterly, unknowingly pouting.

Carlos chuckled and smiled, bouncing ahead of the smart boy, wondering if this rule applied to his heart as well. "I can't promise anything."

Logan was pleased when he got to class, perfectly on time. But he wasn't sure how to feel about having a class with Carlos. The other boy was extremely talkative. He never seemed to stop talking; it was like there was no filter between his brain and his mouth. It made it really hard to concentrate.

Granted, it was only choir but he really didn't want to get in trouble. That wasn't something he did frequently or ever. Well, there was that one time in health class when he ran out of calss without permission during a video about the miracle of birth. It was unexpectedly graphic and, despite his desire to one day become a doctor, it was just too much to handle for the then sophomore.

Even though no one was paying attention or being respectful, Logan was not about to go down the delinquent path (even though about 93% of the school was already down that path). On that note, Logan noticed Carlos' friend wasn't in class. Was he skipping? Considering the school's record, he wouldn't be surprised; half the class was probably skipping right now.

Logan shook all these thoughts out of his head, forcing himself to pay attention and, for once, not thinking at all, per his teacher's suggestion. Because singing didn't require thinking, it required feeling, something he was entirely not used to.

Ecstatic didn't even begin to cover it as he exited his last period of the day. He never thought he'd ever be so happy to get out of school and now he was practically running for the door. Though, he was not particularly looking forward to riding the bus home that afternoon. Considering how much fun school had been, a bus full of these kids would make for a delightful ride. His excitement to get out of school (for once) and his apprehension about the bus ride both vanished simultaneously at the sight of all the buses pulling out of the parking lot.

"Crap," he sighed, throwing his arms up in the air exasperatedly. Now, instead of worrying about the delinquents bus, he had to worry about how he was going to get home. His mom was in the middle of surgery and wouldn't be out for another three hours so that was out of the question. He contemplated just walking home because it couldn't take that long but it was numbingly cold out and Logan really didn't want to walk home in that. He found he was slowly running out of options. He was about to settle with waiting three hours for his mom in the library when a vaguely familar voice called out to him.

"Hey shorty."

He turned around, an irritated frown on his face; he was short, he knew that. He didn't need to be reminded, especially by someone barely a few inches taller than himself. There was that boy again, the Latino, Carlos, who'd been following him around all day. He wasn't particularly sure if he considered this boy a friend. Sure, he seemed nice but he was a little weary of the vast amounts of ink covering his carmel skin.

He was raised to be very open-minded and judging others wasn't in his nature. But, in this town, tattoos seemed to represent danger and rebellion. And this boy had enough to scare his entire hometown and LA was not a small town. The multicolored inks were scattered all across his collarbone, a few trailing up the sides of his neck. Logan was unsure why anyone would get tattoos there or anywhere for that matter. They were permanent, under your skin forever and many jobs looked down on things like that.

Despite this, he was intrigued, finding his eyes lingering on the visible tattoos and wondering if he had any more. He mentally snapped himself out of it, finding these thoughts were too foreign to him. He'd had thoughts about guys before; he'd come to terms with that years ago. His mom even knew and accepted him for it. It was the fact he was having these thoughts, however small, about a boy like this; this guy definitely wasn't his usual type.

His thoughts (the rare occasion they were focused on anything but academics) were occupied with those much like himself, smart, driven, hard-working. Not some tattooed boy he met in detention. That his mom wouldn't approve of. He couldn't imagine that conversation then found he didn't want to.

"What?" he snapped, thinking that he probably could've been a lot nicer but he was tired adn disappointed and just wanted to go home but now he didn't even get to do that.

"You miss your ride or somethin'?"

"Yeah," Logan whispered, cheeks flushed in embarrassment despite the cold weather.

"I'm sure Kendall could drive you home," he volunteered, gesturing over to his friend, standing in the distance.

Logan turned his head, eyes landing on said boy. He was leaning against a tree, lit cigarette tucked between his lips. His face scrunched up in disgust. His mom was a doctor; she'd shown him firsthand how dangerous smoking was and what it did to your body. He vowed right then and there that he would never smoke in his life. He was confused why anyone did it.

Part of him wanted to decline that offer so bad and just wait in the library for his mom but his desire to go straight home insisted different. Before he could express his decision, Carlos was gripping his wrist, dragging him over to the other boy. He held his breath, not wanting any of that disgusting smoke in his lungs. Luckily, neither boy seemed to notice.

"Hey Kendall," the Latino called, seemingly unaffected by the smoke thick in the air. "Can you give Logan a ride home? He missed his."

The boy shrugged and stomped out his cigarette. "Sure."

Logan let out the breath he'd been holding and inhaled deeply, relishing the feel of clean air in his lungs as he followed the two boys over to a black ford mustang. He slid in the backseat while the other two slid up front. He was pleasantly surprised at the lack of smokey smell in the car. Once his seat belt was buckled, his eyes focused forward, falling on a picture taped to the dashboard.

It was of a boy, who looked to be around their own age. He had soft brown hair swept to the side and chocolate brown eyes. The sun was shining brightly behind him but even that wasn't as radiant as the boy's smile. The boy was flashing the camera a big, wide smile that possessed such a giddy happiness that he'd never seen before.

His natural curiosity got the best of him and he was just about to ask who the boy in the picture was when the driver interrupted this thought to ask for directions. Logan gave them idly, staring out the window and reflecting on an interesting first day.