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typically-untypical · 4 months

Text

Second In Command

AU: Mob AU

CW: Guns, Blood, Injury, non main character death

WC: 2,735

Date: 12/5/2023

"Chill out Logan," Roman laughed. "You're always so serious, it wouldn't hurt you to rest for a bit."

Logan could feel his blood pressure raising, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Are you aware of what happens when I chill out? If I am not constantly on alert who will clean up after the rest of you. It's not as if I'm the only one who seems concerned by the evidence the three of you leave behind or the people who are out to get the three of you." This is how it had been for the past hour, Roman, Virgil, and Patton were celebrating a recent victory and they had been teasing him about loosening up and partying with them, but that wasn't his job. His job was to protect them. His job was to make sure no one came near them. Sure they were in a safe house and there shouldn't be anything happening, but there was a deep seated need in Logan's heart to watch out for the three of them.

At least there had been, but he had been pushed to his limit tonight. "I'm going for a walk." Logan walked over to the coat rack, pulling his off and looking at the other three that were piled on the floor. He didn't need to be reminded that he was the only one who cleaned up in both a literal and figurative sense.

He tapped his hip, making sure his gun was still there and was easily hidden under his long peacoat before walking out of the door and slamming it. How many times had Roman told him to chill out just tonight? How many times had Patton told him to relax? Or Virgil told him he was being a bit up tight and needed to loosen up. Didn't they understand? He couldn't, not if he was going to continue to protect them.

Logan needed to breathe; he needed to let go of the anger that was pulling at his strings. He stood in the crisp air, taking slow deep breaths in hopes to calm himself down. He just needed time. He just needed to sort himself out. Why had it affected him tonight more than other nights? Was it because he had spent the whole night watching the three of them cuddle and tease each other?

Something snapped and Logan felt the weight shift in his body. No longer did he feel the tenseness in his shoulders and hands, but instead his throat and eyes.

He was hurt.

It seemed like none of them understood the extent of what he did. They didn't realize why he was always so serious. They didn't know he would sacrifice everything for them, even his sanity. Rubbing his face, Logan let his feet lead him. Their organization wasn't a completely legitimate, but Logan did everything he could to keep the four of them off of the feds radar. He balanced books, he forged paperwork, he did what needed to be done to keep all of them safe. He didn't want Roman, Virgil, and Patton to get hurt. He didn't want to lose them, but sometimes Logan was reminded, in the most painful of ways, that they didn't care for him as deeply as he cared for them. How strange it was to be so close to the people he loved and yet just far enough that he would never be able to reach them; to be in their shadow, always just a fraction behind. Logan's hand itched to reach out for something, anything that would help him blow off steam, anything to ebb the echoing anger, frustration and pain. Eventually, he pulled out a pack of gum and threw a stick in his mouth.

He had been a smoker at one time, easing the pain in his mind with smoke in his lungs, but Patton had looked so distraught the first time he caught Logan smoking, as if it hadn't been obvious by the smell of his clothes. His big eyes welled up with tears and he had asked... nay, demanded, Logan stop smoking immediately. Logan had picked up chewing gum instead. Going cold turkey had sucked, but the praise had been worth every second.

How disappointed would Patton look now if he went back on his promise? Especially since it would only been a temporary relief. He shoved his hands in his pocket, looking up to the starless sky, the lights hidden by the city's pollution. Logan was going to have to go back and apologize soon. It wasn't their fault he snapped. They were under no obligation to love him back, and one of these days they were going to get fed up with his temper. He was their second, he was their shadow and it was his job to follow and obey. He was their puppet, and they could pull his strings however they wanted. He could shove his feelings down in his chest. He'd return. Everything would go back to normal. He knew this. They knew this. It was only a momentary blip, a bubbling anger they had most likely expected from him. They were far too understanding with him sometimes.

Logan flopped onto a park bench, spreading his legs so he could rest his elbows on his knees. He hid his face in his hands, long fingers spread along his cheeks. They weren't required to love him or even to treat him well. It wasn't their job to love nor his to be loved. He wouldn't want fake platitudes anyway. He had fallen in love with their hearts and souls. He had fallen in love with the monsters underneath. He had fallen in love with their cruelty. They hadn't seen the same spark in him. They saw a friend, and that was fine.

He was going to forgive them, he was going to go back to them, it was inevitable. Logan just needed to rearrange his brain. He needed to remind himself where he belonged.

"Oh look who it is, the dog."

Logan looked up, face falling into a grimace as he immediately set his shoulders back and sat up tall. He should have been more careful. He should have been listening to his surroundings, fuck. He shouldn't have sat out in the open, not where he was so indefensible. This is what the three of them did to him. This is what happened when he let go.

"Wonder what the heads will pay to get you back." There were five of them total but only one was talking. The others leered at Logan like he was prey. He could probably shoot the man in front of him, but not before he was shot in return. A fire fight in the middle of the park wasn't ideal and he was drastically outnumbered.

"You're gonna ditch your gun and come with us." Logan didn't let his face change as he tried to figure out his options. The other times he had stormed away, he had always come back by morning and the three had never gone looking for him. He didn't want to be a burden to them financially or otherwise but he also knew he was more valuable to them alive. He stood up, slowly reaching for his gun and setting it on the bench.

"You realize they won't come," He bluffed, knowing very well they would. They might not love him in the way he loved them, but they needed him. They would come, and they would come with guns blazing. That was going to be so much for Logan to clean up.

"Yeah right," The other man snorted. "The three of them love you, they rely on you, rumor is your next to be entered into their hoard."

Logan responded with a snort of his own that bubbled into a full roaring laughter. "Me? Love me?" He asked, eyes suddenly wild, because something truly had broken in him. This man didn't know what the fuck he was talking about and who was he to give Logan false hope? "Your ability to gather intel is inept and the fact that you were only able to sneak up on me because I was at a low point makes you a sad excuse of a man. How long were you planning this? Did you see me alone in this park and throw together a squad." He stepped forward, looking deep into the other man's eyes. He brought his gun up toward Logan, finger tight on the trigger but the flood gates had opened. Logan was pissed that people were spreading rumors about his bosses. How dare they think Logan was worthy of their love. He wasn't even on their level. "What you don't understand is they might rely on me, but I am replicable. I am but a bishop on their chessboard, not even worthy of being turned into a queen." Logan reached out to take the man's gun. He heard the shot, felt the piercing in his arm but the pain didn't come. He must have been angrier than he thought.

"You, on the other hand, don't even belong on the board."

"Boss, what do we do?!" One of the other men called. This must have really been a slapped together excursion. Normally, a properly thought out plan, would include an escape, and also some basic instructions for unpredictable situations. Logan didn't want to give the other man time to respond though and, with his uninjured arm, he struck the man in the nose. His swear in response wasn't loud enough to cover the sound of bodies hitting the ground, and both he and Logan looked back at the other men. All four had crumpled to the ground in pools of their own blood, clean shots through their foreheads. Logan knew that style and his head immediately shot back toward the direction he had come from. There were two figures walking slowly toward them, illuminated by the street lamps.

Patton and Roman, which meant the sniper was definitely Virgil. Why were they here? They never came looking for him when he was throwing one of his tantrums. It was an unspoken rule that he would come back as soon as he had gotten himself back in order and they would continue as if nothing had happened. Why were they here now?

Logan looked back at the other bodies, made easier by the man with the gun spinning him toward the approaching figures and pressing cold steal to his temple. The anger was fading into surprise and with it his adrenaline began to dump, making the pain in Logan's arm suddenly come alive. He took in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. Controlling his breathing was the best option until he could treat his wound.

"Logie, you weren't smoking again, were you?" Patton asked, as if Logan didn't currently have a gun pressed to his head.

Spitting out his gum as proof, Logan shook his head before being grabbed tighter. The man behind him was saying something but literally none of it registered in Logan's brain. "No, of course not."

The smile on Patton's face was blinding, his hands clasped behind his back as he tilted his head. "I'm so proud of you." It almost made it all worth it, even the pain in his arm. was it obvious he was hurt? He did have a dark suit on, could they see the bullet wound through the dark fabric in this light? Logan was also certain he had a burn from the gun, he had been in such close proximity.

Roman cleared his throat. "As commendable as it is that Logan didn't fall back on bad habits, I believe we might have more important matters to attend to. Logan, darling, are you alright?" Roman asked, taking a step forward and for the first time in a bit, Logan registered what the man behind him was saying.

"Take another step and I'll shoot."

Logan was being held too close, Virgil wouldn't be able to get a clean shot, and with his arm injured he probably shouldn't try to escape. Either he was going to get hurt further, something Roman and Patton would never let him live down, or he'd get killed. At least he wouldn't have to worry about the teasing in that scenario.

"Do you really think that's a wise idea, kiddo? You aren't surviving this either way, but if you let him go, we'll make sure your death is quick. However, if you hurt even a hair on his head-" Patton's face shifted and Logan felt his knees going weak. He was like sunshine incarnate, but much like the sun, he could burn when he wanted to and Logan was happy to melt under that heat.

"You'll let me walk away. You won't risk him getting hurt further."

"Further?" Roman growled and something flashed across Patton's eyes. Roman put his finger to his ear. "No kill shots. He's already hurt L."

They had it handled. This was what they did best. Logan just needed to give them room to work. HE was going to have to risk the humiliation.

Despite the pain in his arm from where he had been shot, Logan spread his legs out in a quick motion, tossing the other man over his shoulder. The pain was blinding and at some point he also hit the ground. It must have been enough though, Patton was by his side when his vision cleared and he was tending to Logan's wound.

"Oh honey. He got you good didn't you, and with that move I'm sure you made it worse." The adrenaline was wearing off, the pain was shouting louder but he just nodded at Patton, closing his eyes. There was a tightness in his throat from not screaming and he was a feeling a bit woozy. Logan didn't want to show it. He wasn't meant to have weakness in front of them.

"I apologize for creating an inconvenience." Roman was on the phone calling in a clean up crew, good. He normally forgot that part. Virgil had to be running to meet them already. They needed to get out, but Patton was running a hand through his hair.

"Now hush," he whispered. "We all have a lot of things to apologize for but needing our help isn't one of them." As soon as Logan seemed to be relaxing, Patton's hand left his hair and the bandages were pulled tighter on Logan's arm. He took in a sharp breath as spots filled his vision.

"I'm sorry for yelling as well."

"Didn't I tell you to hush?" Patton asked quietly, leaning forward and giving Logan a light peck on the lips. "We have a lot to discuss. We obviously haven't been showing you how much you mean to us. We'll discuss that later. For now, just know, we would do anything for you."

Logan was overwhelmed, it sounded like a love confession. He knew it wasn't there was no way this was a love confession. The pain was just making him delusional.

"Pat! Is he alright?" Virgil was here. They were together. Maybe Logan could let go, just a little bit.

"He'll be fine but he's lost a lot of blood. We should get him home to rest."

"Alright, Ro's hands are full with the other guy. Let me carry him back."

"You didn't need-" Logan tried to push himself and immediately fell. Shit, he had lost more blood than he thought, and nothing was keeping him awake anymore. He was fading so fast. "You didn't need to-"

"Shut up, specs." Virgil's voice was a gentle whisper and Logan felt himself being pulled closer, scooped up into a bridal carry. "We will always come after you if you're in trouble. We need you after all. Everything you said was true. You keep us together. So don't leave, okay?" He asked quietly and all Logan could do was weakly nod.

This all felt like a dream. Maybe he had actually died with the shoulder roll. He was too tired to worry about it. Instead, Logan closed his eyes and let himself be whisked away. When he woke up, things would be back to normal. He would do his job like he always did. He would protect them.

Just for tonight. Only for tonight.

He would let them protect him.

@tsspromptmonth

#TSS Rare Gifts Event 2023 #Untypical Creations #Sanders Sides #Sanders Side fic #Fanfic #Patton Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Logan Sanders #Roman Sanders #LAMP #mob au #cw blood #cw weapon #cw violence

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edupunkn00b · 6 months

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A Light in the Darkness

Photo by Johanes Plenio via Unsplash. Color and tone edited.

Logan finds a light in the darkness when he needs it most. It leads to more than he ever thought possible.

WC: 2617 - Rated: G - [ AO3 ] - CW: fear, minor injury, blood mention, past major character death referenced, ghosts, happy ending Written for @houser-of-stories as part of the @tss-october-ghostwriters gift exchange for. I hope you enjoy it! I had fun writing it! -

“Keep running, freak!”

Taunting laughter filled Logan’s ears as he stumbled deeper into the dark forest. He tripped on a rock but kept his footing and continued to run. Heedless of the thorns that snagged his hair and his clothes, heedless of the cold. Heedless of the villages’ stories of the ghosts and spirits who guarded the woods.

The trees grew thicker here, wide long branches crowding out the nominal path. The prickly pines tore at his ragged sweater and threatened to snag his third-hand spectacles from his face. He stopped, yanking hard to free himself from the gnarled grip of one sharp-spined bough. The voices, his friends’ voices—former friends’ voices—grew louder and he gave one more hard pull on his sleeve. The yarn snapped and the branch took a bit of his skin in trade, but he surged forward.

Loose soles on his worn boots flapped. One caught on a tree root and he slammed down on one knee. Cold, flickering light from the mob’s lanterns shone through the trees. Logan watched their shadows loom over the thicket.

He’d lost the path.

Again scrambling upright, Logan limped forward and dove into the thick underbrush. He dodged to the left, then the right. The shadows grew shorter. The men drew closer.

A dark mass, a boulder or maybe a massive tree trunk, blocked his path. It swallowed up the dancing lantern light, a flat, empty darkness.

Whatever it was, Logan ran toward it.

Shouted swears as the mob hit the thicket echoed against the trees. “You made me rip my favorite pants, freak!” Someone shouted. The blacksmith. Perhaps the shopkeeper. Enraged, they all sounded the same.

Logan hoped to hide behind the mass, definitely now a boulder—he could just make out a bit of the grey treeline above it. As he drew nearer, though, he discovered it wasn’t merely a boulder, but a gap in the rocky foothills on either side of the forest. A cave.

Bears lived in these woods. Bats, too. Worse, if the stories were true.

Given what Logan knew about the villagers’ stories about him, though, he doubted the veracity of many of their stories.

A rock exploded against a tree only a dozen yards to his left.

“We see you!” a voice jeered as another rock struck the same tree. “Fucking tall ass freak!”

The chance of a bear beat the certainty of the mob, so Logan darted into the cave.

He slowed as soon as he passed the threshold, the utter darkness within making the forest feel brightly light. The tiniest glint of lantern light at the cave’s mouth was the sole evidence flames had ever existed. Shivering, he inched deeper into the cave, stepping toe-heel. Relief flooded his veins when the grating voices faded, the last glimmer of lamp light absorbed by the dark stillness of the dark stone. The cave was cold and dry, his own breathing roared in his ears.

He was alone. He was safe.

Fear-fueled strength waning, Logan sank down and crouched against a mostly smooth divot in the wall. Knees hugged to his chest, he worked to slow his breathing, ignoring the ache in his knee and shin for now.

For now, he just listened.

Save for several breathless moments when the men tromped past the entrance, the cave was dark and silent. Even that moment was brief and it appeared the mob gave up their pursuit.

Logan had no way of knowing how much time had passed, nor how easily sound from within the cave might spill out into the forest, but eventually the throb in his leg could no longer be ignored. Moving as slowly and quietly as he could, he stretched out his injured leg to assess the damage.

Blindly prodding, he found a gash below his kneecap and another above the edge of his boot. The rest appeared to be simple bruising. Nothing was broken, but he would need to clean the wounds so that infection wasn’t his next big problem.

Logan shivered, stifling a humorless laugh. Expulsion meant he’d never need to have that argument again. Not in this village, at least. He shifted again and a warm trickle down his leg told him his current big problem was blood loss.

Feeling around the cave floor turned up little more than a few dried leaves and pebbles. He raised a handful of the tiny dried bits to his nose. Yarrow. He stretched to gather more, then ripped his pant leg from ankle to knee. Wincing, he pressed as much of the dried yarrow over his wounds as he could stand. It wasn’t perfect, but was better than continuing to bleed.

He let his head fall back against the wall with a little thud and a sigh. Eyes squeezed shut, he shoved away the pain to consider his next steps.

It was possible the mob would simply wait him out at the edge of the forest, counting on hunger or the cold to drive him back to the village. Even if they hadn’t torched his home, return was not an option.

Under cover of darkness, this little cave was a sanctuary, but in the harsh dawn’s light, it could quickly become a cage. Though tempted to rest for a few hours before heading out in search of a more permanent safe space, Logan was self-aware enough to admit that, in this weakened state, there was little guarantee he’d actually wake before dawn. The fear of waking to the raucous voices of the mob, their lanterns in his face, shook him from his drowsiness, the imagined gleam of their torchlight snapping open his eyes.

The light, however, had not been imagined.

An arm’s reach away, just above eye level, floated a glimmery ball of light. It shone a soft blue, the color of the sky at mid-day. The color of his late father’s eyes.

The color of hope.

Logan stared at the light for a long moment before shaking himself. Was he dreaming? Pushing up to his feet, a groan escaped his lips at the jolt of pain in his leg. The light flickered, then rose, again just above his eyes.

Fuzzy memory brushed at his mind, an old story his father read to him before (and well after) he could read for himself. Mythical fables of tiny lights that would guide the hopeful, the virtuous, the hurt and the needy home.

“You know I can’t return to my home,” he said aloud to the little light. Sharp laughter edged his voice, shame at his own foolishness. He’d been homeless for far longer than when this village, too, turned on him for his strangeness. Alone in a cave and talking to an imagined ball of light, could he blame them?

Almost in response, the light shifted and a second light sprung to life a few feet from the first.

Instead of leading him toward the mouth of the cave and back out to the forest, it drew him deeper inside. Logan blinked at it. Did he really have anything to lose?

He stepped forward and the first light rushed forward, dancing around his head. “Alright, alright,” he chuckled, the bright blue light impossibly warm and cheery and filling him with… more optimism than he’d felt in a long, long, time. A third light sparked to life and he nodded. “It appears you have a plan,” he muttered. “Just—” he gasped when he stepped and put his full weight on his injured leg. “Just go slow,” he managed, one hand on the cave wall for support. “Please,” he added and the little light bobbed, like a nod, before drifting deeper into the cave.

Well after Logan had expected to hit the back of the cave, the lights continued, leapfrogging ahead each time he drew near enough to touch the closest light. One halting step at a time, he followed. When he stumbled, a fourth and fifth light sparked on either side of him, sharing their strange warmth.

“Thank you,” he murmured and let them guide him. Logan didn’t know how long they’d meandered through the cave and a high-pitched laugh bubbled up from the back of his throat at the image of himself limping in circles in the back of a dark cavern. Not long after that, the wall seemed to fall away, starlight and the thin pink light of dawn glowing beyond.

He managed one more step before falling forward. Logan was already wrapped in a dark blanket of unconsciousness when the lights caught him and laid him gently on the ground.

“Ohh, Jannie!” The familiar sing-song followed by an emerald glow at the edges of his vision was Janus’ only warning before Remus appeared in front of him. Shoulders shimmying, he levitated, one leg crossed over the other, a few inches above the wooden table where Janus prepared both meals and potions. The brilliant green of his eyes over-illuminated the grimoire in its stand as he stared expectantly at Janus. The apparition pouted when Janus didn’t look up. “It looks like Pattycake found another one! Out by the Gate.”

“Hm, really?” Janus graced him with a single eyebrow raise before returning to his work. It wouldn’t’ve been the first false alarm—or outright prank—the spirits in his charge had brought to him. He finished his current sentence before pulling the ink closer to the page.

“Yes, really!” Remus huffed and the lid to Janus’ inkwell popped into place, blocking his quill. “Pattycake says this one’s important, too.”

Full attention drawn, Janus laid down his quill and met Remus’ translucent eyes. “Important?” he murmured.

“Mm-hm… Important and alive, just like you.” Remus’ grin didn’t last. When he dissolved only to reappear next to the cottage door, his eyes were serious. “But maybe not for long.”

“I’ll get my bag.”

By the time Janus had gathered his bag and his cloak and pulled the heavy wooden door shut behind him, Remus had already found Virgil. The pair were exchanging their typical morning greetings, cat’s claws buried in the thick bark of his oldest alderwood. His hiss cut short the moment Janus appeared and started down the path.

Virgil shifted and leapt from the branch to join him, eyes drawn to the medicine bag in his hand. “You’re not headed to the village, are you? Things are… tense down there.”

“That says a lot coming from our resident scaredy cat,” Remus laughed, not bothering to corporate.

“Tense?” Janus asked, ignoring the friendly barbs. "How so?”

Giving Remus nothing more than an eye roll in response, Virgil shrugged at the witch. “The usual ‘you’re not like us so you have to die bullsh—”

As though summoned by the curse, one of Patton’s will o’ the wisps blipped in front of him and Virgil nodded. “Sorry, Pat.”

Shaking his head at the predictable antics, he pointed down the path from his cottage. “Is he still down by the gate?”

In answer, the will o’ the wisp buzzed half-way down the path before pausing. Janus would need to wait until they were all back in the cottage before Patton could speak to him, but for now, the dual message was clear.

“Yes, and hurry up!”

Logan dreamt. He was a child again, small enough to comfortably curl up in a nest of blankets in front of the hearth. He watched as his father stirred the big iron pot, metal ladle clanging gently against the sides. The pot bubbled, full of a broth or stew or perhaps even the dumpling soup he liked… whatever it was, it smelled wonderful.

The fire crackled gently in the fireplace, close enough to warm him, far enough that he had no fear of sparks. His father had always known just how close to let him settle in. The blankets were thick and soft, softer than in his memory, even. They smelled of sage and lavender and black pepper. A tiny black cat curled near his leg, purring gently.

His father hummed as he cooked, an old lullaby he used to sing when Logan was feverish or had woken from a nightmare. He smiled as he dropped a handful of herbs into the simmering water, the fragrant smoke wafting through his shimmering blue hair.

Eyes wide, Logan sat up. “Papa?” Rough and cracking, his voice was low. The voice of a man, not that of a little boy. Hands shaking, he reached up and felt his own face. Two-days worth of stubble scratched his palms, and his fingers were rough and calloused. But he couldn’t deny the evidence of his other senses. “Papa, is that you?”

“Logie…” His father turned and before Logan could blink, was at his side. He smiled, bright and bold, his front cuspid cracked, just like Logan remembered. His entire form was edged in a faint blue, the same shade as the lights Logan had seen in the cave, he held his hand. Wrapped firmly around his, his father’s hand was warm and tingly, sending the hair on his knuckles and his arm on end. “Of course it’s me, Logie,” he murmured in the voice Logan thought he’d never hear again.

“Papa,” Logan clung to him, eyes squeezed shut. He felt real. He felt warm and safe. Familiar broad shoulders, big, fleshy muscles, thick curls tickling Logan’s cheek.

He felt like home.

“Papa, the town, they—” Tears choked out the rest of his words and he cried hot, shameful tears. “I—̛I was alone. I couldn’t fend them off, I—”

“You’re safe, now, Logie,” his father whispered. “You’re not alone anymore. You’re safe here.”

“But you’re—” He couldn’t force the word past his tight throat. “I buried you, Papa,” he finally managed to whisper, squeezing the hand in his.

“I know. And you were so strong.” His father’s hand cupping his cheek, Logan melted against it, just like he would when he was nothing more than a child. “It’s really me, Logie. Just… just a little different now.”

“But…” It was impossible. His father had… “But how?”

His father’s eyes shifted and Logan turned to follow his gaze. A man, a plain, ordinary man stood in the corner. He wore a heavy black cloak, his face half-hidden in shadow. A crooked smile fought its way to the light, the flicker of the fireplace giving him an animated expression. “Logie, I’d like you to meet my friend, Janus.”

The man stepped forward, hand outstretched. He quickly flipped it over, palm up, but not before Logan caught sight of the runes tattooed across the back of his hand.

Before he could think better of questioning the hospitality of the man his father described as a friend, Logan blurted out, “You’re a witch?”

“You got a problem with wiccans, Stretch?” A cloud of green formed inches from his face, molding before him into a wild pair of eyes above a manic grin.

“Smooth, Remus,” spat the cat by his shin and Logan’s eyes whipped back to it and stared.

“Y—you speak?”

The cat stretched and kneaded the floor, claws carefully tucked inside its paws. Logan blinked and a young man dressed head to toe in black wool suddenly sat hunched in the cat’s spot. “Of course I speak.” His smirk and the dark eyes flashing warmly heavy bangs belied the otherwise hard tone. “Don’t you?”

“Oh, Kiddo…” His father squeezed his hand and nodded to the witch. They both watched as he filled three bowls with dumpling soup. Stunned, Logan leaned against his father and accepted the first bowl.

“Eat up, Logan,” the witch murmured with another half smile as he passed a bowl to the man-cat, cat-man… Whatever it was. “We have a lot to explain.”

#Light in the Darkness #ts logan #ts janus #ts patton #ts remus #ts virgil #tall!Logan #witch!janus #ghost!remus #other tags are spoilers #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #magic au #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders

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