Despite the anguish his thoughts were causing, it wasn’t as though he really wanted to get high. Mostly for the way it made him feel afterwards, but especially not when he would need to focus the next day. So, he finally found a restless sleep and woke to the gentle light of the autumn sun filtering through the slanted grate of the crawlspace. Logan quickly packed up his items into their neat little bundle before shrugging on one of his few hoodies to face down the early morning chill. Pulling the hood over his wounded scalp, Logan realized just how sore he was as he picked his way through the empty streets.

How many bruises this time? he thought bitterly.

Multi-colored leaves stood stark against the frosted chill of the morning, the crisp scent of evergreen interwoven with smoke from nearby chimneys.

Logan felt relief settle over his shoulders, though he couldn’t decide if it was the familiarity of this part of the vast city or the Shades that trailed behind him, siphoning his pain and leaving only comfort. With the panic primarily dissipated, the emotional weight of the prior day slamming into him. He wished he could shrug it all off but he just…couldn’t. Disregarding that first, awful encounter at the station, Logan had caught sight of Aden dozens of times, ever since he’d joined the academy.

But every time, Logan was turned away from. Ignored. All while Aden lived carefree in a way that Logan only ever dreamed of.

Yet, a single thought still nagged at him despite his many attempts to escape it. If Aden truly meant to avoid him for all this time, if he had truly given up on searching for Logan, then what had all that been about?

His hand strayed to the stitches on his scalp. Aden had cared enough to intervene. Cared enough to heed Logan’s desire to avoid a hospital, treating him as the withdrawals clashed with the excrutiating pain of the beating he’d received. And that guilt, powerful enough to darken the dancing flames of Aden’s usual bright eyes. Genuine distress that seemed hard to authentically fake riding every broken word and stuttered letter. Though, Logan had been deceived before…

Logan struggled against the serpents dragging at his confusion, their attempts to poison him with venomous hatred seemingly making ground. He could feel the aggravation, the pull of his rage. Feeling dizzy from the sudden burst of emotion, he stumbled into a quiet alcove between two townhouses and screamed. All the anger and sadness he harbored exploded from his throat. Tears chewed their way down his cheeks, dripped from his jawbone to catch on the wildflowers he stood over.

When the anger had been wept away, Logan held his shivering frame and became once again aware of his prominent physical pain. He groaned and pulled out a severely outdated flip phone, dialing one of only six numbers.

“Sherri?” Logan murmured into the phone as the bustle of the restaurant became apparent on the other end.He pushed his hood back nervously as he waited for her to respond.

“Ah, Logan! How are you this morning?”

Logan let out a sigh of relief. Sherri’s voice always soothed his restless soul. “I’m…not doing so well,” he admitted, restraining a choked sob.

“Oh, honey…well, why don’t you take the day and rest up.” She paused for a moment. “This doesn’t have to do with…your side projects, does it?”

Logan swallowed hard. “I-I just…needed a little cash.”

“….Take the day, sweetheart,” Sherri responded with tender care. That’s all it ever was from her; unconditional care.

Logan couldn’t stifle the second sob of overwhelming gratefulness for her, but he hung up before Sherri could comment on it. He’d deal with the repercussions later.

During the short conversation with his boss, Logan’s ankle had begun throbbing, the pain worsening. Thankfully, the nausea from his withdrawals was nothing more than a dull pulse in his gut, but his limp wasn’t the only concern immediately noticeable. At some point, a scab on his head wound had been scratched off and fresh blood dampened his fingertips.

“Fuck me,” he hissed, wiping the blood from his fingers onto the soft fabric of his black hoodie. Looked like he was visiting Havoc today regardless of the mends Aden had managed to make.

Tossing his hood over the wound to hide it from prying eyes, Logan limped back out onto the sunlit sidewalk and continued on his way. Havoc wasn’t different from any other slum doc, meaning he was going to be in the heart of depravity and just as busy as one would expect in a place of drug dealers and addicts alike. Not to mention the consistent flow of blood from gang violence and those that got stuck in between. There might not even be a chance of fixing the mess until tomorrow.

“Fuck. Me,” Logan reiterated, gritting his teeth and bearing the full agony of jogging in the hopes he could make it there in time enough to get seen before he managed to let Sherri down again. With his luck, it probably wasn’t going to happen, but Logan could always dream.

After all, dreams were all he had left.

The Serpent's Lair