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lovelylogans · 4 years

Note

are we ever getting dee’s backstory in the wyliwf verse? or actually are we ever getting more dee logan interactions?

alliance

“all warfare is based on deception. hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.” —sun tzu, the art of war

dee usually tries to subscribe to some of the life lessons in the art of war. he has no idea why, today, he has flubbed it this badly.

(or: dee accidentally spills a secret, and those sanders’ might not be as bad as he thought.)

part of the wyliwf verse.

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: deceit, snake mentions, mention of a fight, allusions to an unhappy home life, let me know if i’ve missed anything

pairings: logince, moxiety

words: 4,515

notes: thank you, anon! this references this ask i answered a while ago about dee’s backstory; not super necessary to read, since i cover a lot of it in here, but it does give some general background that might be nice going into the story. takes place after the black parade. happy birthday, deceit!

patton’s not usually home when logan gets back from school.

if paton did see logan right after a school day, it was usually because patton went to virgil’s for a mid-afternoon hot cocoa/coffee, or if logan walked from the bus stop to the inn. they don’t meet at home right after school.

today was different, though. because today, logan was bringing home his partner to do a project for the gsa.

logan had been kicking himself for not getting more involved as soon as he’d set foot at chilton. so, in the aftermath of the “I AM NOT DOING ENOUGH TO GET INTO COLLEGE” frantic list-making session of winter break, logan had joined a slew of clubs and activities; the cross-country team, with the intent of joining the track team in the fall, as long as it didn’t interfere with the newspaper, chilton’s book club, chilton’s quiz bowl team, the science club, photographing for the newspaper, when mel needed him to, backstage crew for the spring play, the debate team, and, of course, chilton’s gay/straight alliance.

that hadn’t been around, when patton went to chilton. patton likes to think that means that things are way better now—well, he knows things are a better now, there’s been so much progress since patton was a teenager—but, well. to patton, chilton’s always going to have that memory, to him. of being excised and bullied because he was trans.

but. anyway. logan’s part of the gsa now. logan’s bringing home a designated partner from the gsa, to help make some posters to put up around the school. so patton has some ulterior motives for being home right now.

because, well, patton knows that logan’s mostly signed up for everything because it looks good on a college admission form, but. patton can’t help but think about logan’s not-super-hidden concern, the night before he’d started chilton—“what could he possibly be scared of? he’s the one staying at sideshire high. he’s always had other friends. he’ll probably make more friends now that i’m not going to be at school taking up all his time.”

and, well. involvement in things he’s interested in. which means other kids who are interested in the things he’s interested in. which means potential friends.

with roman as the sole exception, logan’s always been slow to warm to people—he’s very particular about who he lets to be close to him. but once he does warm to them, he’s fiercely, intensely loyal, defensive, a good friend. a fantastic friend.

so maybe patton’s hovering a little to make sure that things go well for logan. sue him. but he can be a cool dad, that’ll help, right? he can offer snacks! and supplies for poster-making! and… and more snacks!

so patton had been a whirlwind of activity, shoving most of the clutter out of sight so that the house looks slightly tidier, stacking outer layers on his coat rack that seems to wheeze under the pressure—patton practically has to tie things to it with his trans pride scarf, just to make sure that things wont fall down—and shoves dirty dishes in the dishwasher, out of sight, out of mind. he’ll wash them later.

he straightens up the bin of markers that he’d dug out of various desk drawers, and ensures that the glitter and glue are all grouped together, and that they’ve got pencils to sketch out a starting idea, because knowing logan, he’ll want to sketch out the idea first.

he runs through the list of names that he’s heard logan mention as he straightens everything out—maybe it’ll be kai, logan had mentioned him and his interest in video games. or there had been a set of boyfriends the grade above him, corbin and… and sloane, wasn’t it, maybe it’d be one of them! or maybe someone that logan hasn’t mentioned.

there’s the sound of a key at the door, and patton glances at his phone. right on time. he’d really expect nothing less, from logan, oh goD he should look like he’s being totally natural act natural patton!!!!!

so he quickly pivots and starts rattling around in the cupboards, and starts scooping coffee grounds into the coffee maker as he hears the door open, two thumps of backpacks hitting the ground, a mutter of “you can take your shoes off here” from logan.

“hey, kiddo!” patton calls, and a mumble of “my dad” from logan, and then the sound of two pairs of socked feet approaching.

“i wasn’t sure if you wanted some coffee too, so i figured i could ask you and your—“

he pivots, and the word “guest” dies on his tongue.

because, standing in yellow socks in the midst of his kitchen, with his strange, sneakily altered version of the chilton uniform, looking supremely uncomfortable, is dee slange.

the same dee slange that has been logan’s de-facto rival at chilton. the same dee slange that told logan he’d never catch up to the rest of his class. the same dee slange that goaded someone into hitting his son. that dee slange.

this is the worst outcome for “logan could be bringing home a potential friend!”

patton swallows, setting aside the scoop of coffee, and glances at logan.

“we were randomly assigned people to get to know them better, since it’s the start of the new semester,” logan says, a brusque explanation.

“right,” patton says. “okay. um. hi.”

“hi,” dee says, voice tight, tilting up his chin.

“do you want some coffee?” patton says stiffly.

a long pause. “sure.”

“right then,” patton says, and turns to the coffee machine.

dee slange. dee slange! god, it probably is a good thing that he’d decided to hover, because honestly if logan and dee had had to work alone patton probably would have come home to the house in shambles.

but he has to be polite, patton tells himself. so patton wracks his brain for his (probably outdated) etiquette lessons, and, once he gets the coffee machine going, he turns, leaning back against the counter.

“it is dee, right?” he checks. “i’d hate to be calling you something that you don’t particularly want to be called. is it short for something?”

“it’s dee,” he says. he doesn’t answer the other question. he’s busy glancing around the kitchen.

right, patton figures. time to move to the next small-talk topic.

“your grandmother’s friends with my mom,” patton tells dee. “evelyn, right? i always liked her.”

honestly, a lot of his mom’s friends had been a wild gamble, if he told them he was trans, and evelyn had probably taken it best out of all of them. that had been enough to earn his affection, even if evelyn’s general kindness hadn’t done that already.

dee’s dad, on the other hand… well, he’d been a flip side of that coin, but so had a lot of people, back then.

but dee smiles, ever so slightly, at the mention of his grandmother, so patton figures he hasn’t made any major social missteps.

yet.

“yes,” dee says, refocusing from where his eyes had been briefly fixed somewhere beyond patton, back toward the entry hall. “she’s doing well. i’ll tell her you said hello.”

another long pause. patton clears his throat, tapping his fingers on the counter, before he says, “how was school?”

“fine,” logan says, with a slight grimace.

“there was that, um. the thing in latin today, right?” patton says. “the recitation thing? tempora cum causis Latium digesta per annum lapsaque sub terras… i can’t remember any more.”

frankly, it’s a miracle he can’t. logan’s been reciting the first part of ovid’s fasti for the past week. he was pretty sure “scilicet arma magis quam sidera, Romule, noras, curaque finitimos vincere maior erat” would be running around in his head for a month, since logan had been chanting in his room like he was conducting some arcane ritual.

logan scowls, a dark look flitting across his face even as he finished patton’s line, “ortaque signa canam. yeah, that was today.”

“and?” patton prompts.

logan scowls. “he thought my pronunciation was over-rehearsed.”

“over-rehearsed?” patton says. “i mean—it would be, wouldn’t it? it’s not like you walk around and latin just casually tumbles out of your mouth.”

“precisely,” logan says.

“the man is an idiot,” dee says, brusque, turning his focus back again—patton didn’t think he’d done that bad of a job, tidying things up in there.

“i—well, now,” patton says, unsure of exactly how to step but he’s a dad it’s practically an instinct to instill manners, “don’t be mean.”

“no, he’s right,” logan says, looking at dee thoughtfully. “he is an idiot. he forgot to teach us the imperative verb tense and only remembered when all of us got it wrong on the imperative-centric quiz.”

dee rolls his eyes, the yellow one glinting. “i nearly forgot about that. my god, did the man get hired just because he plagiarized some old myths from percy jackson during the job interview?”

“those are greek,” logan says, “unless you’re referring to the later series.”

“my point,” dee says, “you cannot deny that charleston is a simpleton, look at the way he handled the moreno/watts situation.”

patton blinks. “what moreno/watts situation?”

logan also looks confused, but really the only way he can tell is because patton is his dad and knows when he’s covering up an emotion. well. most of the time. some of the time. more than most other people, let’s go with that one.

dee sighs, put-upon, before he says, “janey watts and sarah moreno were both taken to our esteemed headmaster’s office yesterday because mr. medina caught them about to claw each other’s eyes out in the alcove near the hidden rear staircase of the senior’s lounge. when attempting to discover what was wrong, mr. charleston’s first guess on what they were fighting about was that they were fighting over the same boy.”

logan allows his confusion to show. “but janey watts is a lesbian.”

“yes,” dee says, “and now you can see one of the many reasons why charleston is a simpleton.”

patton sighs. “well, charleston’s always been… a product of his time?” he says, and tries to elaborate. “you know, he backed up giving me a month of detention once because i refused to respond to my chosen name and pronouns.”

dee’s eyes darken. “bastard,” he spits out, filled with more venom than patton was expecting.

“hey, now,” patton says, even as startled as he is with… that. it’s not like dee and patton are particularly close, to warrant this level of defensiveness. well, patton guesses he’s in the gsa, so it makes sense that he’d be defensive of trans rights. “i could bust out the swear jar.”

“you’ve never had a swear jar,” logan says.

“i could start,” patton says.

logan turns to dee. “i didn’t know you were friends with janey watts.”

“oh, i’m not,” dee says, and then, matter-of-fact, “she thinks i’m a slimy jerk with no morals and who would sell out his own grandmother if it meant getting further ahead.”

patton feels a little stab of hurt, the way he usually does whenever he hears someone talk bad about themselves.

“then how did you know what charleston said?” logan says, and hey, good point! but logan’s always been more observant than him.

“oh, please,” dee says. “logan, you’re a journalist, you should know that we all have our own sources.”

“in the headmaster’s office?”

dee shrugs. “to secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but theopportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.”

“sun tzu,” logan says. “art of war. you could do with the seem humble part.”

“but you’re already so filled with conceit,” dee says, and patton’s about to burst in with a hey now, but logan just shrugs.

“i know myself,” logan says.

“so you can win all battles?” dee says. “i didn’t know you read had an interest in ancient chinese literature.”

“mostly just that one,” logan says. “do you have an interest in ancient chinese literature?”

“mostly just that one,” dee parrots. “shall we get started?”

“may as well,” logan says.

“you kids want coffee while you do that?” patton says. “oh, and would you mind if i did my homework, too?”

“for your business degree,” dee surmises, and really, patton probably shouldn’t be surprised that he knows that, but he’s surprised anyway, darn it. “fine. it’s your house.”

so patton pours everyone some coffee and sets out cream and sugar, since he doesn’t know how dee takes his coffee, before he gathers up his own homework and settles in, listening absentmindedly as the boys sort through various options that’s been offered to them.

dee, it turns out, milks and sweetens his coffee to a frankly absurd degree—patton wouldn’t be surprised if dee would be met with a few mouthfuls of sugar-sludge at the bottom of his mug—and picks his way through snacks, eating them so swiftly and unnoticeably that patton doesn’t realize it until he goes for a pretzel and realizes the bowl is near-empty.

“i don’t suppose you want to do the ‘how i knew i was gay’ one,” dee says briskly. they’ve sorted through most of the list—this is the last suggested poster theme option—and then they’ll narrow down their yeses.

“certainly not,” logan agrees. “there isn’t particularly much to tell, anyway. boys were always just… pretty.”

“one boy,” patton murmurs slyly, grinning down at his homework even as logan half-heartedly stamps on his foot.

“not much for me, either,” dee says. “girls always had cooties, and i always knew i was a boy, so—“

everyone at the table freezes. and then things start to click.

the altered, strange uniform, as if to say look here, look directly here and nowhere else—hadn’t patton practically lived in too-baggy chilton sweaters, to hide his chest and later his binder from anyone who could have possibly seen it?

dee’s continuous glances toward the entry hall—not just at the clutter, but at patton’s trans pride scarf on display.

dee was short, and patton had been too—patton hadn’t even been 5′3″ before he started t on a more consistent basis, after logan was born.

dee for short, and nothing else—an unusual name, but it wasn’t like he could throw any stones with a name like patton, could he?

dee’s face shuttering in too-great anger, at the news that charleston had given patton detention for sticking up for himself—because he’d had experience with that, maybe?

and then:

patton thinks, oh.

as he stares at dee’s yellow-gloved fingers, curling into fists, he thinks: you’re like me.

the lashing out at other people. the isolating himself. the particular taste in clothes. the new name. the upper-class society. the potential clashing with parents.

oh, oh, oh.

if it weren’t for how perfectly, perfectly still dee was, patton could almost believe that he came out on purpose.

“okay,” patton says, when he realizes it’s probably been a too-long pause. “hey, it’s okay. me too, you know? we won’t say anything if you don’t want us to.”

dee dips his head in a nod, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“right,” he says hollowly, before he clears his throat and tries for his usual, arrogant tone. “of course.”

“we won’t,” logan agrees, and frowns. “i’m your academic rival, not some asshole that would out you without your consent.”

it’s at that that dee relaxes, fists unclenching. he smooths his hands over the poster.

“right,” he says, and clears his throat. “fine, then.”

patton hesitates, before he says, tentatively, “your grandma was really cool about it, when i came out. back in the day.”

dee’s lip quirk up, and patton knows he’s said the right thing.

“yeah,” dee says. “i mean, i can’t really remember it, it was back when i got adopted—”

“you’re adopted?” patton asks.

dee gives him an almost patronizingly amused look, gesturing to his dark skin, the vitiligo on his cheek. “yes, that’s such a shock, i’m sure, because my parents definitely match my coloring.”

patton flushes. “well, i’ve never met your mom.”

dee mutters something like what a blessing for you, and patton feels a flare of worry that he can’t really expand upon before dee continues, “yes, i’m adopted, from haiti. i was… i don’t know. four, five. i can’t remember it very well. but grandmother’s… yeah. grandmother’s the best.”

it’s the most fond patton’s ever heard him sound, and, from the look on logan’s face, it might be for him, too.

“i might try and get coffee with her soon,” patton says, casual. “and if, you know. if you want advice about, um. this. just let me know. yeah?”

dee’s eyebrow quirks at him, and he gives him a look full of quintessential teenage amusement and, potentially, embarrassment.

patton can relate. he was the same, a lot of the time, whenever people offered advice or help when he first came to sideshire.

well. maybe he was less sassy about it.

“can we focus on the project?” logan says tiredly.

“what, are you jealous you can’t contribute to the discussion about various nicknames for testosterone?” dee says.

patton grins. “the testoster-zone.”

“the t-party,” dee offers.

“ooh, good one,” patton says. “um—”

“can we please focus on the project?” logan says, more pointedly.

dee rolls his eyes, but turns back to his poster.

patton tries to focus on his homework, but he just can’t help it, and—

“anti-cis-tamines.”

“dad,” logan groans, and patton and dee share an amused glance, and—

well. maybe dee wasn’t the worst potential friend that logan could have brought over.

⁂

this place might as well be the twilight zone.

dee has his bowler hat on, and logan’s tall enough that they’re probably at a decent angle that he can’t tell that dee is looking around everywhere he can.

if only dee had managed to shake him off—but mr. sanders (”please, it’s patton, mr. sanders is my father!”) had insisted that either logan or patton walk dee back to the bus stop and, well, honestly, logan was the lesser of two evils.

not that mr. sanders is evil. he seems removed from that. too removed, if you get dee’s drift. no one could possibly be that deeply nice. there had to be something going on there. a ploy to get people to trust him, or something. the defenseless little puppy defense, or something. playing sweet and kind until it suits him.

even as he’s thinking this, something in his brain refuses to let it click into place. dee shakes it off. he’ll investigate later—whether it’s an opossum defense or a ploy or something—there’s too much to see here.

it’s like a group of tv set designers got together and thought, right, what are all the clichés of a tiny small town, added some overgrown ivy and picturesque worn red brick, and the entire place reeked of domesticity. he means, really, who even has a town center gazebo? dee’s seen flyers advertising for a twenty-four-hour dance-a-thon. for charity. “costumes and periodwear encouraged.” what kind of periodwear did one wear for a twenty-four-hour dance-a-thon?

the buildings have those twinkly lights all around it. the streetlights are wrought iron instead of the stark poles that are near the streets of his neighborhood. there is a community garden. there is a punnily named cat-themed store.

seriously. what planet is this?

they get to the bus stop.

(also—the bus? what was this, the middle ages?)

“right, then,” dee says. “you’re bringing the posters tomorrow?”

logan nods his head in assent, hands stuck in his pockets. apparently, that’s not a clear enough hint, but his research shows that logan doesn’t respond very much to subtleties.

“you can go,” he adds, bluntly.

logan shakes his head. “i’m just going to go to the diner for dinner, anyway, and not being there means that my dad can get sappy with virgil without my bearing witness. and besides, my dad would kill me for leaving you here alone.”

dee stares at him. “you do realize the likelihood of someone attacking me here is approximately on the same level as greedo being the one who shot first?”

logan blinks. “you’re a star wars fan?”

dee shrugs a shoulder, before he says, “more when i was a kid. i’ve got three snakes named—”

“rey, finn, and poe?” logan says, with a twist of his mouth.

“luke, leia, and han,” he corrects. “i said when i was a kid, sanders.”

“kid is an unclear term,” logan says. “for instance, i could argue that your viewpoint on the superior space western is childish, since the clearly superior space western franchise is—”

dee scoffs before he can finish his sentence. “of course you’re a trekkie.”

“so you admit it,” logan says, and dee rolls his eyes.

“i was just narrowing down the number of popular space westerns, spock.”

“i prefer data,” logan says.

another pause, before:

“snakes?” logan asks.

“garters, all three,” dee says. he hesitates, before he says, “luke and han are trans.”

“i wondered,” logan says. “since snakes can often eat each other, but if all three snakes were, ah—“

“afab?” dee provides.

“right, yes.” logan says. “may i see?”

“i don’t have them on me,” dee says, before he says, “yeah, all right” and digs out his phone, swiping for the latest photo of his snakes.

it turns out to be the one of grandmother, amused, looking just enough off-camera that it’s clear it isn’t candid, wearing leia as a necklace, luke and han in her upraised hands. logan smiles at the photo. well, smiles as much as he’s capable of smiling. dee thinks that the whole i prefer data thing might be a cover-up for the fact that logan might actually be a robot.

“the checkered one is leia, the one with the yellow stripe is luke, and the one with the brown stripe is han.”

“nice,” logan says. “and that’s your grandmother?”

“yes,” dee confirms, tucking his phone away.

“do you spend much time with her?” logan says.

“frequently,” dee says, and lies, “she lives closest to chilton, it just makes the most sense.”

well, the first part of that sentence isn’t a lie. it’s just that that isn’t the whole truth.

but partial truths are what he works best with, and he notes that logan nods, seeming to accept it as a whole truth, before his eyes turn elsewhere.

dee follows his gaze.

the window’s lit, gleaming softly, a wide window that allows a view.

there’s a boy in there, alone. he’s shirtless, and wearing red leggings typical of a dancer. even at the distance they’re at, dee can see his muscles straining as he moves, graceful and limbs elongated as he reaches and spins, slowly, achingly slowly, everything so precise down the slightest twitch of his finger, and logan is staring, eyes gone soft and awed and sweet, and—

“didn’t realize i was boring you that much,” dee comments, even if he is a little relieved that logan’s attention is off the question of his home life and on his pretty dancer. “that’s the boytoy, isn’t it?”

logan looks at him, eyes sharpening. “roman’s my boyfriend.”

“right, right,” dee says, waving it off. he’s distracted, good. “so that’s still a thing, then?”

“yes,” logan says. “that’s still a ‘thing.’”

he doesn’t use airquotes, but it’s a near thing. it’s basically implied in his tone of voice.

“do you like him a lot?” dee asks.

“i love him,” logan says simply—as if it’s a fact, indisputable, absolute.

dee nods, turning his attention back to the bus stop. it should be coming soon.

“are you going to tell him?” dee says abruptly and oh, now he’s done it, losing control of his mouth just once today isn’t enough, he really needs to make himself look like a fool, doesn’t he?

logan turns his attention more fully back to dee. “no.”

dee scoffs. “right.”

“i won’t,” logan says. “really. roman would understand, he’s—well, clearly he’s gay too, he understands the importance of coming out on your own terms.”

dee glowers at the ground, scuffing his shoe over the cement, before—

“my dad and i were effectively homeless until i turned six.”

dee pauses, and turns to look at logan.

logan isn’t looking at him. he’s got his hands clasped behind his back, still staring ahead, as if he’s keeping an eye out for the bus.

“my dad worked at the inn—he’s manager, now, but back then he was a housekeeper. he worked his way up. we could only afford to live in the poolhouse because the manager, maria, gave him a major cut on rent. i was bullied about it, when i was a child. my dad doesn’t know that.” a pause, and then, “my grandparents don’t know about the poolhouse, either. they thought we lived in the inn proper and got an apartment much sooner than we actually did. they’re paying for me to go to chilton. it comes with the condition of going to their house for weekly dinners.”

dee stares at him. “why would you tell me that?”

logan shrugs, and turns just his head to look at dee.

“i know you’re trans, you know where i lived and that i can’t afford schooling,” logan says simply. “if either of us feel tempted to let it slip…”

“then we know the other one has something in hand,” dee finishes slowly, not admiringly. “mutually assured destruction.”

it’s a sound strategy, really. logan takes the assumption that dee won’t listen to promises, and uses a shortcut. it’s a dangerous move, a gamble. not one he’d have expected, from logan. this day’s just full of surprises.

“precisely,” logan says. “for whatever reason, i don’t think you hold very strongly to the sense of the honor of giving someone your word.”

that last part is said in the closest tone to sarcastic that he thinks he’s ever heard logan use.

“you’re right, i don’t,” dee says, and swallows. “homeless?”

“i didn’t really put the pieces together until i was older,” logan says. “it still doesn’t seem like it, to me. we were happy.”

dee wonders what that’s like.

“well,” logan says, peeking down the way. “i think i hear the bus coming. i’ll bring the posters tomorrow.”

“right,” dee says. “so. are you going to suggest we dissolve the academic rivalry, then?”

logan hums, and tilts his head. “you know, you’ve been my only real competition since i showed up at chilton.”

dee does not preen.

“we’re the only ones who’ve ever challenged each other. without this, we’ll get lazy.”

“i’ll achieve nothing, i’ll become my mother,” dee quips, and logan smiles, just a little.

“right,” logan says. “so.”

dee pauses, before he says, “allies?”

logan smiles. “allies.”

as the bus rolls up, logan offers his hand, and dee shakes it, once. logan knows full well that he doesn’t hold to the honor of giving someone their word, but it still feels like they’re making a deal, anyway.

so dee clambers onto the bus, and settles in a window seat.

and if he smiles and turns details over his head the whole drive back, well. it’s not like anyone will know.

#Anonymous #ask #my fic #the sideshire files #deceit

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