I mean—thirteen is an unlucky number? That's all I have to say about this? And a rather unlucky number indeed because this took me three days!

Someone has been very patiently waiting for this but I'm sure she's not going to be happy with what I've done! (Cece)

"We need to go camping."

They absolutely needed to go camping. It was a mildly warm, mildly cold Wednesday morning. The sun was shining, but not obnoxiously, just enough to provide warm, consistent sunshine. There was a cool breeze, he could tell from the trembling leaves outside.

It was perfect camping conditions, for August, anyway. They used to go in September or October, but it felt the same.

They absolutely needed to go camping, because Logan was bored out of his mind.

Camille had her first table read today for that new show she was on, The Hollowbrook Hills. That felt like a strange title, he didn't understand it. He knew Camille's character was named Hannah Hollowbrook. But the title Hollowbrook Hills implies that this family, owned the town or something.

He would ask her when he got to see her again.

It was some teen drama, or comedy-drama, or just regular drama. He wasn't exactly sure, because the last time he had seen Camille was Saturday, and it was Wednesday.

They had been texting, but he never asked too many specifics about the show. Maybe he had asked, but the only thing he could remember her telling him was drama. And that she would be busy until Sunday.

This meant three days without her, and normally he could handle that, but he was already sick of everyone else around him.

He was sick of his house, and his mother, in particular. And just, this miserable Minnesota town.

So, they needed to go camping.

"No, we don't," had been Kendall's immediate reply.

This was uncharacteristic of him and also untrue. They needed to go camping.

"We always go camping."

"Right, but we don't need to."

Something was obviously wrong, because Kendall was not the type of person to distinguish the difference of definition between need and want. That was what Logan did.

Except, in this case, they needed to go camping. And he wanted to go camping.

"Okay, but I want to go camping. We used to do it all the time."

"Okay, but I don't want to go camping."

This also had to be untrue. Kendall, out of all four of them, probably loved camping the most. He could be the skilled survivalist leader, because he knew how to do everything. Logan also knew how to do everything, and so did Carlos and James, but Kendall could do everything the best.

Or at least he liked to think he could do everything the best, and nobody told him otherwise, because Kendall was the leader and it made sense.

"You're lying."

"Not lying."

And that had been the end of his conversation with Kendall, he had disappeared up the stairs.

So, he moved on to a much easier target: Carlos.

Who was conveniently sprawled out on Kendall's couch. James should be coming soon. Kendall didn't have work today. Kendall would have work tomorrow, and the whole rest of the week until Sunday. So, really, it was the only day they could go.

Just the guys. Back in Minnesota, like old times.

But Kendall didn't want to go camping, even though he didn't have work, what was he supposed to do without work if he didn't camp?

Logan just needed to get out. He needed to stop being bored out of his mind.

"We should go camping," he said.

"Sure, Logie," was the reply.

It was easy.

It got easier, because James was on board too. James wanted to escape his mother, who was once again begging him to work at Brooke Diamond Cosmetics company. Three against one.

Three against one meant whoever the 'one' was, had to succumb to peer pressure. That's what happened when Logan was the 'one' in those situations.

Kendall hadn't succumbed to peer pressure yet, probably because he was more stubborn, but he would. It wasn't even worth thinking about. He would.

So, theoretically, they should already be camping, they should already be loading up the one car they'll be taking.

However, in reality:

"Honey, that's dangerous," Mrs. Knight tried to explain to him.

It wouldn't be dangerous because they would be careful.

"There's no cell service."

"Which is fine," Logan said, "because James has data."

He was avoiding the real issue like he had been avoiding it with Camille. The real issue was the red braces on his legs that made it impossible to move. The real issue was that he could very likely have a medical emergency and not be able to get in touch with anyone.

These were all valid concerns, but Logan was so bored, and so sick, and so very much dying that if he didn't get to go camping now, today, he knew he never would.

No one was going to let him do anything.

"Logan, what about your mom?"

He shrugged. "Tell her. She'll be fine."

This is probably a lie because he has seen his mother cry more this month than ever before. And it was completely his fault, and he knew that, but they had to let him have something.

He couldn't just rot in his house for the rest of his life. That's what everyone seems to want, thinking he'll be safer and maybe he would be, but the point was it wasn't bad yet.

He knew what would happen when it got to be bad, when it got to be debilitating. He wasn't there yet. None of that was happening.

So.

He wanted to go camping, and he really did not care what Mrs. Knight or his mother said about it.

"I'll be fine," he assured her. "And it's not like I'm alone. Except Kendall doesn't want to come. Can you do like, mom magic or something and make him go with us?"

Mrs. Knight looked at him, looked at the braces, and looked back up the stairs.

He knew he won. She felt sorry for him. She felt sorry for him, and didn't want to see him deteriorate.

Maybe Kendall had told her about his breakdown over college. That's probably what had happened. She was looking at him like he was having a breakdown now.

He was well-composed. Explicitly not having a breakdown. He knew he had to be well-composed.

"Sure, honey."

And it worked.

She went up the stairs. Miraculously, by the forces of mom magic, Kendall followed her back down.

"Let's go camping," he agreed. "Why not?"

Here was why not: Logan couldn't.

It wasn't even a quarter mile up to the campsite. It was just an uphill climb.

Except, the thing was, Logan knew about the logical sequence of events. If he couldn't walk, he couldn't climb.

He couldn't walk. But then they'd have to drive back again. So he was going to walk.

The backpack on his shoulders was light. Just a sleeping bag, pillow, the phones, and first aid kit.

James had the tent supplies, along with his sleeping bag. Carlos was given the task of carrying up the food and water. Kendall was carrying matches, and a lighter just in case, with his sleeping bag.

That's what Logan had assigned everyone to carry.

Logan had made a checklist. This was going to be perfect. Perfect and organized and not a disaster.

He could not have his last camp out be a disaster.

This uphill climb had other plans.

His perception and vision was distorted, miscalculating. He would take a step, his foot wouldn't be where he thought it was. He developed the conspicuous habit of tapping his foot at least three times into the ground to make sure he knew where he was.

Conspicuous enough that Kendall took one look behind him, stared right at Logan and his foot tapping, and walked behind him.

Logan didn't say anything. He tried not to have such bad perception. Though, this was impossible and also a stupid goal, because one of the first, very common symptoms of Neumann-Pick disease was difficulty with vertical eye movement.

He stares at the ground. He is careful. He won't let himself fall, if he falls he won't be able to get up and then Kendall will make him go home. Then, Logan's mother will make him go to the clinic, when he was already there a week ago, and Dr. Jones will give him a walker.

That cannot happen.

He is careful. He calculates every step he takes.

He miscalculates every step he takes.

This wasn't supposed to happen, a rock wedged itself loosely under his foot, and he tried to kick it out against a root, but ended up tripping over the root anyway.

He faceplants, he banged his nose.

And what's worse is, he slips, he's scraping his arms and legs and face.

He won't be able to get up. He can't get up.

This isn't fair.

"Whoa, Logan," Kendall says.

Logan knows Carlos and James have turned around.

"Logan?" Carlos asks.

"Keep going," Kendall tells them. "It's fine."

It didn't feel fine. And Kendall knew that, he muttered it's not fine under his breath.

It is embarrassing but also tragic that Kendall has to lift him up, and Logan isn't even stable enough to stand up anymore.

Kendall has to prop him up against a rock, and even then, Logan can feel himself slipping.

He can feel blood running down his face and arms, and his legs. It's warm and the cuts are probably infected already.

Kendall has taken the liberty to fish through Logan's bag for the first aid kit.

"I can feel blood literally in my mouth."

Logan guesses he cut his lip open, which will require stitches. Something that little first aid kit does not have.

"You're fine, Logan."

"Do I look fine?"

"Shut up."

Kendall doesn't know what he's doing. He does wipe up the blood running down his legs, but he doesn't clean the cuts, he just slaps a bandaid on them.

"You're supposed to clean the cuts, Kendall."

Logan is silenced by a mouthful of gauze, which definitely should not be shoved into someone's mouth like Kendall just did to him.

"Shut up. Your lip is bleeding out."

He will require stitches.

Logan can taste the blood. His blood.

He spits out the gauze. "Stitches. I—"

Kendall has ripped off another section of gauze. Logan can feel it soaking up the blood oozing out of his lip.

"You'll probably make it worse if you talk."

And, like Kendall requested, Logan reluctantly kept his mouth shut.

Except, Kendall was not attending to Logan's various cuts and wounds properly, and that was a judgement made without taking the whole split-lip thing into account. His split lip would require stitches.

He probably split it in the same spot, too.

Kendall is not disinfecting the cuts. Logan's immune system could already be weakened, his spleen was one of the major affected organs as a result of NPC. He couldn't fight off unnecessary infections.

And the gauze isn't doing anything at all. He spits it out again, and Kendall doesn't do anything.

"Stitches, I know," he says. "But it's not like I can do that."

"Disinfect the cuts," Logan shouts at him.

Kendall isn't listening to him. He's just doing what he's doing.

Bandages and no disinfecting of the cuts. He will get several infections, he'll be stuck in the hospital for two weeks, and he just got out.

"You're doing it wrong."

He doesn't care about how he should not be screaming at Kendall, he doesn't care about being well-composed. He can't be, he can't calm down, his cuts will get infected, he'll get sick, he'll go to the hospital.

And none of that was supposed to happen.

Logan had taken careful precautions. He had planned out this trip with thorough, detailed lists.

And the trip was falling apart. He hadn't even made it to the campsite.

"You're doing it wrong."

He can feel the blood from his lip dripping onto his legs, and this warm blood from his busted lip is quite possibly the worst thing he's ever felt.

"You're doing it wrong."

"Logan, there's no disinfectant in here."

Here meaning the first aid kit. Kendall was lying. He had to be lying. Logan always made sure his first aid kit was fully stocked with the appropriate necessities.

Disinfectant fell into that category, so there was simply no way it wasn't in the first aid kit.

Logan reached out for the first aid kit, he couldn't really see it, his eyes hurt, but they always hurt. He swept his hand frantically across the interior compartment of the kit.

There was supposed to be disinfectant in here.

There was no way.

He swept his hand across again, rummaging through, securing his grip around anything that resembled the disinfectant spray.

There was nothing, his hand swung loosely, rummaging through.

Things were falling out, there was clattering, and the first aid kit was on the ground, and this wasn't fair because he had planned out everything.

And yet he forgot disinfectant spray?

He forgot his meds, too.

There were eleven bottles of prescribed pills he absolutely needed to take and he didn't have them.

"No."

He cannot have another breakdown right now, this was not fair, Kendall would make him go home and back to the hospital.

Kendall was searching around for everything that had fallen out of the first aid kit. And Logan knew without looking that Kendall would put everything in, in a way that made sure the thing wouldn't close.

The frustrated sigh and the constant click and pop of the lid proved it.

Over and over again. Kendall just gave up and threw it all into Logan's bag.

Now all that would rattle around, when it was supposed to be contained.

None of this situation was supposed to be happening, but it did because he just couldn't walk properly.

"Logan—"

"Everything is ruined."

Kendall didn't understand that, how desperately he needed this. He needed something, he couldn't have college anymore, he couldn't have a job anymore, he couldn't walk anymore.

Kendall would never know what it was like to just not feel your legs, to have everything hurt too much to move.

"You're going to be fine."

"I can't walk! I can't walk and I can't move and stupid—stupid meds and stupid Dr. Jones—I'm going to have to use a walker for the rest of my life!"

That was, if he was lucky.

"Did you not take them today? Your meds?"

No, he hadn't, because his first waking thought and every subsequent thought after that had been about this trip that was completely and utterly disastrous.

"No."

"Okay," Kendall said.

Nobody would trust him again because he couldn't even focus enough to take his medication.

Eleven pill bottles, fluorescent orange plastic.

And a water bottle, even though Carlos was carrying the water.

Kendall opened up each bottle after it was so painfully obvious that Logan lacked the strength to pop open the child lock.

It wasn't bad yet, it shouldn't be bad yet.

He was just having a bad day.

Logan shook each pill into his hand, and even that privilege was revoked when he nearly spilled half of the first bottle onto the ground.

The water bottle he didn't want to touch, but he couldn't swallow eleven pills dry.

Kendall opened the water bottle and waited for Logan to swallow the pills.

It hurt, and it took too much effort not to choke. He was having a bad day.

But he was done.

The pill bottles were counted as they got packed away.

He tried to brace himself against the rock and push up from there, it hadn't worked.

Kendall pulled him to his feet.

"It's like, maybe five more minutes. James probably has the tent set up and everything."

Or Carlos got mauled by a bear. One of the two.

Carlos was asleep, successfully alive and not-mauled, when Kendall and Logan reached them.

James was asleep, too. Kendall kicked him so he rolled over for more room.

"Don't you need to take those off before you sleep?"

Logan really couldn't deal with how overwhelmingly helpless he felt, and truly was.

"Yes?" Kendall asked him, not like a question.

Logan nodded, because it really didn't matter that he felt helpless as Kendall took off his braces for him.

Sooner or later, he would forget that this camping trip ever happened.

That meant it was useless trying to remember. No need to make an effort, no need to have a life.

He would forget everything so it didn't really matter at all what happened to him now.

After all, he was right.

He had forgotten where he was when he woke up.

And that was never going to not happen.

Maybe it wasn't so bad right now, but it was getting worse.

He was getting worse, and he just didn't see the point in living anymore.

He wasn't suicidal, he was realistic.

What was the point of living if he wouldn't be able to remember any of it?