Author's Note: Okay, so I kinda really don't like this one. But I'm posting it because it has a back story and it means something to me in a way.

This past weekend, while at a wedding, I had a pretty bad asthma attack. I've had severe asthma since I was four, and I've learned to live with it. It sucks really bad because, when you're a little kid, you just wanna run around and play, not sit and watch your friends. But that was me, still is actually. I can't do anything really strenuous, which rules out anything and everything fun. Anyway, to make a long story short, I suffered a pretty bad attack this past weekend. And while I was sitting in the ER, all hopped up on breathing and pain medication, I got this idea. At first it was just a really angry, ranting note I wrote to a friend that went on and on about how I hated having asthma and just wanted to be normal... It was pretty weird. However, inspiration seems to strike me at the most random of times, and this little story was born. Everything I say about the asthma is true, even Logan's little memory of the first time he was diagnosed.

Like I said, written while I was on a bunch of meds, so excuse the fact that this pretty much sucks!

So, without further ado.

Disclaimer: Yeah, the boys' lawyers are being pretty bitchy, so this whole "owning the boys" thing could take awhile.

10. Breathe Again

Logan can still remember the first time he ever heard the word asthma.

He was four years old, sitting on his mother's lap in the Emergency Room. His little chest was heaving as he gasped for air, his lungs rattling with each choppy breath. His tiny hand was clenching a nebulizer tightly, pressing it to his mouth, allowing the steam to enter his inflamed airway and begin to relax it.

"I'm sorry," he remembers the doctor saying to his distraught mother, "but it's asthma. It's very severe. He's lucky he made it in time."

Logan doesn't remember much else from the visit, except that the medication from the nebulizer made him feel so odd. It was like all he wanted to do was sleep, but then again, he didn't, because his heart was racing and his hands were shaking and how on Earth could he even try to sleep?

That was the day he was diagnosed with asthma. An inflammatory disorder of the airways, which causes attacks of wheezing, shortness of breath, chest tightness, and coughing.

It seemed simple. All he needed was a rescue inhaler in his pocket at all times and he would be fine. But it was so much more than that. He couldn't run around without doubling over in fits of coughing. He couldn't spend too much time outside in the cold Minnesota winters without feeling the rattling, wheezing breaths take hold. Cigarette smoke, smog, dust, pollen. It all brought on the coughing, wheezing and chest pain.

The worst part was his attacks. It began with his chest tightening, as though someone had gripped his lungs in a vice-like grip. This caused his chest to hurt, like an elephant was sitting on it, and brought on his short, choppy, gasping breaths. He could barely take in half a breath, let alone a whole one. He would begin to wheeze, sounding like a eighty year old smoker.

The scariest thing was not being able to get to his inhaler quick enough. He would begin to feel dizzy and sick to his stomach. Black spots would dance across his vision. His limbs would just stop working, and if he was standing, he would usually end up on the floor. Panic would slowly but surely set in, causing him to breath even more erratically, which only made the situation worse. His lips would tinge blue, his face would grow pale. The worst part was that he usually began to feel dazed, confused, like his brain had just stopped functioning. A lot of times he would come out of an attack with only half a memory of what had even happened.

Logan's friends knew how bad his asthma could be. They always were careful to not let Logan over-exert himself, especially in the winter months. Logan knew that his three best friends would much rather be outside playing in the snow instead of inside the warm house playing video games, but he never complained. He was just so grateful that they would even do something like that for him.

As Logan got older, he got wilder. How could he not after spending so many years with Kendall, James and Carlos? And along with the psychotic, pre-teen craziness came the boys' love for hockey. There was just something so exhilarating about being on the ice, shooting the puck back and forth.

Logan found this to be a terrible predicament. Of course he would fall in love with a sport that required him to be on the ice, in the cold air, skating around like a maniac. Every aspect of it screamed potentially dangerous to Logan's health.

Despite his reservations, and his parents protests, Logan went out for goalie the year he turned twelve. To his surprise, he was good. And he loved being on the ice, even if it made his chest ache. He somehow managed to play every game, no matter what. He found that using his rescue inhaler before a game greatly decreased his chances of having an attack.

Of course, this method didn't always work, and more often than not, Logan found himself sitting on the bench, gasping for air and trying not to pass out. Kendall, Carlos and James always came to check on him. They refused to play until they could be assured that Logan could breathe and wasn't going to keel over in the middle of the game. Logan would always smile and say he was fine, which he was, once he had the albuterol running through his system.

And that's how it was for so many years. When he was sick, it would go straight to his lungs, usually resulting in bronchitis. He would be stuck in bed for weeks, rather than the two or three days that is normal for everyone else. He'd had pneumonia three times, which was scary. The last time, the winter he was fourteen, had almost killed him. While everyone else was outside playing in the snow, he was inside by the warm fire, curled up with a book, still recovering even after a two week hospital stay. But he lived with it, because there was no miracle cure for asthma. There were only precautions.

Logan spent quite a few nights in the Emergency Room, recovering from a terrible attack. Luckily, these nights were few and far between, and grew more scarce as he got older.

Well, they had been, until now.

Logan sighed as he leaned back in the hospital bed. Tonight had been terrifying, and not just for him. They had been at a new club, dancing the night away, celebrating the release of their second album. Some guys had been smoking and Logan had inhaled more second-hand smoke than healthy, causing one of the scariest asthma attacks of his life. He knew that his attack had probably scarred James, Carlos and Kendall for life. As if they could read his thoughts, the three walked in the door.

"Hey," James said softly, "how are you feeling?"

Logan shrugged. "Okay." He hated how his voice sounded so raspy from all the coughing and gasping for air.

Carlos sank down on the edge of Logan's bed. "Dude, don't ever scare us like that again. I thought you had died!"

Logan took in his three friend's appearances. All three wore haggard looks, fear and worry fighting for dominance in their eyes. They were terrified, and Logan knew it. He just wished he could remember more of what happened. His attack had left him confused and shaken, with only bits and pieces of what had happened in his memory.

"What happened?" He asked carefully, not meeting their eyes. He didn't want to worry them, but he had to know what happened.

"You don't remember?" James asked, sounding slightly upset at the prospect of his genius best friend having memory loss.

Logan shook his head, then winced. His head was still throbbing. "No. I never really remember much after an attack, and I'm a little out of it from the medication they gave me when I came in."

Kendall sank into a chair. "What do you remember?"

Logan squinted his eyes, trying desperately to remember something. "I remember the music, it was loud. And we were dancing. I went to get water 'cause I was starting to feel a little light headed. I think there were guys by the bar smoking."

"There were," James confirmed.

"One of you followed me, right? After that it's a blur. I know I was trying so hard to breathe, and I was starting to panic. I don't really remember anything else, except for when we got here."

Logan watched his friends, waiting for someone to speak, to fill in the gaps.

Carlos spoke up first. "I followed you. You were leaning against the bar, gasping for air, when I found you. You told me you had your inhaler in your jacket pocket, but when I went to look for it, it wasn't there."

Logan's eyes grew wider. "It must have fallen out."

"We looked for it," Kendall continued, picking up where Carlos left off. "When you and Carlos didn't come back, we went looking for you. You were on the floor and Carlos was trying to calm you down. You were panicking. We looked for the inhaler but you didn't have it."

Kendall paused to take a breath. "We called an ambulance. You weren't calming down and your lips were turning blue and you were so pale. It was scary, Logan. I mean, we've seen you have an attack before, but never that bad. You've never passed out before."

"I'm sorry," Logan said softly, looking down at his hands. He hated himself for putting his friends through that. He looked up when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was James.

"Dude, don't be sorry. It's not like you scared the living shit out of us on purpose."

Logan laughed, then doubled over slightly. His chest was in so much pain from all the constricting during the attack. He took slow breaths, until his muscles relaxed.

"I know. I just wish that you guys didn't have to see that. It's scary enough going through it, I can't imagine watching it."

"We're just glad you're okay, Logan. Don't worry about us." Logan didn't miss the slight tremble in James' voice.

"You guys are my best friend. You just watched me have one of the worst asthma attacks I've ever had. I can't not be worried. I know you're probably scared shitless."

They all chuckled as Logan cussed. It wasn't common for the genius, who usually prided himself on not using such useless words.

"Yeah, okay, fine," Kendall agreed, "like I said, it was scary. But we're okay, 'cause you're okay. Just don't do it ever again!"

"Trust me," Logan assured them, "I have no plans to."

"Good!" They exclaimed simultaneously. Logan smiled and tried to fight off a yawn.

"Go to sleep, dude. You look exhausted." Carlos was right, Logan was utterly spent after such a crazy night.

"Okay, but wake me up when we can go home? If I find out someone carried me, I'm gonna kick that someone's ass," he said groggily, eyes already falling shut as sleep started to take over.

"Sure thing, Logie," Kendall said softly, watching his best friend sleep, completely comfortable and able to breathe again.