I love this fic. Like a lot. So I hope it gets reviews ;) Part of the reason I love this because Kendall is the innocentdamsalindistress this time. And Jo doesn't really do anything terrible to anyone. More or less doesn't do anythng bad to Logan. Okay. I've said too much already.

Please read on.

Disclaimer: I do not own BTR

"People who claim they're evil are usually no better than the rest of us. It's people who claim that they're good, or any way better than the rest of us that you have to be wary of."

-Gregory Maguire, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West

A sudden blast of wind ripped past my body sending chills down my spine. I pull my gray hoodie tighter against me. But no matter what the heat, a person who is frozen beyond reaching cannot ever feel warmth. I fist my hands and jam them into the hoodie pockets. Above head a streetlight flickers on and off weakly illuminating my pathway. I find it strange how there are hardly any cars driving along. This is Detroit. And even neon signs of bars and gift shops have been turned off. If I wasn't me I would've been anxious about this.

If I wasn't me I would've suspected I was alone.

The sound of an electric guitar cuts through my concentration. I reach a hand into my jeans pocket and pull out a cell phone that may or may not have been mine. Listless, I say halfheartedly, "Logan, speaking."

"Where the heck are you?"

Jo. "Nowhere. Just out walking."

"Out walking! Logan am I hearing you right?" Jo snaps. Her voice crackles through the speakers. I think I can make out a vaguely familiar male voice asking her a question in the background. "You should be back here. At the hideout!"

I shrug even though she won't see it. "Can't a guy get some fresh air? Who's there with you?"

"James," she answers so quickly that it could've been 'Jett.' "And no! Not with the situation you're in! Ya know; you've shown absolutely no gratitude to what we've done to keep you're ass safe."

"Hey is Stone there?" I want to know. She told me earlier that she'd be paying a visit to us. "Lucy Stone?"

"Logan!" Jo spat, "Have you listened to a word I've said?"

I open my mouth to speak but out of the corner of my eye I see something. It's only a glimpse, but in that glimpse I see a whole scene: An alleyway that leads no where and a body with blood pooling around it. "Hold that thought," I tell Jo.

"Bu-"

I hang up before getting a chance to hear what she planned on saying. Casually, I enter the alleyway, buildings that surround it casting dark shadows. As I get closer I see that there is a trail of blood from the dead end, to this body. Signs of attempted escape.

Signs of being dragged.

Without any hesitation, I lower myself right down next to the body-ignoring the puddle under me- and inspect it. I turn the body over and through all its blood I can identify a boy. Maybe a bit younger than me. I think his hair was supposed to be blonde. Or something close to blonde. It's plastered to his forehead and the position he's in makes his eyes invisible. I'm not sure where the source of this crimson mess began. This challenge to my knowledge of killing wounds is taunting. Watching his motionless form, I speculate. There's quite a bit of dried blood around his neck. I reach my hand out and rest my palm against it tenderly. I don't know why I bothered being gentle though. I trail my hand down his neck, moving it slowly up and down. There's a cut only a knife could create that starts at his right jawbone and ends at his left collarbone. His face is scratched and bruised. Also his chest. The way scarlet stains his T-shirt I can tell it was once a shade of gray. I slide my hand down from where it rested and lift my hand up from still oozing blood.

"Hmm," I murmur because there's no one to hear the evaluation running through my mind.

His limp arms have visibly ripped open skin- road burns-from when he was dragged. I let out a deep breath and on sudden impulse I reach out a brush hair away from his closed eyes. The 'blonde' boy is broken. No question, no 'looks'; he's. Just. Broken.

Another impulse causes makes me check if his still breathing. Pressing two fingers against his un-scared collar bone, I wait. And very faintly, something struggles beneath my touch. It is so exhausted however, that it may have been something created by one's imagination. I bite down hard on my bottom lip and pull out my cell phone again.

It rings, once. Twice. Three times... "Ready to listen now?" Jo sing-songs.

"Hey, can you or James come and pick me up?"

"From where?" Jo asks, annoyance edging her tired voice.

I shook my head. "Don't know. I'm near the old movie theater though. I think."

She doesn't answer for a few moments. I can hear her repeat what I say to James. "Fine. I'll be there. Why do you need me this time?"

"I found someone. He's barely alive."

Her ton changes into something cold, "I-Since when do you care whether someone dies or lives?"

I swallow. "Just get here."

This time Jo hangs up first.

I put my cell phone away again and glance over to him. "You're lucky," I whisper. "I could've ended you now if I wanted to." But I didn't. Why didn't I? "So...How did you end up like this?" It's said that people who are in a comma or are unconscious can hear when someone is talking to them. I answer my own question, "Oh, you probably ran into someone like me." I close my eyes for a brief second. "I'm not a good person," I laugh softly even if there's nothing funny about it. "And what makes it all truly evil of me...is that I don't even care. What makes a person like that..." I stare down at him thoughtfully, eyebrows furrowed. "What makes me like this?"

"I don't know, but I'd like to."

I glance over my shoulder to see Jo with her arms crossed. "That was fast," I say.

"Well there weren't many people out so I sped over here, no big deal right? I do it all the time," Jo affirms, stalking over to my side. "Wow," she exhales. "And he's alive?"
"Like I said; barely. Where's your car?"
She jerks her thumb to the way she came. "Back there-just a little ways down the street."

"Great," I mutter, "Can you help me lift him?" Jo nods and walks around to his other side. Together we carry him to a dark blue Toyota Camry that may or may not have been Jo's, and set the blonde in the back seat.

"I never would've believed that you'd want to actually want to save someone," Jo admits as she starts the car. "Why do you care what happens to him?"

Why. Do. I. Care...

"Maybe when he wakes up he'll tell me who beat him and then I'll find that guy and eliminate the competition," I explain although I'm not sure if my answer makes sense.

"Eliminate...the competition..."Jo shakes her head and focuses on the roads ahead. "Whatever, Logan. Do whatever the heck you want. Like you always do." She drums her fingers on the wheel. "What do you plan do to with him once you've gotten the information?"

I glimpse over to the back seat where he lies, his blood beginning to stain the cushions. Something inside me aches. I've never felt this way-more or less I haven't felt this way in a long time. I could've just left him... "Let's just think of the now- and now I need to go to the hideout-I need to go home."

"Because the hideout is home," Jo states.

"Mmm, hmm."

And when we pull into the abandon street, up to somewhere that appears as if no one lives in it. "Yep...home sweet home," I grumble.

"You try to move him yourself for a sec; I'll go tell James to hold the door," Jo says, taking the keys and scrambling out of the car. She carefully pads down concrete stairs to the hidden door. I forget what I'm supposed to be doing until I hear a faint, faint whimper. He's waking up. Sooner than I would've calculated. With the way he was breathing-the way he was wounded I would've guessed he'd be sleeping through until tomorrow afternoon. I open the car door and lazily slide from the seat. I turn to close the door again but pause. There is slight discoloration to the gray leather. Probably from blood I brought with me. Other times. Not exactly my blood. I'm surprised Jo's never mentioned the stains.

I saunter idly around to the other side of the Camry. The side where his head is. I open the door and crouch down. "Hey," I say, placing my hand on his shoulder, shaking him. "C'mon. It would make it much easier if you woke up now, that way I won't have to drag-carry you in."

He doesn't move his head when his eyes open. They are full of a rain washed shade of emerald green. Somewhere in the fading color there is a lost looking yellow. And suddenly-for once- I don't feel like me.

"Logan!" Jo exclaims, again at my side in an instant. But just as instantly his eyes were open, they shut again.

I narrow my own eyes and look at him, head tilted ever so slightly. "Jo-does James have the door ready?"

"Uh-huh," Jo hums. "Obviously this guy is not getting up himself so...What?"

"Um; oh, nothing. It's nothing, what are you waiting for-come on," I unintentionally ramble. We hoist him out of the car and as we take him inside I remember his eyes and wonder when they'll reveal themselves again. Something inside me hopes it's soon...weird right?

My hideout-'home'-is not much. It's always dark no matter how many lights are on, windows forbidden. In perspective as to just entering, there is a box-in counter around a kitchen that can't possibly count as a kitchen. Crammed into the claustrophobic area is a medium sized silver fridge that's about as tall as me, cabinets and more counter space that border around to almost complete the square. After a break in cracked white tiles, the rest of the floor is of a snarled teal rug. Two feet or so away left from the door one of those box televisions is pressed up against wall, the only thing holding it up is a platform constructed by dictionaries and textbooks. I would've got a cabinet and flat screen but those are harder to sneak in. There was a coffee table- nothing much it could probably double as a foot rest-and couch- something out of those movies you see where a character sneaks into an abandon house and everything is far too dusty to tell anything's original color. My home had a chilling, unwelcoming atmosphere that screamed at instinct to turn around and break for it.

"Alright, let's uh set him down on the couch," I say.

James closes the door behind him. He crosses his arms over his chest and hovers around the back of the couch. "Why'd you bring him back here?"

Jo tells him before I can, "Logan wants to eliminate the competition."

James raised an eyebrow indignantly. "That guy's competition?"

"No, idiot," I hiss, backing away once we lay him down. "Whoever did that"-I motion to his damaged body- "is competition." I explain for the second time, "I'll get him to tell me who maimed him when he's woken up."

"And if he won't tell you?" James challenges.

"I'll just have to keep him hostage until he does; seems logical that he'll do what I request," I say, languid and vaguely aware of Jo's gaze set on me. Clearing my throat with an- 'eh-hem'- I loll my head to the side, unintentionally glaring at James. "I'd like to know why you were here anyways."

Through ignorant, accusing hazel orbs; I can see endlessly flowing anxiety. "Jo invited me here," he responds after a bit. "After she learned Carlos and I were having some trouble with Wayne-Wayne she figured you might know what to do about him."

Wayne-Wayne. In our world he was nothing but bark and no bite. I mean come on; even that name implies he'd get molested by a mere passerby. This wasn't the first time Diamond and Garcia were 'having trouble' with Wayne-Wayne. I snort, "Again? What's up this time? Did he steal one of your clients? Trace the tip of a knife around your pretty face?" I chuckle humorlessly. "No, wait. He's not that good. It would truly take an impossibly weak person to be tortured by him."

James lunged forward towards me, but I didn't flinch away. There wasn't anything to be frightened of. Towering over me, James seethes, "You don't know me. You don't know Carlos; or what Wayne-Wayne is capable of! If you're too busy destroying victims of your own then, the heck with it!"

I feel a smug grin enfold its way onto my face. "That's how you feel then?" I inquire. I can tell-his breath catches in his throat. James nods; the rest of his body frozen in place like a stone statue.

I am a male version of Medusa and him an unimportant Greek peasant.

"Then don't come back here. If you ever show your face again I will personally send Detroit's best after you or so be it I'll make sure the job gets done myself." It was a lame-empty threat (definitely not my best). But it scared him enough.

James bows his head and scurries past me and hurries out the door. I look to the opposite end of the couch. Jo has her eyes closed. Her hands are fists at her sides. "Need a beer or something?" I ask.

"Logan!" She spat, eyes shooting open.

"What?" I say sarcastically. "If I know Stone when she get's here-"

Jo frowns, skeptical. "Lucy is coming here too?"
"Yes. I thought we established that earlier."

She looks off to somewhere past me. "Lucy's bad news I hear."

"I'm said bad news but you still hang around me," I point out.

"We've been though a lot," Jo replies, focusing back on me.

It's true. Before everything we were each other's only friend. Classic, huh? Every morning we'd make sure the other was okay because in Detroit you never know what could happen; after school we'd walk with each other back to our apartment. Every night we'd go to either's suite and work on homework or study. Both our one parents worked late. On weekends we would run around the streets and role-play as criminal and police, burst out singing at random times to see how many people would start yelling at us... Simple things that a friendship like that came up with...I remember how Jo began to avoid me in school and how she'd never talk unless requested to by a teacher. I remember how she started ditching school and walking back to the apartment alone...I guess I was concerned because once after school I hurried up to her room to see if she was okay. The door creaked open by itself the way it would in a horror movie. I highly expected to hear some jump out and scream, 'don't go in the room, Logan!' But even when I was hardly me, I sucked in my gut and advanced onward in no way prepared for what was about to change everything. There was a man-I think in his late twenties. I hate to remember because then the image is trapped in my mind for unidentifiably periods of time. But I do remember this: Sending a knife into his heart.

And there was so much more to our history.

"Yeah," I agree solemnly. "We have a weird relationship," I say for no reason in particular.

"Weird? How so?"

I shrug because it was one of those things you said because it just seemed fitting. "No one would've guessed we were best friends," I offer.

"Maybe," Jo says.

"Someone told me they thought we were friends with benefits."

Jo snorts in a kinda disgruntled way. "Who said that?"
"Mmm...Heather Fox?" I can't be too sure.

"Ah. Remind me to talk to her."

"Got it," I say. There's a silence between us. "Well...if you don't wanna risk running into Lucy then you may want to go," I suggest.

Jo nods. "Right." She pauses at the door. "I'll see you...sometime. Bye, Logan."

And she's gone before I can say 'bye' back. I sigh something that doesn't sound like me and go to my bedroom. It's unfitting in my horror film-esc home. It's something quaint like a modern take on a bedroom from The Little House on the Prairie. A folding closet on the right wall hasn't got much variety in it. I walk over to it and grab a random T-shirt and fresh pair of boxers before heading to the bathroom. The bathroom is a short turn to the left of my room. It doesn't fit in my home either. With its pale yellow square tiles and white painted walls it's like I've entered the bathroom belonging to a young school teacher. There's a sink bolted to the wall in the left corner, a rectangle mirror a bit higher to the right. There's a small cabinet on the sink's other side that holds a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a mini first aid kit I found on the street once. Randomly in the middle of the room is a good old fashioned round oval bathtub with an attached shower and surrounding curtain.

I'm about to turn the water on when I hear that same whimper again. But I'm unsure as to whether he's worth checking up on. I make up my mind. Setting down my sleep-wear or whatever- the term 'pajamas' is so overrated- I strode back into the main room (because it can't possibly count as a living room). I walk around to the front of the couch and crouch in from of him. His eyes are closed but I know he's alive.

"You wanna tell me your name?" I ask first because there's something odd about constantly referring to someone as, 'him' or 'he' and vise versa for girls. He shifts slightly and I hold my breath, waiting to see if he'll at least open his eyes.

And he does.

Those sad, sad pale green eyes flutter open. "There, that's one step in the right direction," I say softly...I don't want to scare him by coming on too strong. "Now, can you talk?"

He just stares at me unblinking for a few seconds before folding his head to his chest and curling into an almost fetal position. I watch him as he closes up again. "Okay," I sigh. "I'm going to shower then I'll be heading to bed if you need anything."

I think.

I think I hear him.

Again.

I roll over in my bed and read the digital clock on my bedside table.

1: 05

And I guess that's too early to sleep for me.

But for Mr. No Name I'm not sure.

I'm guessing he's the kind of teen who crashes at eleven or something earlier. Then why'd he be awake?

Is it something to do with the pain?

I can't think right now.

It sounds more like crying.

I can't think.

The last time someone cried like that.

I can't.

Was Jo when I found her with the twenty year-old.

I

And I'm up again going to check on him.

I turn on the lamp by the end of the couch. I do it so hastily that it shakes the side table beneath it. I stand for a bit, shifting my weight from side to side by changing my footing. I once again go down to eye level with him. There are tears sliding down his scratched up face. My hand is all of a sudden on his shoulder. His eyes are half open.

"Can't sleep?" I say. "Same here." I think hard. And I pull something from deep in my memory. Something that's been boxed away and shoved far into the back of my almost abandon right brain."You know when I was young...six..." I shake my head. "It was so long ago. I used to have nightmares every night. My mom would...She would sometimes sing to me before I went to sleep. Now it wasn't any boring old lullabies that she would sing; no they would be those slow kinds of ballads that couples would dance to at their prom." I felt the smile that had form, fade again. "Why am I even telling you this..." I ponder for a moment.

Then I have it.

Being me I should've gotten it quicker. "Alright, buddy," I say sounding oddly like Harry from Home Alone. "I am going to try to make you fall asleep." He opens one of his eyes and I see a distant, suspicious glint in it. "Um, I don't have any music or whatever" -neither did my mom- "So we're going to have to make do without it. I'll warn you, I don't sing much I may sound awful; just warning ya."

I search through my right brain again- through another ancient box- for a song I may have heard somewhere on the radio. Somewhere while in a store. Somewhere... And I drag out something that Jo played a lot at her apartment. I clear my throat and mentally prepare to do something that was past its expiration on my personality...

"Slow down, you crazy child; you're so ambitious for a juvenile, but then if you're so smart then tell me why are you still so afraid? Where's the fire? What's the hurry about; you better cool it off before you burn it out, you've got so much to do and only so may hours in a day..."

My own voice startles me. Am I really me now? This doesn't feel like me.

"But you know that when the truth is told, that you can get what you want or you can just get old; you're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through, oooh...when will you realize, Vienna waits for you..." I sing. His green gaze is now fully on me. "Slow down, you're doing fine; you can't be everything you wanna be before your time; although it's so romantic on the borderline, tonight, tonight...too bad, it's the life you lead, you're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need; you can see when you're wrong you know you can't always see when you're right...you're right...you got your passion, you got your pride; but don't you know that only fools are satisfied...dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true, oooh...when will you realize, Vienna waits for you..."

He's falling asleep but at the same time remains content. I continue steadily, "Slow down, you crazy child and take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while; it's alright, you can't afford to loose a day or two... oooh...when will you realize, Vienna waits for you...And you know that when the truth is told, that you can get what you want or you can just get old; you're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through, mmm... why don't you realize, Vienna waits for you... when will you realize, Vienna waits for you..."

He struggles to stay awake, I can tell it. I reach upward and grab the red and black plaid blanket off the back of the couch, covering him. "Billy Joel plus my mom's old technique wouldn't fail-don't fight it," I sigh. He seems to settle and I wait until I'm sure he's asleep before whispering, "Goodnight."

It sounds strange coming out of my mouth. I don't say 'goodnight' unless it's cold and sarcastic. I don't say 'goodnight' unless-

"Thank you," he says. He's so quiet it's almost as if he hadn't spoken at all.

But it was there.

It was undeniably there.

And I say at an equally as inaudible level, "You're welcome."

I wasn't me now

I was a zoomed out imagine watching from a distance

I wasn't me

I was someone watching a memory of me

I wasn't

I was watching a movie in black and white

I

I was a black and white picture

And

I

Was

Nothing

This is a dream.

I'm dreaming.

I have to be dreaming.

Like I said; I LOVE this fanfic...hope you do to, please review! Should I continue? Yes? No?