Chapter Text
Labels. Logan was good at labels, at categories. He kept every aspect of his life organized from possessions, to documents, to his own mind. Everything had a place. Files in his office were color-coded: dark blue for work, green for personal, red (hidden in a secret compartment) for his extracurriculars, and one light blue binder stuffed under the floorboards that Patton would never, ever see. His email inbox was almost always empty; each correspondence was opened at the earliest opportunity and deleted, dealt with, or regulated to the appropriate subfolder. He kept a strict schedule: Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays for teaching and dealing with students; Tuesdays and Thursdays for research and meetings; Saturdays for Patton; and Sundays for rest. There were breakfast foods, dinner foods, snacks, and deserts. Though he did on occasion make an exception for putting jams (a breakfast food) in a cookie (a desert); Patton had had to work to convince him of such a thing. People in his life were strangers, acquaintances, or Patton. Acquaintances having the subcategories of co-workers, students, and Patton’s friends and family. Everything, in Logan’s mind, had a place. There was no room for an odds and ends drawer in his life even if he had to practically follow Patton around the house some days to make it so.
So why, why, could Logan not figure this one out?
Logan sorted the citizens of his city (of the world in fact) into 6 different categories in his mind: heroes, villains, vigilantes, criminals, government authorities, and civilians, and knew how to deal with each.
Logan himself was a hero, complete with telekinesis, public support, and a mask that hid his identity. Bludgeon, the man he had just discarded unconscious and tied on the ground was a villain with all of the pomp and dramatics that came with the name even if he didn’t seem to have any powers other than impressive technology and a remarkable accuracy with guns.
…
Guns.
…
The woman who was rushing to collect the villain and the others buzzing around the scene were government authorities, namely, police officers. The couple of teenagers that were currently being thwarted from taking advantage of the chaos to steel a television by said police officers were criminals, separated from villains as they had no long-term goals for societal upheaval or dramatics. They were simply opportunists.
The young woman who bashed in knees and dumped gang members at the police station on Saturday nights was a vigilante, separated from criminals and villains by her intentions and separated from heroes by her means. The old man who’d shot Logan that once was also a vigilante despite Logan’s distaste for him. The new egotistical young man with super strength and a prince costume who’d started showing up to attempt to aid Logan was a blundering idiot hero. The chief of police who’d gotten kidnapped last week and was still recovering in the hospital was a government official; Patton said he was doing well, though he’d only seen him once after the surgery. Patton himself was a civilian, though no less important or skilled in Logan’s eyes.
The child who’d been told to run on strangled breath less than two minutes ago was a civilian too.
It was easy for Logan to take one look at people and put them into boxes, but what on Earth was he supposed to do with the figure bleeding out before him now?
Shadow Caster. When the man had first become known to the public, cloaked in shadows and silent in the night, he’d been branded as a criminal and an effective one at that. His activities often aligned with this classification: robbing banks, stores, and once, a museum. As more of his crimes came to light, the media had started hedging toward calling him a villain, especially with his powers. Then, he and the idiot prince had gotten into a pissing match fight which had ended in the destruction of some public property which was honestly more of the hero’s fault in Logan’s opinion, but the media had leaned into it despite the lack of deaths or injuries by Shadow Caster’s hand. To the contrary, there had been a rumor that he’d saved a couple from a crashed car once on his way back from robbing a bank, though that could have just been someone with a similar disguise.
Logan had honestly not paid him much mind. Whether a criminal or low-level villain, he had been far too harmless to concern Logan. He’d had only a one-page report in Logan’s red files detailing his existence for quite some time. Then, the incident happened.
An active shooter in a local high school. He’d killed every administrator in the front office before they could even send out an alert; the calls had started coming into 911 from panicked student’s cell phones as the shooter worked his way meticulously through the school, spreading carnage and taking hostages.
That is the first time Logan had ever come face to face with the Shadow Caster.
They hadn’t questioned it, hadn’t paused. Logan had been wrapped up in shadows, cool and not quite solid against his skin, hiding him from view and muffling his footsteps. Logan didn’t think he’d have been able to sneak up on the shooter without them, didn’t know how many more bullets would have flown, how many more would be dead, how many more children would be dead. Even with the advantage, the shooter had managed to get off a few shots in the struggle, but he’d been blinded by shadows and only managed to graze three of the hostages.
After that incident, the public opinion of the Shadow Caster shifted bit by bit. He didn’t stop committing crimes, in fact, he didn’t really change his behavior at all, but reporters started looking harder. A few people saved here, a violent criminal stopped there. He helped Logan take down a villain a few times by clearing the area of civilians, so Logan wasn’t distracted. He’d once talked down a boy whose powers had gone haywire when Logan couldn’t get there in time.
Vigilante? The people questioned, but that was wrong too. His crimes were selfish not aimed to help the greater good.
Yet villain? Even criminal? Those tasted like ash in Logan’s mouth.
But what else was he? He was not a civilian certainly and he was definitely not sanctioned by the government.
The only thing left was hero, yet he was not that either. He was not a beacon of good in a mask. He did not go out of his way to help people or patrol. The acts of benevolence were performed on the way to or from his crimes. He acted when he stumbled upon dire situations, but that was not the goal. He was not a hero, but…
But, the people knew, when the worst came to worst, when there were villains who aimed to destroy and maim or natural disasters that threatened to level the city, they could hide behind him and be protected.
Logan knew, when worst came to worst, when his shadows could barely solidify enough to stop one bullet, but there were two bullets in the air, when it seemed he had to choose one or the other, in a split second, his shadows would come up to protect Logan from harm and his body would dive to protect the child.
So, what was Logan supposed to do with him?
In the time it had taken Logan to disarm the villain, Shadow Caster had managed to drag himself away, but he hadn’t gotten too far. Logan had easily found him. He’d left a trail of blood all the way to the small alleyway.
“Don’t,” he spat when he noticed Logan. His hands were covered in blood, one against the wound and one on the ground supporting his weight. “Don’t,” he repeated when Logan moved forward, but there was a shake to it this time. He curled himself around the wound the best he could without hurting himself further and Logan irrationally found himself wondering if he’d always been that small. “Don’t, please, I’m already hurt.” Well that was… distressing.
He crouched down to touch him gently on the shoulder. “It’s just me.” He flinched back at the touch.
“Please don’t,” he rasped, and Logan couldn’t see much of his face with the mask in the way, but he could see his eyes wet with tears and filled with pain and fear. “Please, I… I helped you. Please.”
“And I’m going to help you,” Logan assured him, trying to ignore the uncomfortable squirming sensation in his stomach, before using his powers to maneuver the man into his arms. He wasn’t very heavy, shockingly light in fact, but he shook violently in Logan’s grip. Was it fear or was he cold due to blood loss? There was… a lot of blood, Logan noted, and his fingers were cold when they came up to push weakly at his face.
He had to use his powers to still his struggling, afraid he’d accidently drop him when he flew otherwise. It was difficult, but eventually he stopped trying to throw himself out of Logan’s arms to the ground below. Not because he’d calmed though. No, he’d lost consciousness.
The clear course of action was to take him to a hospital, but Logan knew if he did that, the man would be arrested as soon as anyone caught wind of it, and they would catch wind of it. That didn’t seem right under the circumstances. So, he took him to the only other place he could think to.
By the time Logan made it home, Patton was already rushing around, gathering supplies with a mask on his face (because he wasn’t stupid). “I saw on the news, put him on the guest bed.” Logan wondered how he’d known he was flying off to bring the man here instead of a hospital, as he realistically should have, but he didn’t ask. Patton probably had known Logan would end up here before Logan had known it himself.
Patton followed him up the stairs with armfuls of packaged bandages. The door to the guest room was already propped open and medical supplies were set out on a steel table that had been rolled into the room. The bed, usually covered with soft, pattern, sheets and a thick homemade quilt was now only covered in a white fitted sheet. There was a box of latex gloves set out on the nightstand and an organized collection of scalpels, clamps, still packaged needles, and vials of medicine laid out in reach. The room already smelled of disinfectant. He’d prepped for surgery.
As Logan set the bleeding man on the bed, he thought that he was likely right to do so. Patton was elbowing him out of the way the moment his hands were out from under Shadow Caster, gloves on his hands already. Patton didn’t hesitate to take scissors to the bloody fabric of the man’s outfit near the wound. Something flickered across his face when he saw the man’s stomach, a bit of Patton Patton slipping past the Doctor Patton countenance, but he determinedly shook it off.
“I’m definitely going to have to operate,” he said sounding unsurprised. He stripped the bloody gloves off and threw them away in a trashcan he’d set up next to the steel table. “Set up an IV, get the heart monitor going, and get the scope ready.” He walked into the bathroom and Logan heard water running. Logan jumped to do as he asked, snapping on gloves himself before moving to insert the IV.
Shadow Caster, unfortunately, woke a few moments after Logan stepped back from hooking up the heart monitor. His eyes flickered and he gave a confused, pained sound. He tried to move, to sit, and Logan quickly pinned him down with his powers. The heart monitor beeped faster, and Logan could feel him try to push back against his powers, not nearly strong enough to get anywhere.
“No,” he said weakly and tried to thrash. Shadows started to shudder and crawl at the edges of the room.
“Give him the morphine,” Patton ordered, lips pressed into a grim line. He was wearing surgical gloves now that went all the way up past the elbows.
The man on the bed was out of it, but he understood enough to struggle even harder at those words. Shadows lashed at Logan’s ankles, drawing blood. He hissed and batted them away with his powers. He grabbed the morphine and probed at the still struggling figure with his powers to get an estimate of his weight (very light for a full-grown man, he noted) before measuring an appropriate dose of medication and inserting it into the IV. His struggles weakened and then stopped. There was a moment pause.
“Lights,” Patton demanded, and Logan flicked his fingers so all of the lights in the room were at full power. “Alright. Let’s go.”
The surgery took a little over an hour. Patton had sent him to go take a shower when he’d finished and Logan had agreed, wanting to get the blood off of himself. This particular super-suit would be going into the fire.
He heard the guest bedroom shower going when he walked by and down the steps to the kitchen. The oven had been turned off and there was a partially cooked pan of lasagna cold on the rack. Logan went to the fridge and grabbed tubs of leftovers. Fridays were usually leftover nights and today was Wednesday. They’d have to figure out something else for that meal.
There was a small whine from the corner of the room and Logan looked over at the dog kennel in the corner. “When Patton gets down Missy,” he told her softly. She whined again.
Logan took what he wanted from the Tupperware and popped the plate into the microwave. While waiting for it to warm, he dished out a few more leftovers onto another plate. He put on an extra enchilada and none of the meatloaf. Then, he filled the kettle with water and set it to boil before putting away the other leftovers.
Logan heard footsteps on the stairs and Missy gave a plaintive bwoof. “Telling on me for not letting you out immediately?” he asked.
Patton chuckled as he entered the room. “Is daddy being mean to you again and not letting you go jump on our guest’s bed?” he cooed, walking over to unlock the kennel. Assumedly, that meant the guest room door was now shut.
“I am not that things daddy,” Logan groused.
Patton picked the mutt up and gave it a kiss on the head. “You love her,” he claimed.
“I do not,” Logan insisted.
“Do too.” He set the dog down and it trotted away directly toward the steps, probably to go sniff at the guest bedroom door.
“I tolerate its presence and feed it, that is all,” Logan informed him.
Patton hummed and walked over to lean against the counter next to him as he swapped out the plates in the microwave. “What about me?” he asked and stole a green bean from Logan’s plate. “Do you tolerate my presence and feed me too?”
“To be fair, you feed me a majority of the time. At least 75% of my meals any given week,” Logan told him, watching the thief’s movements.
“Ah, so you’re the dog then?” He popped the green bean in his mouth and immediately spit it out because it was too hot.
Logan smirked. “That is what you get.”
Patton glowered at him and then shuffled forward to bump his forehead against Logan’s shoulder. Logan raised his arm to allow him to cuddle into his side and wrap his arms around his waist. He clung hard for a few moments before his shoulders relaxed. Then, he tilted his face up expectantly. Logan raised an eyebrow. “Sure, you don’t want to kiss the dog again first?” he asked. Patton pouted at him, and how was he supposed to resist that? He leaned forward to kiss him, turning slightly and letting his hand train up his spine to the back of his neck.
Logan pulled back when the microwave beeped, and Patton made an unhappy sound. “Food,” Logan said.
Patton sighed and drew back to grab his plate from the microwave and pick Logan’s up from the counter. The kettle had turned off once the water boiled and Logan poured hot water over tea bags in two cups. He sat one down in front of Patton and took the other to where his plate already sat.
The dog came back into the kitchen while they ate, giving up on the guest bedroom door for now and settled next to Logan’s feet. He pocked her with his socked foot, and she rolled over onto her back happily so Logan could idly pet her stomach with his toes.
Patton finished first, twirling his fork between his fingers while he waited for Logan to finish, clearly with something on his mind. Logan set his fork down and tilted his head with a raised eyebrow.
“He’s been tortured before,” Patton told him, his voice clinical.
Logan blinked. “What?”
Patton’s fork continued to twirl, and his voice stayed steady, as though he were giving a report. “When I cut off his shirt, there was a lot of blood, but I could see scars too, some cuts and burns all too carefully placed to be an accident or from a life of fighting. I snuck a peak once you’d left and I’d cleaned away most of the blood. They go all the way up and all the way down, carved rather strategically based on nerve endings.”
“That would… explain a few of his mannerisms when I picked him up earlier. He likely fears being in such a vulnerable state if that has happened.”
Patton nodded. “He’s not going to wake happy,” Patton said. “At least one of us will have to be in the room as the drugs wear off. He’ll certainly panic otherwise and overreact, likely exacerbating his injuries.”
He’d probably panic anyway, Logan thought, and panic was if they were lucky. There was every likelihood he’d not only not wake ‘happy,’ but wake homicidal. He sighed. “It’s a good thing I don’t have to teach tomorrow and that you are not on call.”
The fork twirled and twirled between Patton’s fingers.
“Are you going to cry?” Logan asked.
Patton nodded and Logan got to his feet. He kneeled next to his chair and grabbed the fork from his hand to set it down on the table. Patton hiccupped and started to cry. Logan pulled him gently to his chest and let him. By nature, he was very bad at this, but practice had made him better. He rubbed his back with gentle circles and pressed his cheek on the top of his head. Eventually, Missy noticed and trotted over with a whine to scratch at Patton’s legs.
“Hey, Missy girl,” Patton said, sniffling. He reached down to pat her on the head.
Logan picked Patton up from the chair, using his powers to make it a bit easier. He carried him to the couch before letting go of him in midair. He yelped on instinct.
“Stop doing that,” he complained, squirming while suspended in the air.
Logan laid himself down on the couch. “That’s not what you were saying last night,” he reminded mildly and flicked a hand, so Patton rolled over in midair and then settled on Logan’s chest.
Patton rolled his eyes. His face was still puffy, but he’d ceased crying for the moment. He leaned his ear against Logan’s chest. “Maybe he was a superhero once,” Patton suggested, “and then someone did that and he broke and decided being good didn’t matter. That would explain why he does bad things, but still helps people. Because he’s actually a good person. He’s just confused.” Patton had always been sympathetic to Shadow Caster, especially after the school shooting. Even when Logan had still been hesitant, Patton had made up his mind on the matter. He’d had to do surgery on some of the kids that day and if anything got to Patton, it was kids.
“Maybe,” Logan agreed. He hadn’t heard of a hero with shadow powers before he’d shown up. In fact, Logan had never heard of a super with such powers before him. Though it was possible he’d been a newbie below Logan’s radar who’d gotten caught up in more than he could handle too fast. It certainly sounded like a villain origin story.
“Maybe we could help him,” Patton said, biting his lips. “Remy’s boyfriend is a therapist.” Remy was a nurse that worked for Patton who lived mostly on coffee.
Logan hesitated. “Maybe,” he said softly. Patton was an optimist, Logan was not. “I don’t know if he’d accept something like that. I haven’t really gotten a chance to talk to him.”
“Well then you don’t know that he wouldn’t accept it.”
“…that’s true,” Logan said, he brushed Patton’s hair away from his face. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I’ll just have to apply love and affection,” he chirped, propping himself up on Logan’s chest.
“Patton, he’s an adult man,” Logan pointed out.
“So are you and it works on you.”
“Does not,” Logan claimed.
“That’s not what you were saying last night,” he said, sticking out his tongue. Then, he leaned forward to peck him on the lips. “We should probably go clean up the kitchen and get our masks back on.”