Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Logan Sanders was no stranger to loneliness.

In fact, despite his best efforts, the sense of being along always crept in through the back of his mind like a dark cloud, fogging everything up illogically and filling him with those dark, nasty thoughts. Thoughts he didn't know how to deal with, process, or catalog. It was maddening, how he couldn't seem to break free from them. He was supposed to be Logic- calm, collected, a teacher of sorts. He should easily be able to process and file away these... feelings easily.

He was never good with feelings. Not like Patton, Roman, or Virgil. Hell, even Janus and Remus were more in touch with the godforsaken thigs, readily available to give their input and help Thomas succeed.

Not like him.

He never seemed to get it right, never seemed to be able to make them listen. A voice, ever insistent whispered to him that perhaps he deserved it. He did tend to ramble, overstep, interrupt- it made sense, if he thought about it long enough. It made sense that everyone would get bored of his facts and incessant preaching. It made sense that given the chance, they would opt out of hearing his input entirely.

Even if it made the pang in his chest worsen, even if it made him feel unneeded and unnecessary, it made logical sense.

"Skip."

Logan shook his head, hard, and looked around his room where everything lay neatly and organized- lists of Thomas' goals, calendars with everyone's schedules, recording dates, all meticulously laid out to a T. Usually, he felt a sense of pride around his work, admiring the stacks of papers and perfect schedules that took him hours on end. But today...? It just made the ache in his chest worsen. That seemed to be happening more and more frequently, these Bad Days. Those moments where the walls felt like they were closing in around him and the air was stolen from his lung like the vacuum of space.

Breathe.

In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight.

Breathe.

The breaths stupidly, stubbornly stuttered in Logan's lungs and he couldn't help a small, empty laugh from bubbling up from his chest incredulously. How ironic, that he of all people would be so indisposed at the moment because of some ridiculous words the others said in passing. That was all they were, just silly, nonsensical words that didn't hold any meaning.

Just words.

Just. Words.

"Shut up, nerdy wolverine!"

Stop.

"Logan, can you stop...?"

Please. Just stop.

"Listen to us."

Logan felt his breathing quicken, felt his heart racing and filling his ears with its erratic beating, but not loud enough to calm the raucous in his mind. The walls seemed to lean in towards him, the planners, calendars, papers, all seeming to mock him as he stood in the middle of the room, chest heaving as his mind spun.

"I'm afraid this is a benched trial for you."

A soft gasp tore from him and he practically slammed his hands over his ears, fisting his hair as his body trembled, his legs threatening to give out on him over the assault that pounded around in his mind. He sunk to the floor slowly, folding in half as he desperately tried to ground himself to anything, anything at all to keep him from being swept away by the torrent.

"Shut your mouth, or I'll tear off your nipples and shove them up your nose."

He was better than this, he was so much better than this, how many times had he helped Virgil through panic attacks, attempted to soothe Roman through his self doubt? How many times had he researched ways to help decrease the effects of overwhelming negative thoughts and emotions, all in the name of trying to understand Patton just a little better? He knew the steps, he knew the equation, be logical-

"Geek Squad? More like squadless geek- you're ALONE."

Tears pricked at his eyes. Alone. Always alone. No matter what he did, how hard he tried, the sleepless nights, the early mornings, he was always alone. A soft sob came from the Indigo Side as the tears started to tear down his face damningly.

"G-get it together, Logan." He whispered, voice shaking, raising his gaze and trying to search for anything in his room that could possibly shake this panic, this hurt. All he was met with were the stacks of neat papers, perfect schedules, calendars of events, all glaring back at him mockingly- his ideas and careful planning thrown out like garbage when he tried to bring them up.

What even was the point of all this?

Why was he there?

No one needed his input. No one needed his presence. No one needed...him.

"Get. It. Together." Logan said, emphasizing it by pressing his palms into his eyes where tears still pooled and fell like an endless torrent of rain. He could deal with the worthlessness that pooled in his stomach, he could deal with the pain of having to filter himself and hold his tongue even when he knew he was right, but this? The overwhelming loneliness, the dark and ugly anger that was beginning to simmer in his throat, choking him?

That was too much to bear.

All around him, everywhere he looked, all he found was a meaningless sense of detachment. Nothing he did mattered, no matter how unbelievably hard he tried. His mind very helpfully supplied flashes of memories he thought he had locked away in a neat filing cabinet labeled, "Things I Would Rather Not Think About," whipping though his very core and threatening to send him over the edge.

Why was nothing he ever did good enough?

He couldn't answer that question. The only answer was the growling, ugly rage boiling in his chest and throat as he stared at all of his work.

And something in him snapped.

An orange haze filled his vision, replacing the blurry tears, and he staggered to his feet as his body screamed at him to just lie down, that it would be so much easier to just lay down and pretend he didn't exist. Logan walked over to his desk unsteadily, picking up a photo- Patton, Roman, Virgil, and himself smiled up at him, and the longer that he looked at the photo the more that furious rage and all-consuming pain rose higher and threatened to boil over, a voice whispering inside his mind to release and destroy everything.

It's not like it would it matter anyway. No one had bothered to check up on him, not once, after all this time. No one noticed how he had gradually gotten quieter, opting to observe rather than participate and everyone seemed... happier for it. Virgil even commented how, "It's nice you've learned how to finally listen, Lo. Here I thought you were never going to be quiet." While the others nodded and agreed. Fresh tears sprung to his eyes and his face contorted as he crumpled the photo, throwing it against the wall before laying his arms on his desk and sweeping everything off of it with a loud crash. His carefully written notes, papers filled with every single idea and data point for Thomas' well-being fluttered around him, mirroring the hurricane in his mind that screamed and clawed at his insides. 

Logan tore down his posters, calendars, threw his scientific equipment and trinkets off his shelves, ripping them apart with his hands. It didn't matter. It didn't matter. He couldn't feel anything but the overwhelming rage and hurt at never being listened to, never being valued like everyone else. All he could hear was the ringing in his ears, the other Side's voices mocking him, and even Thomas silencing him. He couldn't rationalize it-

"This just serves as testament to the fact that you have a temperament, which is fine, you just haven't accepted it! If you'd let them finish-"

He just couldn't.

Not anymore.

A wave of dizziness overcame him and the ringing in his ears reached a new volume, singing like a church bell that tolled it's death song. He collapsed to the floor with a loud thud, his vision fading in and out, covered by that orange haze which spread through his mind and body, tingling. He laid there for a minute, waves of unadulterated anguish and anger rolling over and through him and he blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times, opening his eyes as every single emotion he had just been feeling... ceased. Like they were never there. Logan laid there, meeting his own gaze in a shard of a mirror he didn't remember breaking in his frenzy. What he saw there weren't his eyes, the typical dark blue replaced by a garish orange. He blinked owlishly, studying his reflection with a blank, almost bored look. For a split second, he was almost confused, worried, scared-  but then another wave of something that almost felt like calm washed over him and he honestly couldn't bring himself to care. Instead, he opted to just sit there and stare blankly at the wall.

A knocking at his door rudely interrupted his stupor, and he slowly turned his head.

"Logan...?" A voice came through the door quietly and Logan probably could have identified the person had he been able to think at all. "I heard a crash, are you okay?" Logan just blinked slowly. Was he okay? What even was "okay?" He couldn't answer that, so he opted to not answer at all. It seemed like it would take so much effort and he was so tired of trying so hard. Of trying at all.

"Logan?" The voice came again a bit louder and worried. "Are you there?" Then, another voice, louder and brash, "Open up, Specs, or we're coming in!"

The indigo side looked at the door passively. He could go open the door, but that seemed like a whole lot more effort than what it was worth. A small, stabbing pain shot through his chest, that voice whispering, "The floor is a lot nicer than getting up. Plus, why would they actually care? No one cares about you." So, he continued to lay there silently, feeling nothing but apathy and that twinge of hurt as he rolled over with Herculean effort so that his back was to the door.

"...He's not answering, he always answers-" That worried voice again said and the other louder one responded, "I'm opening the door. Stand back, Padre."

Logan blinked slowly as the door to his room was busted open, the lock doing nothing to hold it back, revealing Patton and Roman whose eyes widened at the scene of the wrecked room and Logan laying in the middle of it. Both immediately rushed to his side, Patton turning him over and staring at him with a frightened expression, "Logan!?" and the aforementioned Side stared at him with an apathetic expression, the color seeming to have bled out of him except for those orange eyes and a matching tie. He didn't even attempt to respond, again, the voice whispering to him, "Why bother talking? They're not going to listen anyway."

Roman staggered back, "What... What is wrong with him?!"

Patton looked up, his panic worsening at Logan's state, "I-I don't know?" He cradled Logan's head in his lap and normally the witty side would have protested this but all he did was stare at the two blankly which only caused Patton to panic further. "Logan, can you hear me?!" He said, shaking Logan whose head just lolled back and forth bonelessly. All he wanted was to melt into the floor, to disappear, and he felt the smallest tinge of annoyance at being interrupted before it was washed away by that apathy.

"Why speak? They're not going to listen. Don't bother. It doesn't matter. You don't matter. Nothing matters."

"Logan, please-" Patton begged, turning Logan's face to look at him as Logan just blinked at him slowly. The moral side released him, turning to Roman who had gone pale. "Can you pick him up?" He said, his eyes shining with unshed tears, and Roman nodded shortly as he strode forward unsteadily.

"C-come on, Teach..." He picked Logan up, who honestly was a whole lot lighter than he remembered, as Patton jumped to his feet. "I'll get everyone, you get him to bed okay?" Patton said hurriedly, his voice shaking as he ran out into the hall.

"GUYS?!"

Chapter Text

"GUYS!?"

Patton Sanders was panicking.

Honestly, he thought that at this point he would have gotten better at controlling or easing these strong emotions, but alas. As Thomas' moral compass, his heart, Patton's emotions were always larger than life- it didn't help that they were already volatile to begin with, but still. Today, especially today, was no different. His footsteps echoed throughout the hall, frantic and frightened, as he skidded to a halt in front of a purple door in the hall. Purple sat next to red, and cyan sat next to indigo. Though, as he glanced back towards the indigo door, his eyes widened as he watched it glitch into a colorless grey that was slowly starting to be filled with orange. It made him panic more—which he didn't think was even possible as a stark fear already had it's ironclad grip on his heart. With a massive effort, he tore his eyes away and knocked loudly on the purple door.

"V-Virgil!!" Patton called out, voice shaking, knocking on the door rapidly. "Open up, please!"

At the urgent knocking the door was practically thrown off its hinges, revealing a wide-eyed Virgil who wore his usual overly alert expression of alarm he had whenever anyone knocked on his door for any reason, "I'm here—what’s happening? Earthquake? Break in? Is there a fire—woah." Virgil stopped, blinking as he took in Patton's expression and rumpled appearance, glasses askew, face pale, and eyes puffy. "...You don't look good, Popstar. What's wrong?"

"I-I—Logan—h-he—!” Patton tried to choke out, but he was ultimately unsuccessful as the air seemed to stop in his throat, preventing him from relaying what was going on. Virgil looked at him, studied him really, as his own anxiety started to spike. Something was wrong with Logan? That’s not right- Logan was infallible, unshakable. What could have possibly happened to make Patton so… frightened?

Virgil took a deep breath, stuffing down the anxious thoughts that started to swirl in his mind. “Patton, I’m going to need you to breathe.” He started, hesitantly putting his hands on the moral side’s shoulders and suddenly, he was struck with a memory.

-

A dark, royal blue voice, soft and collected, “Virgil. I am going to need you to breathe.” Virgil, curled in on himself, hyperventilating as calloused hands took his and pressed them into the other’s chest. “In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight.” He followed to the best of his ability, the words soothing and calm. Always so calm. “Good job, Virgil. Again...” The same voice, enveloping him like a blanket, holding out his arms when Virgil could finally breathe and the walls stopped closing in on him. "...I am not one for affection, but if you need...?" Launching himself into Logan's arms, steady and grounding, while Logan rubbed his back in small, calculated circles. "You are alright. There is nothing wrong, and nothing bad is going to happen. You are safe."

-

Virgil blinked as the memory faded, a feeling of calm fighting off the anxiety. He looked Patton in the eyes, who still had tears streaming down his face, and took a breath. “...Breathe with me, okay?” His voice was rougher, not as steady or calm, but still Patton nodded.

“In for four,” He demonstrated, and Patton followed, “Hold for seven… out for eight.” Finally, Patton calmed, just enough to speak. Virgil looked at him, “Now, can you tell me what is going on?”

Patton’s breaths hitched and he took another deep breath, “Logan… Roman and I heard a crash, and…” His eyes began to fill with tears again, “W-When we got to the door, he wasn’t answering and he—” Virgil’s grip tightened on Patton’s shoulders, finishing his sentence, “He always answers—open door policy and all that if we need him…”

The moral side nodded furiously, “S-So, Roman broke down the door, and his room—” Another choked sob came from the side, “A-and Logan…” He broke down and Virgil tugged him into a hug, his mind spinning, “What. Happened.” He said slowly, holding back the distortions in his voice that threatened to echo around the hall. Patton just tugged him towards Logan’s room, and Virgil’s eyes widened at the glitching, muted grey door with splashes of orange. 

Virgil ran. 

He burst into the room, Patton following behind as he took in the wrecked scene. Papers lie scattered, calendars ripped apart, glass scattered across the ground from a broken mirror, and… a crumpled photograph, laying desolate on the floor.

Virgil ripped his eyes up, meeting Roman’s as the color seemed to bleed from the usually star-covered walls, the color slowly seeping out as he stared at the motionless figure on the bed.

Logan.

He looked… awful, to put it lightly as Virgil rushed to his side. All the color had been drained from him, and the bags under his eyes spoke to his exhaustion. When the logical side finally, finally, looked at him, he felt a pang of fear. The normally dark, royal blue eyes were an ugly orange, and he didn't even react to them being there besides a half-hearted blink.

"Logan...?" Virgil whispered, "H-hey, Lo. Can you tell me what's going on...?" He approached the bed slowly and Roman huffed through his nose, "He isn't talking. I've been trying, believe me." The princely figure looked rumpled, more worried than Virgil had ever seen him. Still, the anxious side approached. He crouched by the bed, getting down to eye-level with the indigo side, "L, come on. Can you... hear me?" Virgil's voice took on a desperate note of pure panic.

-

"It doesn't matter anymore. Who cares if they're here? They're going to leave soon enough anyways, and you can disappear. Nothing matters."

-

Roman looked up, just as the walls started to shake, furniture toppling over as the walls started to close in, and he shouted in surprise as the bed was pushed against his ankles, knocking him back onto the floor. Virgil, being the embodiment of fight or flight, immediately leapt back, avoiding such a fate, and quickly pulled Roman to his feet.

If Logan felt the room moving, he either seemed to not care or not have enough energy to care as he continued to lay there, blankly staring up at the ceiling. It was eerie, those glassy orange irises that replaced the calming blue, his rumpled appearance and limp body, a singular hand drooping off the side of the bed with a pair of broken glasses on the floor.

“What in the ever-loving FU—” Virgil started to exclaim until Patton interrupted with a squeak, “—Hell. What the hell.” Virgil rectified as Patton’s face paled further, his eyes glued to the state of the room, flicking between the motionless figure on the bed and the walls that continued to inch in slowly after the jolt.

“O-oh god. Oh god.” He whispered softly, stumbling back and almost tripping over a fallen book as Roman steadied him with an uncharacteristically soft, “Patton...?” The moral side didn’t respond, only dashing forward to grip Logan’s hand and studying it with a ghost-like complexion. After a moment, he dropped the limp hand as if he had been burned, gasping softly as he took a stuttering step backwards, “This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening—Lo, kiddo—"

Roman put a hand on Patton’s shoulder, interrupting his spiral and making him jump. “Pat. You got to share with the class,” he said with a nervous chuckle as Virgil tugged on his hood, gripping his arms bruisingly. “Or else I think Virgil is going to have a heart attack.” Patton just let out a soft, terrified noise, unable to rip his eyes from Logan until Roman planted both hands on his shoulders, turning him away. “Patton, you’re scaring us. Talk to me.” Wide cyan eyes met furrowed ruddy brown, another useless whimper escaping the man, and Roman waited a moment before releasing him and striding over to the bed, scooping up Logan. His head lolled into Roman’s shoulder, a weak, almost imperceptible grumble of annoyance coming from the logical side as the room steadily shrank.

“We can talk in the living room.” Roman said shortly, striding over the mess in the room and jerking his head for Virgil and Patton to follow. Virgil trailed behind while Patton stood frozen, watching as the room became utterly gray and colorless.

“Now, Patton.” Came Roman’s voice, startling him out of his daze. “R-right, coming…” Patton whispered, walking out with slow, uneven steps as the door slammed behind him with a large bang, now covered in that garish orange and crumbling around the edges.

-

“Let me go. Please, just let me go already, I can’t… do this. Not anymore. Nothing matters. Nothing matters. Nothing matters.”

-