A/N: So, last chapter was kind of a milestone. Firstly, it was the 20th chapter of the story, which is the most chapters a story of mine has ever contained. Secondly, I broke 100k words! Wow. That makes this the longest story I've ever written. And thirdly, I reached over 300 reviews! So I want to give a huuuuge THANK YOU to every single reader and reviewer. I appreciate your constant support, and especially your patience as I struggle with updates. Please continue to leave me some feedback; I love hearing thoughts, reactions, critiques, anything. It motivates me ;) This chapter might seem like a filler, but it's setting up the next one.

P.S. Another thing that came to my attention was the scene in 'Big Time Contest' when we see Logan driving. I AM SO PROUD OF HIM. Finally gettin' his license. Obviously in this story he does not have it, but still. XD

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort. Unbeta'ed

Chapter 21
Bad Dreams

After everything that had happened recently, James figured Logan would be taking things the hardest. After all, Logan was frequently labeled as the most timid member of the group, and had a definite tendency to overreact to trivial situations. Logan was always thinking, always calculating, observing, studying. His brain worked out the most rational solution to a problem. And by using a Logan way of logic, it was easy to assume the small, panicky, and somewhat pessimistic teen would be suffering more extensively than the rest.

But, like most assumptions, James's was wrong.

His right arm was sore and heavy from being draped limply over Carlos's shoulders. The Latino had his knees pulled up to his chest and his face buried somewhere in James's shoulder as he cried, and cried, and cried.

They were in Logan's room, and had been for about an hour. The sun would be coming up soon, but no one had yet attempted sleep. Logan had retired to a beanbag chair in the corner of the room while James sat on the bed with his back against the wall and Carlos clinging to his shirt.

James's head dropped frequently, so he wiped a quick hand over his face to keep himself awake. Fatigue and anxiety had drained his body considerably, but he wouldn't fall asleep; not when Carlos needed him. James would stay up all night if he had to, offering comfort to Carlos and waiting patiently for the boy to either pull himself together or cry himself to sleep.

That's what Kendall would do.

There was a wet spot rapidly growing on James's shirt, which was a result of Carlos's ceaseless tears. Occasionally Carlos would attempt to suppress his sobs, causing his body to jerk with an infrequent hiccup. But Carlos's childish distress wasn't his fault, it was James's. James was obviously the most composed of the group. If he couldn't prevent Carlos from dehydrating himself from lost tears, or get Logan to snap out of the unresponsive state he'd fallen into an hour ago… Well, that was on James. Someone had to take responsibility. Someone had to be calm and keep control.

He just didn't know how to go about doing that.

A particularly loud whimper from Carlos made James nearly jump in surprise. Carlos pressed himself closer to James's side and took a shuddery breath. James fought the urge to roll his eyes at his friend's immature display of emotion. Because, really? Crying was going to bring Kendall back? Yeah, didn't think so.

It occurred to him then that the last time James saw Kendall was over twelve hours ago. Didn't Carlos's dad always say the first forty-eight hours were the most crucial in a kidnapping investigation? Kendall's chances dropped more and more with every tick of the clock. He could be hundreds of miles away. He could be dead. Carlos and Logan were acting as though they'd given up, and Kendall never let one of them give up, on anything. To do so would be an insult to his memory.

If Kendall were dead, anyway. Which, in all honesty, he probably was.

Huh.

As Carlos's body lurched with an onslaught of hiccups, there was a light knock on the door.

"Guys?" Mrs. Knight poked her head into the room. She wore sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. The auburn hair that framed her pale face was tangled and unkempt. "Can I come in?"

When the three members of Big Time Rush had finally been allowed to leave the hospital, James was fairly certain they'd be yet again questioned by detectives or forced to sit through a session of beautiful Dr. Connell holding up inkblots. He was pleasantly surprised when Mrs. Knight entered Carlos's room and announced they were free to leave. She was grinning broadly when she said it, which probably meant she'd done some ruthless reprimanding until the police or hospital staff finally relented and let her take her boys home.

Everything about her changed during the ride home.

The long ride from Fayeville to Los Angeles was mostly silent; listening to the radio was out of the question because Kendall's Amber alert played every so often and made everyone sick to their stomachs. Logan actually rolled down the window at one point, no doubt fearing he would vomit. It never quite came to that, but when a passing car's headlights flashed through the interior of the minivan, James saw that Logan's complexion appeared rather green.

"Please try to get some sleep," said Mrs. Knight. She took a small step forward, eyes shifting between Carlos and Logan on either sides of the room. "Either that, or talk to me. Or let me call someone for you to talk to. Dr. Connell said she's available for us twenty-four hours."

She was trying, James knew. She wanted to help them and make sure they were alright. But she didn't understand. She didn't realize that nothing was alright, and unless Kendall was found alive and well, nothing would be alright ever again.

No one answered. With a sorrowful sigh, Mrs. Knight approached Carlos. James didn't remove his grip from the Latino as she lowered herself on the bed next to him. "Sweetie, look at me."

Carlos did, slowly, wiping his wet face against James's shirt instead of using one of his hands. The skin around his eyes was red and puffy, and his brown eyes shined with a soft, dismal glow.

Mrs. Knight placed a motherly hand on his face. James was glad to see it wasn't shaking. During the ride home, Kendall's mother's hands trembled so violently that she had to pull over on the shoulder of the road. It happened several times, and every time she was too stricken with grief to do much else but cry. James was just thankful Katie had fallen asleep and didn't have to see it.

Mrs. Knight's tears were the trigger for Carlos's. His CT scan turned out fine; there was no blood in his brain, and with some rest the doctor assured he'd be good as new. After the second time Mrs. Knight pulled over, Carlos lost it. Logan awkwardly reached over in his seat to rub Carlos's back while Carlos stifled as much noise as he could by use of his jacket sleeve. Katie stirred only once, then fell back to sleep muttering something that sounded suspiciously like her brother's name.

The doctor had instructed Carlos be woken from sleep every few hours during the first twenty-four hours of his injury. When the Latino finally nodded off in the car, James and Logan were reluctant to pull him away from a world of happy colors and warmth.

"The police are doing everything they can," Mrs. Knight told Carlos. She used her thumb to wipe away a stray tear that rolled down his cheek. Carlos tried to nod, but ended up sniffling and leaning into the touch of her hand. Mrs. Knight stooped down and kissed his forehead.

Carlos opened his eyes and swallowed. "Maybe," he said, voice rough and congested with tears, "if you kiss me right here, it'll help me feel better." He unlatched an arm from James to point at a spot under his eye.

She smiled a thin, watery smile, but nonetheless complied and pressed her lips against his face. "Better?" she asked, smoothing back some disheveled hair.

Carlos managed a small curve of his lips and nodded his head giddily.

"I know it's hard, but try to get some sleep."

Carlos sniffled a couple times before nodding once more. Mrs. Knight shifted her gaze to James, but he could only meet her bloodshot eyes for a few moments before he shied away. Maybe it was because Carlos had been attached to him for the past hour, but James's legs felt suddenly restless. He shifted positions slightly, hoping to alleviate some discomfort. Carlos tightened his arms around James's middle, and James sighed tiredly as his friend nestled closer.

The bedsprings squeaked as Mrs. Knight left the bed to cross the room. She kneeled to the carpet before Logan, who didn't seem to notice her presence. James's heart ached in sympathy for the anxious mother. He couldn't believe how strong she was, how she could manage to bounce between four practically disconsolate children and offer them smiles and subtle optimism through the gentle touches of her hands.

"Logan," Mrs. Knight said softly. His eyes seemed unusually gray and lackluster; it was as though he wasn't there at all. With a grip so tender it appeared her fingertips barely brushed his skin, Mrs. Knight took Logan's face in her hands and forced him to look at her. "Sweetheart."

He blinked then; the first sign of life James had witnessed from Logan in nearly an hour. The beanbag chair crinkled faintly as Logan was presumably pulled from his inertness. Both were quiet for several moments as Logan inhaled deeply a few times and Mrs. Knight soothingly stroked his hair.

"I was just thinking," said Logan. His voice was no louder than a choked whisper; it sounded almost painful.

"About what?" asked Kendall's mom.

His lips twitched into a frown. James was familiar with the look of oncoming tears. "Just… everything."

She hugged him then, without much warning. One arm hooked around Logan's neck and the other around his shoulder. She pressed her face into the softness of his hair and whispered in his ear, but James couldn't make out any distinct words. Logan seemed surprised at the contact at first, but when Mrs. Knight continued to hang on he closed his eyes and relaxed into the embrace.

The brief intervals of time between Carlos's onslaught of sobs and Logan's catatonic-like trances were always filled with relief. It took pressure off James's heart to be immersed in a moment free of sniffles and muffled sobs from Carlos. James watched the two people in the corner of the room and felt his body attempt to pull him into sleep.

"Mom?" said a tiny voice at the door.

James had carried sleeping Katie into the apartment when they arrived not long ago, and with Logan's help had tucked her snugly into bed. She stood now in her same pink pajamas and her brown hair in a messy tangle around her head. "Mom?" she repeated in a sob.

The last time James had seen Kendall's sister cry was when she was an infant. In fact, there were numerous times when Katie proved to be the most level-headed and mature of them all. It didn't seem right to see her upset.

Mrs. Knight pulled away from Logan and turned to face her daughter. "It's going to be okay, baby," she told Katie. Logan received a peck on the temple before Mrs. Knight stood and hurried to Katie's side. "Come on. I'll tuck you in."

"I don't want to sleep," Katie sniffled, but Mrs. Knight was already ushering her out the door.

The room fell still. James could feel his figure become limp, and began to see colored pictures behind his suddenly closed eyelids. Carlos's body was warm against his, and James had to admit he was at ease. Sleep was about to take him when a rustling in the corner made the colors flee.

"Do you think she's mad about the car?"

He inhaled deeply and cracked an eye open at Logan's hushed voice. Irritation laced his words: "Seriously? You're really thinking about the car right now?"

Logan sank down low into the squishy chair and loosely griped two fistfuls of his hair. Tears sat in his eyes but refused to spill over. "I'm so scared, James."

"No!" Carlos shouted, lifting his head. The abrupt outburst startled James, and he gasped as Carlos pulled away from him for the first time since entering Logan's room. "Don't say that!" he cried, beginning to sob once more. "No one say it."

"Well we're all thinking it, aren't we?" responded Logan.

Carlos hugged his arms around his body as it shook and shivered in his flurry. "I know, but I don't want anyone to actually say it, because if you say it that means it's real, and I just... I just want it to be a bad dream." His breaths became quicker, and soon the tears resumed their fall down his round cheeks.

Something simmered in James's chest. When Logan finally stood and made his way over to the bed, the feeling increased to a boil. Logan slowly lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress and slid an arm around Carlos's heaving shoulders. His expression was the epitome of dejection, but it didn't stop Carlos from tossing both arms around his friend's torso and crying shamelessly against Logan's chest.

James was thankful for the break, and used the opportunity to stand and stretch his muscles. When he looked down and saw the wet stain on the front of his shirt, his feelings heated. They intensified even more at the sounds of Carlos's deafening wails.

Kendall probably would have had more control, but at the moment James ignored the thought. "Carlos, can you stop crying?" he groaned in exasperation. He ran both hands through his hair and messed it all up.

"Hey," Logan chided.

James's voice only made Carlos cry harder and Logan hold him tighter.

"We can't just sit here and feel sorry for ourselves," James gritted out. "We should be doing something to find Kendall. We should be helping him. That's what he'd be doing for us, right? He wouldn't be sitting here crying—"

"James, stop it," Logan growled, glancing down at Carlos. "He's scared."

Carlos's fist clenched firmly around a wad of Logan's shirt. He whimpered and pressed his face to the crook of Logan's neck, shoulders racking with relentless sobs.

"Hey," Logan soothed, gently rubbing his back. "It's okay. You're not doing anything wrong." With the skill of a protective older brother he cupped the back of Carlos's neck and murmured something else.

James's vision blurred, and his breaths emerged as short, panicked gasps. Because how could they not get it? Didn't they understand that wallowing in sorrow wasn't going to bring their friend back? "We need to do something!" he exclaimed. "We need a plan, some course of action. Kendall always had a plan. Do you think he'd be sitting here acting like he's given up? If he were in our situation, he'd be out there right now fighting to bring us back home because friends aren't supposed to give up on each other, and—Carlos, can you please shut up?" He shouted the final words once the anger building in his chest could manifest no more.

Carlos screamed in anguish. Red-faced, Logan covered one hand over Carlos's ear and spoke loudly to be heard over Carlos's wails. "Get out."

James held two fists at his side, fingers curled so tightly they ached. "What?"

"I said, get out!" Logan exclaimed, nodding towards the door. His eyes sparkled with tears, yet his expression was a scowl. "You're making this worse. If you're going to yell at Carlos for getting upset, then get out of my room."

James gaped at him in surprise. He watched as Logan bowed his head and murmured something else to Carlos, who was still practically shrieking. Logan ran his hands over Carlos's back in a comforting motion, then tightened the brotherly embrace.

"You…," James started. He lowered his voice, but the frustration was still present. His fingernails dug painfully into his palms. "You want me to leave?"

Logan snapped his head back up, once again clapping a hand over Carlos's ear in a fruitless attempt to prevent the crying boy from hearing the argument. "Yes. Go." His strong, even voice didn't falter. "Go steal Mrs. Knight's car again. Leave her and Katie heartbroken and go try to find Kendall even though we have no idea where he could possibly be." He stopped, looking back down and whispering something else to Carlos, who somehow managed to nod. Then Logan looked back up, dark eyes locking on James as if asking, 'Why are you still here?'

"If Carlos is upset," Logan continued, "then he has every right to cry. I don't need you in here hollering at him and making matters worse. So if you're going to keep screaming at him… Then just leave. I don't care where you go, James, just get out of this room."

The hot flames within him were doused by sudden grief. The tension in his muscles subsided, and James uncurled his fists.

"L-Lo…g-gan…," Carlos sobbed.

"It's okay," Logan murmured. He pressed the side of his face to Carlos's head. "Don't listen to him, Carlos. It's okay. We'll be okay."

James continued to watch them, remaining stationary on the opposite side of the room. And now he didn't quite know how he was feeling. Because everything was his fault, right? It had to be. Kendall was taken by Chris while trying to save James from a bullet, and now Carlos was even more upset than he was before, all because James couldn't keep his emotions in check like Kendall could have—which was the biggest insult James could have given, considering Kendall probably didn't sacrifice his life for James just so James could go and mess everything up.

This wasn't right. It wasn't right at all.

How could Logan tell Carlos everything was okay? It wasn't. It wasn't okay, it wasn't okay, it wasn't okay and it never would be, because everything was exactly how it wasn't supposed to be. And James was to blame. He proposed the plan to take the car to search for Kendall. Maybe Chris would have let Kendall go if the rest of Big Time Rush hadn't arrived. Maybe Kendall would be home right now if James would have told Logan and Carlos they needed to stay with Mrs. Knight and Katie instead of leaving to find Kendall, who obviously didn't want to be found.

And, darn it, why did Kendal have to be so selfless?

It didn't matter now. Nothing could be done. They weren't giving up, they were accepting inevitabilities; moving on, as Kendall would say. This time there was no mysterious address to follow. There were no leads, no evidence that gave even a remote idea of where Chris could have hidden Kendall. It was all up to the police, and James was unsure if they had any plans, either.

James wasn't sure when he started crying, but soon his head was heavy on his shoulders and nothing could stop the streams that poured from his eyes. It wouldn't bring Kendall back, but he cried anyway in the hopes it would help him accept that fact.

The guy who promised he'd always be there for his friends no matter what was suddenly gone, but it didn't make sense because Kendall never made promises he couldn't keep.

James lowered his head and sobbed until his throat burned. It didn't occur to him how childish he was being, how immature it looked for a grown boy to be bawling like a little kid. He was scared. He'd never been more scared in all his life, not even when Chris had pointed a gun at him. And Carlos was crying, and now Logan was crying, and somewhere down the hall Katie and Mrs. Knight were crying, and that just wasn't right.

"Come here," a squeaky voice said. James's body was so shaky and his eyes so cloudy he could barely see that Logan held out an arm and welcomed him over. "James, come here."

Somehow he commanded his feet to move. He seated himself on the edge of the bed and allowed the sound of his pathetic wails to accompany Carlos's while Logan awkwardly pulled them all together.

It was all they could do.

It was cold.

The dank air stung his throat and nose. It hurt to cough; a searing, dry burn, sometimes so deep it made him gag. He never thought he'd wish to be back in the sweltering, humid air of the warehouse, but now he prayed for it.

Kendall wasn't sure of his exact location. In the city, he knew; Los Angeles—close to home. He figured he was in the area of town his friends often referred to as 'LA's Murder District' considering the minor glimpse he caught of the surrounding neighborhood contained rows of abandoned buildings and homes.

Tip-tap. Tip-tap. Tip-tap. Tip-tap…

He shivered and tugged futilely at the sleeves of his torn shirt. Kendall had resorted to curling up on the floor and hugging his arms around his body in hopes of warming himself. Sure, he felt feeble and helpless, but it was better than freezing to death.

There was no light in the closet, just a dull sash of grey emitting from the crack under the locked door. He could lay on his back with his head touching the wall and stretch his legs until his feet were flat against the opposite side. There was enough room for him to roll over one full time and then another half roll, so at least he had a little space to move.

Tip-tap. Tip-tap. Tip-tap. Tip-tap…

But it was so dark. As Chris shoved him into the decrepit place Kendall got a quick look of his new home—wood floor black with mildew and dirt, shining with wetness; cracked walls with peeling paint; a creaky old door with a shiny new lock. But the worst of it was a leaky pipe which protruded partly from the warped ceiling.

Tip-tap. Tip-tap. Tip-tap. The water dripped constantly and rhythmically. At first it was comforting. It was something to pass the time, making the tip-tap into a song or counting game. But it quickly became an annoyance—one that Kendall tried to put an end to. About an hour ago he'd removed his tennis shoe and slipped off a sock. It was easy to feel around the damp floor to locate the spot where the pipe dripped. He blindly folded the sock and laid it neatly under the water leak. The nauseating sound was stifled by the dry cloth, and he was relieved. For several long minutes afterwards, in the silence, he could still hear the imaginary tip-tap echoing in his ears. He scrubbed at them quickly, to no avail, and promptly stuck both index fingers into his ears to drown out the sound.

Tip-tap. Tip-tap. Tip-tap. Tip-tap…

But now the sock was wet, and the dripping was back.

Shut-up. Shut-up. Shut-up. Shut-up…

His thirst had also returned. The incessant tip-tap reminded him that it was water that was dripping. It would have made sense to wring out the soaked sock over his mouth, but Kendall still had some dignity. He'd resist as long as he was able.

Why did it have to be so cold? He shuddered once more and sucked in a shaky breath. His squeezed his arms tighter around his body and thought of Jacuzzis and sunny beaches. Most of the time his eyes remained closed, though sleep was the last thing on his mind. He was bored of scanning the darkness and being barely able to see his hand in front of his face. Alone in a cramped space… it made him think. Mostly about James. Sometimes about James's family, and how they were handling the loss. Maybe they didn't even know James was dead. Maybe Jace and Rodney had taken the body somewhere else…

Kendall's eyes snapped open. He scrambled to sit upright with his back pressed against the cool wall. He raked a hand down his bruised face in attempts to shake the horrific thoughts from his head. He didn't want to cry anymore. He had to stay strong for Carlos and Logan. They could be out there somewhere, and there was a possibility Chris could bring Kendall back to his friends. Because they had to be alive. They had to be.

Tip-tap. Tip-tap. Ken-dall. Ken-dall…

"Shut up," he grumbled to the leaky pipe.

Ken-dall. Ken-dall. Ken-dall.

"Stop it." He groped sightlessly through the dark and found the sock, a wet clump of dirty cotton. He reeled his uninjured arm as far back as he could manage within the confines of the closet and hurled the article of clothing at the door. It thudded loudly against the wood before smacking wetly to the moldy ground.

He stopped and listened. Ken-dall. Ken-dall. Tip-tap…

He strained his ears and concentrated on the noise, or lack thereof, that came from the other side of the door. On several occasions throughout the few hours he'd been locked in, Kendall had heard Chris's footsteps outside. Sometimes they paced the floor, and sometimes Chris's voice accompanied them. He began speaking to himself halfway through the car ride to the city. Kendall ignored most of it, because a majority of the one-sided conversations didn't make much sense. Now, though, it was silent. Chris wasn't in the building.

Another shiver racked his body, and Kendall laughed. He laughed despite the loneliness and the fear, the hunger that pained his stomach and the thirst that stung his throat. He laughed knowing his friend was dead.

"You know," Kendall told the dripping, which once again chanted his name, "I really don't deserve this." He paused, and the crooked smile faded. "I don't deserve any of this."

The dripping stopped then, as if it were waiting for him to continue.

"I mean, why was I the one who had to get a job the day I turned sixteen?" he asked the quiet. "Why did I have to take care of my sister while Mom worked? I watched after Katie, I helped Mom with the things a single mother couldn't do by herself. I kept my grades up, too. Did you know I never brought home a disappointing report card? And hockey… I've been loyal to the team, because they're my family too. I never let them down. I never did anything wrong." His voice raised slightly. "But why? Why did I have to do all those things? Why did I have to do all that and have everyone look at me like I was some role model, or a responsible older brother? I do everything for them! I do everything for my family and my friends. I don't deserve that responsibility! I don't deserve any of that, and I sure as heck don't deserve to be here!"

He was shouting by the time his admission came to an end. Kendall found himself on his feet, chest heaving and two fists balled tightly at his sides. His anger warmed him; perhaps that was the only way to keep out the cold.

But he couldn't grasp it. The pipe dripped once, and Kendall sighed miserably. "But… why did the guys come to keep me company while I worked? Why did they make a game out of pushing shopping carts to the front of the store? Why did they come over to play with me and Katie when we were home alone?" His eyes stung hot, noticeable against his clammy skin. "Everyday at home they make me laugh so hard I can't breathe." He thought of James and bit down on his lower lip to fight away the tears. "I don't deserve that, either," Kendall whispered.

The water's respectful stillness was over. It continued again, tip-tapping like it had before. Kendall closed his eyes and sank back to the floor. It was easier to focus on the guilt than the grief, so he concentrated on the knot in his gut. The goose bumps on his skin didn't leave, so he rubbed his hands over his arms to generate some body heat.

He didn't deserve to die.