AN: Oh my gosh...hey guys! So, it's been over two years since I've updated this thing...it hardly seems like that but oh well...I'm so so sorry to all of you who like this! I promise it's still going! It's going to be a bit shorter than I intended because I'm already planning for a sequel, but this story is definitely back up and running. It's been so long, and I'm worried the BTR fandom isn't as active anymore, so I hope some of you still read this. I know I owe you guys an explanation so...

I've been having a really hard time lately. Well, literally since I last posted this. I won't go into detail because you guys don't need to be burdened with all of that, but writing used to be my escape from pretty much everything and for some reason, lately it's like I can't write. I don't know what it is, but I'm really trying to keep my stories updated and everything. I just feel like I have no passion for anything and I think I'm really depressed now for some reason, so please bare with me. I'm trying.

Enough of all that though. CHAPTER THREE! Good gracious it's been so long, but here's some more angst for you all! Enjoy!


He'd been in what some might deem excruciating pain countless times before now, of course.

Considering one of his favorite activities was hockey, (and he was literally checked at least half a dozen times per game,) he had grown accustomed to periodically feeling as though he'd collided with a brick wall. But when Logan eventually regained consciousness, he felt as though he were dying. In fact, he was quite sure he'd been thrown off the back of a speeding vehicle and then trampled by a herd of elephants, because he couldn't imagine anything else could possibly make him feel this bad.

He'd barely regained awareness when the pain in his back surfaced, and his eyes snapped open as he arched up from the couch he was now lying on. It took him a moment to get his bearings. Hadn't he been in his own bed? And he'd gone to get water, and he'd meant to sit down because he really hadn't been feeling all that steady, and then...oh yeah. He passed out cold like a girl in a 1930s horror flick. As if he didn't already want to crawl into a hole most of the time anyway...

He figured he'd landed on his back based on how sore he currently was. Thank God. He'd rather a sore back than a busted up nose; (Those hurt way worse, he knew. Another courtesy of hockey...). With a grimace, he sat up and breathed heavily as the room began to spin. His hand flew to his head as his vision swam, and he said a silent prayer of thanks when the room began to piece itself back together in his focus. He sighed and swung his legs over the edge of the couch, then turned towards the kitchen when he heard a noise.

"Kendall?"

His friend was on his hands and knees in the kitchen, one hand wrapped in a towel as he gingerly grabbed what looked like shards of glass off the floor, before placing them in a plastic bag in front of him. He jolted and his eyes snapped upwards upon hearing Logan's voice.

"Hey," he said quickly, dropping the glass he was holding along with the towel and stepping quickly over the mess to hurry into the living room. "You all right?" he asked, placing a hand on Logan's shoulder and peering closely at him.

Logan lowered his head when he realized his eyes still couldn't quite focus. Blearily, he nodded. "How long was I out?"

Kendall shook his head. "Like, ten minutes, maybe."

"Sorry if I woke you."

Kendall scoffed. "You should've woke me earlier," he scolded. "Why didn't you tell me you felt so bad?" He began to ascend the stairs, heading to retrieve the thermometor from the upstairs bathroom.

"I didn't feel that bad until I woke up," Logan protested weakly. Kendall didn't answer, already having reached the second floor and moving towards the bathroom. Logan sighed, his eyes traveling to the mess of glass on the kitchen floor.

He guiltily realized he must have dropped his cup of water when he passed out, and said cup was now scattered across the kitchen floor in dangerous shards. Boy, wasn't he great? He upset their lives enough, first with trying to conceal the torment of his biological home, then by moving in with them, as if poor Mrs. Knight didn't already have enough to worry about, what with raising two kids on her own with a fairly meager budget. And now he was ruining what few material possessions they had.

Great job, Logan. As always...

He pushed himself up using the armrest of the couch and stood shakily, then headed slowly for the kitchen. Wavering a bit before dropping to his knees beside the glass, he resumed the task Kendall had started. He didn't bother with the towel, instead using his bare hands to grab the shards, which weren't even that sharp. He'd nearly finished when he heard Kendall clomp back down the stairs behind him.

"What are you doing?" came the accusatory question almost immediately.

Logan coughed a bit before turning to answer. "I'm cleaning this up."

"Logan," Kendall started, setting something down on the side table by the couch and coming to his side. "You're sick."

"And I broke this, so I'm cleaning it up."

"Y-..." Kendall stopped, staring at him a bit incredulously. "Logan," he said. "You're sick. I don't expect you to clean this up, okay? I expect you to go upstairs and rest and let me take care of you."

"You don't have to," Logan said quietly, leaning back to sit on his heels.

"I want to," Kendall replied. "And I need to. You're my brother and it's my job." He sighed and took a hold of Logan's arm carefully. "Come on," he said firmly. "Upstairs."

Logan reluctantly began to rise, then stumbled and abruptly sank back down to the ground. "I think the floor's better right now," he mumbled, eyes closing as the world began to spin once more.

Okay, scratch mere concern, Kendall was officially and thoroughly worried now. Logan had gone even paler except for the deep flush on his cheeks, and he looked like he was going to keel over once again.

Kendall pressed a hand to the back of his friend's head and gently lowered it closer to the ground. "Keep it between your knees," he ordered, and Logan obeyed silently.

They stayed like that for a while, before Logan raised his head and peered up at Kendall with bleary eyes. "Couch?"

Kendall nodded. "Yeah, sure. Come on." He crouched and gently grabbed Logan's arm again, this time slinging it over his shoulder before hauling him to his feet. He steadied Logan as he swayed, waiting until the shorter boy nodded before helping him to the couch.

Logan wouldn't lay down, instead opting for sitting and ducking his head between his knees once more. Kendall grabbed the thermometer off the end table and crouched by his friend's side. He nudged his shoulder. "Here."

Logan accepted the object slowly, placing it under his tongue before cradling his head in his hands again. Kendall stood uneasily beside him, arms crossed over his chest as he waited. The device beeped a few seconds later, and Logan didn't even bother examining it himself, another worrisome sign pointing towards how awful he must have been feeling. He removed it from his mouth and immediately extended it to Kendall, who took it and peered closely at the numbers in the dim light.

103.2?!

"Logan..." he said quietly.

Logan didn't even raise his head. "What is it?"

"...It's high."

Logan seemed to contemplate Kendall's response carefully for a few moments, before promptly flopping back to lay on the couch. He slung a hand over his eyes as his dizziness only intensified. "It'll be fine." He received no answer, and uncovered his eyes just enough to look up at Kendall. "What?"

Kendall hesitated. "Maybe we should go over to the Diamonds'." Actually, he'd really rather the Garcias, considering James' mother could give the Hulk a run for his money when it came to her so called "nurturing". But of course, Carlos and his family had to be on vacation right now.

"We don't need to."

"Logan, I'm not a doctor," Kendall protested. "You're really sick and I don't know what to do."

Logan sighed tiredly. "Just...it's fine right now, okay? If I think we need help I'll tell you."

"You won't. I know you and you won't say a word."

"I will," Logan promised. "As long as it stays under 104, it's fine."

"And if it doesn't, I can call someone?"

Clearly he wasn't going to win; although really, no one ever won when they were against Kendall. "Yeah, sure."

Kendall nodded, still clearly uneasy. But it was almost five in the morning and he was tired, and didn't feel like arguing the case any further. He sighed. "What do you need me to do right now?"

"Just go to bed, I'll be fine."

Kendall looked at him incredulously. "Logan, I'm not gonna leave you down here."

"It's late."

"…It's after five. I'd be up in a bit anyway."

Logan didn't say anything, knowing that Kendall was only trying to make him feel better. None of them ever got up before 6:30 unless they absolutely had to. He let his eyes drop guiltily to the blanket he'd pulled over his legs.

Kendall sighed a bit, flopping down in the rocking chair adjacent to the couch and pulling his phone from his pocket. "Logan," he said, realizing that the younger boy was still wearing the same expression. "Chill. Just go back to sleep, okay? I'm fine here."

Logan nodded a bit dazedly before letting his head drop back on the pillow. Kendall's gaze returned to his phone as he began scrolling through his news feed.

"Kendall?"

"Yeah?"

"...Thanks."

He smiled lightly as Logan's eyes began to drift closed. "No problem, buddy."


"Kendall..."

The plea pulled Kendall from a blissful sleep and he startled awake, instantly regretting his quick movements as the springs of the rocking chair dug painfully into his back. He grunted, pushing himself up from the so-called "cushion" and wincing as his back cracked. He and Katie had been begging their mother for months to get a new chair, or at the very least get rid of their current one. He was sure the Smithsonian would love it...

He rubbed his eyes groggily, annoyed at whatever had pulled him from a truly fantastic dream where he had been teaching a group of teenage girls how to play hockey...

"Kendall..."

He hadn't even realized he'd drifted off again until his eyes snapped open, and he suddenly remembered why he was curled up in a twisted blob on what was likely the oldest torture relic from the medieval era. He sat up, eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness as they fell on the couch.

"Logan," he said quietly, standing and hurrying to his side. "What's the matter?"

Logan had a shaking hand over his eyes and lay drenched in sweat. He somehow looked even worse than he had just a short while ago. Kendall's cool hand was immediately on his forehead, and Logan exhaled shakily at the comforting gesture.

"C-can you get me ibuprofen?" he asked quietly.

"Is it your head?"

He nodded.

Kendall was glad his friend couldn't see the clear uneasiness on his face. Logan didn't feel any warmer than earlier, but he looked ten times worse and he certainly hadn't been in this much pain. His worry only intensified.

"Do you want me to call the Diamonds?"

"No..."

"But I'm pretty sure you hit your head when you fell, and if it hurts this bad, then-"

"Kendall," Logan interrupted, sitting up shakily and leaning on his elbow so he could look his friend in the face. "I have a migraine. I thought that's what it was when I woke up and that's why I passed out and the fever's so high."

Okay, that really didn't make him feel any better. He'd seen Logan with a migraine before and it had never looked this bad. Of course, it had always been his mom that dealt with it and not him, but still...

"But you look like you need a hospital," Kendall insisted.

"There's nothing the hospital can do that we can't. Except make us go broke." He gingerly flopped back down on the pillow but winced nonetheless as his head made contact with the cushion. "Just...get me some ibuprofen or something and I'll be fine."

Kendall unfroze, hurrying from his spot by the couch and to the stairs. "Okay," he muttered. "I'll be right back."

He headed once again to the upstairs bathroom, switching on the light and pulling open the mirror to examine the medicine cabinet. The choices were scarce; some old eyedrops, heartburn medication, and some medicated lotion for dry skin among other things. No Tylenol, no ibuprofen. Kendall tried in vain to remember the last time he'd even seen a bottle of either, but came up blank. Great. Just great.

He hurried into his own room, flicking on the light and surveying he and Logan's separate dressers for any pill bottles, but again, nothing. He thought hard for a second, then grabbed Logan's school bag from where it was hanging on the back of a chair. His friend usually kept a bottle of something or other in there for any hockey injuries, something the other three were grateful for, considering they barely remembered their names half the time. Kendall fished around a bit blindly, too lazy to aim the bag towards the light. He heard the bottle rattling, if he could just-

His fingers brushed against something cold and hard. His brow furrowed, and he closed his fingers around the object carefully before pulling it out into the light. He was about 99% sure his heart stopped.

A razor blade?

Why the heck would Logan have a razor blade?

The object gleamed in the light from the ceiling fan as Kendall held it with a shaking hand. His eyes rose slowly to the door, knowing that he'd already been gone too long and that Logan could very well come in search of the medication himself if he didn't hurry up. His gaze flickered nervously back to the metal tool in his hand.

There had to be a perfectly logical explanation. The blade was clean, shining like a brand new penny, so it couldn't have been used for...certainly not anything Kendall was thinking. How stupid could he be? This was Logan. Logan Mitchell, who wanted to be a doctor. Logan Mitchell, who kept the other three from doing what would likely be incredibly dangerous things. Logan Mitchell, who was literally a mom; 'You could break your leg, Carlos.' 'James, if you keep combing your hair at this rate you're going to develop arthritis.' 'You should really read these nutrition facts, Kendall, they're really eye opening.'

Logan Mitchell...who had a razor blade in his schoolbag.

Kendall again realized he'd been gone far too long, and quickly found and grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen before putting Logan's bag back in place. He looked uncertainly at the razor. What if Logan needed it for a project or something, and that's why he had it? Maybe it was like...some sort of art thing, and that's why he had it. Or he found it and meant to throw it away. Or...or he was-

Kendall bit his lip harshly because no. That was absolutely not a possibility. Logan was not...he wasn't cutting himself. It would be dangerous and stupid and reckless and Logan was way too smart for that. Things had been awful lately, Kendall knew that. The custody fight and the legal process had taken an emotional toll on his friend but...Logan would come to them if he was seriously in trouble, right? He would come to him, or Carlos, or James, or his mom or someone instead of cutting his own skin...wouldn't he?

...Of course he would, you idiot.

Despite his own reassurances, Kendall slipped the blade into his pocket. It couldn't hurt to ask, right? Just to confirm there was nothing wrong. He knew there was a logical explanation.

Exhaling a bit shakily, he hurried from the room and headed downstairs, unscrewing the lid of the bottle and extending it to Logan when he reached the couch. The shorter boy took it gladly, uttering a "Thanks" before popping two of the pills dry. Kendall took the bottle back silently, praying his face didn't betray him. He couldn't help but stare at Logan's arms, crossed back over his eyes and covered by the boy's long sleeved pajama shirt. He couldn't see anything, and for a moment he actually considered asking Logan up front about the blade.

He dropped back down into the rocking chair, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. He couldn't do that. Kendall had no problem with confrontation. Just about everyone in their small town knew that if he had an issue, he wouldn't stay silent for long. He'd been reprimanded on more than one occasion after confronting both kids his own age and adults if he thought something was unjust or wrong. And the rule applied to his friends. If he thought something was the matter, he would pull them aside, ask them straight up and dig until he got to whatever the root of the problem was. It was a known fact among the four of them. Privacy almost didn't exist, at least if Kendall was involved.

But Logan was the complete opposite. He respected people's space unless he thought they were in danger or something. He didn't pry, didn't beg to be told what was going on, didn't chastise until they caved like Kendall sometimes did. He waited, and if the person came to him, great. If they didn't, and if it bugged him, he never let it show.

He didn't divulge things about his own life, either. Kendall had a tough time getting him to talk about anything regarding himself. James was usually pretty open. A serious problem took a bit more digging, but he eventually caved. Carlos was an open book, spilling anything and everything he felt the moment he felt it. Logan just...he never wanted to talk. At least about himself, anyway. It had taken Kendall months to practically drag the details of his home life out of him, and even then, the entire experience had been awful for him. Kendall was sure an angry confrontation just after a migraine wouldn't be very helpful.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, letting his eyes alternate between Logan's dosing form and his cell phone. It must have been about half an hour before Logan fell asleep, and Kendall could tell the medication and the headache had really knocked him out this time. His right arm fell by his side and hung loosely.

Kendall knew he shouldn't have done it. A major prying session was one thing, but literally checking his best friend's wrists while he was passed out on the couch was like, well...he was sure it was all kinds of wrong. It was a major invasion of privacy at the very least. But he couldn't help himself. Light was finally streaming through the windows, and Logan was totally out, and his arm was just hanging there...

And suddenly Kendall was low on his knees and gently grasping the sleeve on Logan's right arm, pulling it up slightly and keeping his eyes on his friend's face to ensure he didn't wake. No response whatsoever. Yep, Logan was out.

Kendall returned his gaze to the thin wrist and pulled the sleeve up more, moving so he could see it in the light.

He released his hold in an instant and sat back on his heels, stunned.

Oh, Logan...


AN: Sooooooooooo, what'd ya think? Next chapter is already in my head and sort of written, so hopefully I'll have it up soon! Please review! God bless you all!

-downtonabbey15