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edupunkn00b · 3 months ago

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On a Butterfly's Wing, Ch. 15: In the Shadows of a System's Intricacies

A graphical representation of a Lorenz attractor.

Prev - In the Shadows of a System's Intricacies - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC: 4445 - Rated: T - CW: none? Not sure how I pulled that one off. Nightmares, I guess? -

February 14, 2025

Logan raced up the front steps, shuffling off his shoes the moment he got the door opened. Clad in the apron Logan had bought him three Christmases ago, Remus met him at the door with a broad smile.

“Did I make it?”

Nodding, Remus pried the case files from his arms and set them on the counter. “Perfect timing, Lo Lo,” he said, stealing a kiss when he moved to help with his coat. “They’re upstairs working on his eyeliner.”

“Thank goodness,” he sighed with a whoosh that ruffled Remus’ curls. “I came straight—“ He snorted at Remus’ dubious expression. “I came directly from court. We won big today.”

“And I want to hear all about it, Lo,” Janus’ voice carried down from the stairwell. “But first, may I present Mr. Patton Sanders?”

Patton skipped down the stairs, arms waving at his sides. His billowing sleeves made a cheery swish-swish-swish as he descended. He moved smoothly; confident and proud of his outfit.

Lids expertly traced in his favorite baby blue, his eyes glowed over ruddy pink cheeks. Baby blue popped from his shirt, his vest, the cuffs of his slacks. The neat Windsor knot at his collar.

“You went with the tie,” Logan said, voice quiet as he adjusted the already perfect knot.

Patton nodded, his grin bright enough to light the room. “It felt right.”

“You wear it well, Pat,” he murmured, smoothing down his own tie.

Turning to look at their shared reflection in the hall mirror, Patton smiled again. “I think Eli’ll like it. I do.”

“Confidence and comfort in your own skin matter more than anything else when you’re seeking to impress a date,” Janus said, reaching up to adjust Patton’s curls before slowly lowering his hand.

Logan threaded their fingers together and squeezed.

“Yeah, have I ever told you what Jannie was wearing when we first met?” Remus cackled when Patton rolled his eyes with a grin.

Janus shook his head, pink dusting his cheeks. “Off with you!” he teased. “Don’t you have a top secret something or other in the kitchen? I think it’s burning…”

Laughing as he dodged a playful smack on his ass, Remus hurried off to the kitchen only to call back, “Ooo! I see a car pulling up! Freshly washed, too. Somebody’s looking to impress you, Pat.”

Patton gasped, bouncing on his toes and reaching for the door.

“Hold on, now,” Janus said, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. “How about a coat? It’ll be cold out tonight.”

Nodding, Patton pulled down the Carhart Remus had insisted he clean over the weekend. All but a tiny smattering of paint had come off, leaving splashes of color at the wrists. Logan smiled when he realized the swirls matched Patton's tie.

“Is it a brown car?” he asked Remus, shoving his arms into the coat sleeves.

“Mahogany,” Remus grinned at him. “Pearlized.”

“And I’m the pedant,” Logan chuckled quietly, earning a raspberry from Remus.

“It’s him!” Patton cheered and turned to his dads, hands out at his sides. “How do I look?”

“Fantastic.” Logan hugged him before pulling back, smoothing down invisible wrinkles from his tie. “Absolutely fantastic!”

Careful of Patton's hair, Janus pressed a kiss against his forehead and murmured. “Remember the rules?”

Laughing, Patton nodded, ticking off each finger on one hand. “Don’t add to the population or subtract from from it, and stay out of jail, the hospital, or the newspaper.”

“Good boy,” Janus chuckled.

Remus pulled him in to a bear hug and whispered something too quiet for either Janus or Logan to hear. They exchanged a knowing glance.

“Yeah, Papa gave me some,” Pat rolled his eyes, blushing. “Not gonna need ‘em.”

Janus and Logan struggled to keep their expressions neutral and Remus just shrugged. “Better safe than—“

“Okay, I’m going now!” Pat laughed and gave them one last wave before slipping through the door. Eli was getting out of his car. “I’ll be home late!” he called over his shoulder.

“You’ll be home by midnight,” Janus called back.

After another little chorus of goodbyes and a blushing wave from Eli as he and Pat opened each other’s car doors, the trio watched the car until it reached the corner and turned onto the main street.

“Are we sure this was a good idea?” Janus murmured, lingering in the doorway. Arms crossed over his chest, he looked more like he was hugging himself.

Logan smiled and pulled him close as Remus shut the door. “They are visiting the traveling Stonewall exhibit then having dinner two blocks from Eli’s parents’ house,” he reminded him gently. “They will be quite safe.”

“They’re doing the Valentine’s flash mob make-out, too,” Remus said, joining their hug.

“Flash mob?” Janus asked, eyes wide.

Remus shrugged. “What?” A tiny smile worked its way across Janus’ face and Logan kissed his cheek. “They’re making a comeback. Now, out with you two,” he shooed them down the hall and toward the living room. “Go talk about legal precedence and blue ball briefs—“

“Blue back,” Logan corrected before he caught Remus’ smirk.

“Half dozen of one,” he laughed. “I’m nearly done with my masterpiece in here,” he said as he returned to the kitchen. “Twenty minutes!”

“I believe we are being evicted from our own kitchen,” Logan chuckled, hooking his arm through Janus’. “Whatever shall we do?”

Pulling him toward the couch, Janus smiled, his earlier worry washed away with Remus’ antics—just as Remus had intended, Logan suspected. “You have been run ragged all day covering both of our cases,” Janus purred as they sank down on the plush sofa. Reaching gently but with irresistible force, Janus pulled him closer, laying Logan’s head down on his lap. Strong, steady fingers wound through his hair, massaging away the final traces of tension from the day.

“Why don’t you get settled here with me and you can tell me all about it?”

Logan groaned as he woke, the micro-movements setting off shooting pains along his back, his neck, his jaw… He blinked gummy eyes and fumbled for his eyeglasses, finally finding them already on his face. Vision unaccountably blurry, he rubbed his eyes, the lids swollen and puffy. Salty streaks had dried on his cheeks and his sleeves were damp.

“Jay?” he croaked, throat tight and dry. “Meus?”

A streetlight shone through a window behind him, casting a harsh beam over the table at which he sat. Draped in a tablecloth he didn’t recognize, it was set with stark black dishes with sharp corners, those squared plates and bowls that reminded him more of stone slabs than something to share a meal with.

An ornate centerpiece consumed most of the table, two dozen long-cut white roses interspersed with lilies and baby’s breath. A half dozen white tapers surrounded them, wicks black but barely burned. The air was heavy with the greasy scent of roasted beef, nearly overpowering the soft yeasty aroma coming from the small basket of bread by his elbow.

He’d just begun to wonder where he was when the matte grey trim in front of him stole his breath.

Sitting in the near-dark, he listened for signs of who else might be around. The house was quiet, a slow drip from the faucet behind him and the soft tick of a clock in the living room the only sounds he could make out.

“Pat?” he called, listening again for footfalls in the other room, on the stairs. “Pat, are you here?” he called again, louder this time.

No-one answered him.

Only two places had been set at the table, and the small gift wrapped in speckled white paper set on one of the plates made it clear that, wherever he’d woken, it was in the middle of a Valentine’s evening for two.

A phone sat on the table and Logan picked it up, thumbprint unlocking it as he lifted it to read.

“Plans changed. I’ll be home Sunday.”

Over twenty minutes later, the response had gone out.

“I understand”

That explained where she was. But what about Pat? Pat was always here with him in this dream. In this nightmare.

Logan’s stomach dropped and he shook away visions of what horrors might await him in this minefield his subconscious had built for him.

If he could dream of a world without Janus and Remus by his side, would he dream of a world without Pat, as well?

He scrolled through the phone, breath coming out in a groaned sigh when he found a message thread with Pat’s picture—an old picture, featuring a Pat at least five years younger. But undeniably him.

Pat had messaged him a photo. Blurry, like they’d been caught mid-laugh, Pat and three boys a bit older than him crowded close for the camera, each grinning brightly. Snow dusted their puffy coats, cheeks pink from cold or exertion or, knowing Pat, giddiness. One of the boys sported a wind-swept mop of crayon-pink hair, black strands streaked throughout. Another’s hair was the reverse, raven black with a bright stripe of matching fuchsia. The fourth boy had hair the color of Logan’s, with dyed purple tips.

“We’re doing the big hill next! See you Sunday night, Dad!”

Two of the boys—young men, really—were oddly familiar. He zoomed in. There was something about their eyes, their hair, color aside, of course… It wasn’t until Logan caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the phone screen that he saw it.

Both boys looked precisely like younger versions of him. Heart pounding, he opened the phone’s camera roll.

Dozens, hundreds of pictures of Pat were inside. Along with the other two boys, as well. Many of the more recent images were also accompanied by the young man with pink hair.

Setting down the phone, Logan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

It was a dream. Strange and unnerving, but it was merely a dream. All he had to do was follow the story of it and he would wake up again, safe, in his own bed, with Jay and Meus in his arms, Pat secure and asleep in his own room.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and pushed in his chair. Almost as an afterthought, Logan pocketed the phone and looked around. A covered dish sat cooling on the stove, the source, no doubt, of the thick, meaty scent hanging in the air. He listened intently to the creaks and sighs of what appeared to be an empty house. Finally, he peeked outside the kitchen window. An older Pilot, the one from his other dreams, sat in the driveway. The space beside it was empty.

Convinced he was truly alone, he began to explore.

Flicking on the kitchen light, gloomy shadows shrank away, revealing an ordinary kitchen. Like the table setting, it was minimalistic—stark —with empty white counters and a grey backsplash under the cabinets. The dishwasher was half-filled, sink dry and empty.

The refrigerator door was oddly bare. No pictures, no shopping lists, no school notices, notes or reminders. Nothing. It appeared to not even have a magnetic surface.

Tucked away in the drawer next to it, though, was a small black planner, filled with calendars and mundane stickie notes about vitamins and grocery lists in his own handwriting. Defying traditional theories on dreams, he could read it all.

Closing the book, he returned the planner to its spot and moved to the hall.

Clean and lifeless, without even the muted runner that had once brought nominal color and texture to the dull tile, the hall was barren, save for a small entry table painted the same cloudy grey color as the wood trim in the kitchen. Were it not for the table and the empty key hooks by the door, Logan might mistake the entryway for that of an unoccupied house.

Near the front door hung a chrome-edged mirror, hosting a reflection Logan avoided. He had no desire to see those haunted eyes again. Next to the mirror sat an interior door, a closet, or a door to the garage, perhaps? In previous dreams, it had been a coat closet, though there was no guarantee this dream home—nightmare home—maintained consistent architecture.

He turned the knob slowly, shaking his right hand free of its cramping tension, readying it. Readying for what… he couldn’t say. The door creaked open.

Inside was an ordinary coat closet. Rain boots lined a rubber tray in the corner and a short shoe rack sat in the middle of the closet floor. The top rows were nearly filled with various pumps and flats. A pair of pink running shoes with little wear. Two open spaces were notable, missing teeth in a child’s smile.

The bottom row was half-filled with a pair of black polished loafers and two pairs of running shoes. Converse high-tops, one pair in burgundy and another off-white, each done up with a set of TARDIS-blue and rainbow shoelaces. They reminded him of Pat’s Pride sneakers.

Various coats hung on the rod, again, more than half the space consumed with slim, fashionable feminine overcoats and jackets. A navy blue wool overcoat Logan recognized from another dream and a hoodie emblazoned with Kangs Tech Crew finished out the rod.

He’d been about to close the door when he noticed the gap between the shoe rack and the back of the closet. He pushed aside the coats and peered inside, tapping for the flashlight function on his watch—did he ever take the damn thing off in this dream? The weak beam cut through the gloom.

Tucked into the space was a canvas messenger bag, the same type Pat had handed him. Logan pulled it out only to discover two more hidden in the dark.

… I’ll be home Sunday.

According the phone clock, it was still Friday night. He had time.

Feeling a bit like he’d uncovered a hidden map in one of Pat’s or Meus’ video games, he brought all three bags to the severe living room to get a better look. Excepting different wear patterns around the buckles and the bottom gussets, the bags were identical. Navy blue canvas, sturdy.

And heavy.

He opened the first. Pens and pencils were tucked neatly into the built-in organizer and a thin handful of manila folders sat in the main compartment. Labeled casefiles.

He frowned. Unlike the calendars and shopping lists he’d found squirreled away in the kitchen, the case numbers on the files were nonsensical, a random four-digit number where the year should have been and client names that made no sense. NOBLE, D., POND, M., POTTS, B., TYLER, R. WILLIAMS, R.

Pattern recognition clicked and his hand shook. Each case file supposedly belonged to a character from Doctor Who.

The thin case files were filled with nonsense. An intake sheet with a judge’s name not on the roster at any court he’d practiced, a blue back that said little more than ‘this is a motion filed by QLaw’ in denser legalese than Jay could conjure on his most brutal days.

Everything was dated from years ago. If this wasn't a dream, he’d swear these were movie set props, like the newspaper Ro had brought them from his last film. He’d had the props master include of their names in complimentary—or scandalous—headlines on the inner pages. Janus Prince nee Pater Takes World by the Reins in New Manifesto, Patton Sanders Breaks World Record SAT Scores. Remus Prince Wanted for Murder (Again!).

Designed to look real without being real, sufficiently ordinary to not draw attention, fabricated to avoid copyright or privacy infringements.

Like a decoy.

The standard collection of charging cables and a travel battery pack filled out the rest of the compartment.

But that didn’t explain the weight.

Logan removed everything from the main compartment and felt along the edges until he found a narrow velcro flap running along the bottom seam. Beneath it was a flat compartment that ran the full width and length of the bag, two inches deep. It held a rectangular waterproof envelope.

Color copies of birth certificates were inside. Baby pictures. One of Patton, his golden curls unmistakable, two more of tiny infants who could have been Logan himself.

A few hundred dollars in cash.

There were tax form coversheets, social security cards. A marriage and name change certificate for Logan Sanders and Kelly Croft. Photocopies of passports for Logan Croft and Patton Croft.

Croft, Croft, Croft… Two decades practicing, with hundreds of clients each year, Logan saw more names than could reasonably be stored in his mind. But it was more than this nightmare world where Janus called him ‘Croft’ that made the name stand out.

Setting aside the papers—and the puzzle—he dug further.

Under the envelope was a small but weighty carabiner of keys. It held a plain car key fob, unbranded house and mailbox keys—like the kind made from a machine that didn’t check if the master said “do not duplicate”—and one of those weird little safe deposit box keys.

Logan’s heart froze. How many DV clients had he advised to assemble a go bag with a bit of cash, copies of important papers, irreplaceable but portable pictures. He checked the other bags.

Each was nearly identical.

Carefully, he repacked the bags and hid them in the back of the closet as they had been. He closed the closet door and faced the rest of the house. Again, Logan was struck by the utter lack of art or decoration in the living room and along the walls. His eyes caught a glint of something in the stairwell and he moved toward it, pulled by the only visual interest in sight.

It was a framed family portrait. Unlit and likely near invisible when the hall was dark as it had been in previous dreams, now its chrome and glass frame gleamed in the light. He recognized Pat and… sort of himself. Lips tight in a careful smile, he looked out at the camera, one posed hand lightly resting on Pat’s shoulder. Buttoned to the top, his shirt was carefully pressed but he wore no tie.

Hand reaching up for his own collar, it wasn’t until then that Logan realized that while he wore a dress shirt, there was no tie around his neck and the top button was undone.

The two dark-haired young men from his camera roll were also posed in front of him, gazing back at the camera. The one with purple tips didn’t smile.

And beside him…

She was beside him. Full makeup, blonde curls so similar to Pat’s, she smiled at the camera, bright and brittle, the wide grin not quite making its way up to her eyes.

Despite being over a decade older, with clothes and grooming miles distant from how she had appeared in her mugshot, the woman bore a terrifying resemblance to Pat’s birth mother.

Washington State v. Croft, K.

Kelly Croft.

They’d all worked so hard to help Patton process and move past the trauma of his earliest years. Had he actually forgotten the woman’s name? A cold copy of Patton’s eyes stared back at him from her picture. The same curls, longer and blown out in a fashion trendy two seasons ago. Uncanny didn’t even begin to describe it.

Stomach churning, Logan genuinely feared he might be sick if he stared into her empty smile much longer. He looked away and continued up the stairs.

The second floor landing opened onto a narrow hallway, no less foreboding than it had been in Logan’s previous dreams. All but two of the doors, a bedroom Logan might guess to be Pat’s based on the familiar ‘comforter’s-on-the-bed-so-the-bed’s-made’ cleaning technique, and a standard sort of bathroom.

There was a bunkbed, though, in the bedroom, the top bunk neatly made. Two desks and two dressers, only one of each appearing to be used. Did the other set belong to one of his young doppelgangers from the photo downstairs?

A single toothbrush sat in its cup in the bathroom and though there were multiple hooks on the back of the door, only one towel hung to dry.

There was nothing of note in the linen closet nor the laundry room on the opposite side of the hall, but the door next to the bathroom was locked. Logan considered searching for a screwdriver sufficiently thin to pop the lock.

But perhaps there were things his subconscious didn’t want him to see. Finally, he moved further down the corridor.

The room at the end of the hall was the same as it had been when he’d woken at the start of previous dreams. Just as plain and unadorned as downstairs, the flat grey walls looked no cheerier with the overhead light on than they had in the dim light of dawn. A king-sized bed consumed most of the room. Neatly made with chilly satin sheets and matching duvet, a large body pillow sliced the space in half. A wall between what would be sleeping partners.

A wave of exhaustion hit him when he touched the bed.

This could be how the dream would end. He’d taken his time with his explorations and now he felt he’d been wandering the house for half the night. He checked his watch. It was well past 1 AM.

Compelled by something he didn’t understand, whether some superstition that following an evening routine might make the night find its end or mere habit, Logan stood and dressed in pajamas he found in a drawer, carefully hanging his discarded shirt and pants in the closet at the far end, away from those still wrapped in their dry cleaning bags.

Why was he concerned with wrinkles in a dream world set to dissolve when he finally left it?

He scrubbed his face and brushed his teeth, gaze down to avoid the eyes staring back at him from his reflection. Guarded, haunted, sad eyes.

His mother’s eyes.

After turning off the bathroom light, he fumbled a bit through the dark until he reached the far side of the bed. Hand reaching automatically, he flicked on the bedside lamp.

His book was not on the nightstand. But he knew where he’d seen it last.

Slowly, Logan tugged open the nightstand drawer. Just as in his dream, a beat-up copy of Chaos lay inside. It was a different edition than his own, a series of stickers from Thriftbooks and Alibris announcing its multi-hop journey through the second-hand book market.

He opened the book.

It wasn’t merely the edition that was different.

Logan had finished his first read through of his own copy and had begun reviewing his notes with the entirety of the book in mind. Tucked between page 112 and 113 sat a worn index card, a rather obvious bookmark. And the marginalia…

Though written in his own handwriting, the marginalia were not his. Throughout the pages, different passages had been called out, different conclusions drawn.

He lingered over page 61, notes scratched into every bit of space around the margin, in the millimeters of white space at the ends of sentences, a few phrases squeezed in even between the lines. One passage was underlined twice.

… A year-by-year facsimile produces no more than a shadow of a system’s intricacies, but in many real applications the shadow gives all the information a scientist needs.

The scrawled question at the bottom of the page chilled the blood in Logan’s veins.

I still don’t understand what my dreams are trying to tell me. What are the intricacies I’m meant to learn from these sweet glimpses, these tantalizing shadows of imagined lives I might live along a different path?

The hand that held the book began to cramp and Logan set it face down on his lap to massage the ache away. Stiff, crooked fingers that wouldn’t properly straighten when extended. Bumpy bones, knotted healed fractures he could feel right through the skin. This hand, these shadows of injuries past were always a part of his dreams of the grey house.

Logan looked down at the book in his lap. It was no mere memory. The pages were different, the size and layout was different. An earlier, older edition.

And the marginalia…

Whatever this was, it wasn’t a dream.

Picking up the pen, he skipped ahead, turning first to the unread pages immediately following the bookmark. He scanned the page for an appropriate passage. Given the topic of the book, it didn’t take long.

To have more freedom of experimentation, we forget momentarily about the astronomical origin of the problem.

Driven by the memory of those eyes staring back at him from the mirror, he set aside the illogicality of it all. If any of this was real, he could not stay his hand. He could not remain a silent bystander to a life he knew could be happier. A life he knew could be safer.

Logan drew an arrow down to the large margin at the bottom of the page and wrote, as clearly as his shaking hand would allow, “Conjecture: You and I are both real.”

He turned a few more pages to the section that described an almost fate-like movement of particles in an experiment. He continued to write.

"Whichever paths each of us has followed, we are not bound to them. Every day is a new choice. Every day is a new, fluid path we might choose to take. This track, Logan, is not the only path available to you to follow."

After dog-earring the page, he skipped far ahead and turned to a passage that, in his own copy of this book, was covered in marginalia. Logan dog-eared that page, as well, and underlined the final lines of the passage.

The ordinary-sized stuff which is our lives, the things people write poetry about—clouds—daffodils—waterfalls—and what happens in a cup of coffee when the cream goes in—these are things full of mystery, as mysterious to us as the heavens were to the Greeks. The future is disorder. A door like this has cracked open five or six times since we got up on our hind legs. It’s the best possible time to be alive, when almost everything you thought you knew was wrong.

Then he wrote beneath it in all caps. “LOGAN, CRACK OPEN THE DOOR AND STEP THROUGH! FOLLOW YOUR OWN BEST ADVICE, COUNSELOR.”

The room gradually darkened, shadows moving into the edges of his vision as Logan felt sleep's labor overtake him. He lay the book on his chest, set his eyeglasses on the nightstand and slipped free from the world.

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edupunkn00b · 2 months ago

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On a Butterfly's Wing, Ch. 20: Commencement Means the Start

Epilogue - Thirteen months and nine days later

WC: 3900 - Rated: T - CW: life goes on, nearly completely fluff. These bois get their happy ending.

Prev - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Friday, June 13, 2026

💙💚Intrulogical

Timer still beeping, Logan had just pulled the tray of roasted vegetables from the oven when he spotted Remus’ car pull up into the driveway. Good. Back before dark, at least. The engine cut and Patton spilled out of the driver’s seat, excited voice floating in through the open window.

“And you really think Ms. Forth liked my model?” He waited for Remus to climb out of the passenger seat and closed the door, then consciously tapped the ‘lock’ button, watching the lights flash.

Leaning over the hood, Remus nodded, proud smile beaming bright even from Logan’s vantage point inside. “Even the interns are allowed to call the big boss Olivia,” he laughed. “It’s okay.”

“But I thought you owned the—“

Remus laughed, finger held over his lips. “Not even Olive knows that. And yes, your design knocked her socks off!”

Logan waved from the window as they turned toward the house and Patton called back, “Dad! You gotta hear this! They’re gonna use my model in the demo at Pax!”

“That’s fantastic!” Logan cheered. “Why don’t you two come on in and tell me all about it!”

💙❤️Logince

“You got this, Lo.”

Ro’s gentle encouragement in his ears, Logan flicked his wrist, and watched the paper-thin crepe flip up into the air—and come splattering down on the stove top. Turning off the burner and scraping the mess away from the element before it could ignite, Logan laughed. “The stove has certainly got it, at least.”

Smiling, Ro, pulled him close. “Hey, not bad for your third try.” Logan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Not great,” he admitted with a laugh. “But not bad.”

Happily accepting a consolatory kiss, Logan melted in his arms. “I think if we wish to have our dinner sometime tonight, you should take over this step.”

“One more try,” Ro encouraged, turning him around to face the stove again and reaching past him to turn on the burner. “Just one more try.”

“Hey, Dad? Ro? You got a minute? Well…”

Eyes darting over to Ro’s, Logan found matching worry at the tone in Patton’s voice.

“Of course, Pat,” Logan said and turned off the stove.

Patton stood in the hallway, fingers gripping his phone. “Um… Jax is on their way here, I… I know I should’ve talked to you first, and this is a really big thing to ask for and I shouldn't just spring this on you but everything’s happening so fast and they're scared and don't know what else to do and—“

“Whoa there, bud,” Ro soothed, drawing him in to the kitchen. “Slow down. What’s happened?”

Nodding, Logan pulled out a chair. “Whatever’s going on, Patton, we’ll figure it out together.”

Patton let out a slow breath before nodding and meeting their eyes. “Jax, um… Jax told their parents and, well…”

Three sets of eyes shot to the front hall when the doorbell rang.

“Can they stay here?” Patton asked, wincing. “They’re nineteen, they just only have a part-time job and, that asshole Max won’t even talk to them since they told him and now their parents…” He shook his head. “They just need—“

Logan was already on his feet. He squeezed Patton’s shoulder as he passed. “You did the right thing, Pat.”

Together, they opened the door. Eyes red-rimmed, with a backpack slung over their shoulder and an overflowing Ikea bag clutched with both hands, Jax looked up at them from the porch.

They’d just begun to show.

Smiling, Logan reached for the bag. “Come on in, Jax,” he said. “Welcome home.”

💙💚💛Intruloceit

Logan ended the call with Dr. Schmetter and sat and watched dappled light from the window play against his laptop screen. A faint clatter wafted through the closed door, followed by a muffled burst of Re’s laughter and Jay’s low response. He had a lot to think about but, right now, all he needed was his family.

He skipped down the steps, pausing when his phone buzzed in his pocket. “Oh,” he said aloud as he walked into the kitchen. “It’s Pat,” he said, smiling. His cheeks felt tight and Re’s eyes lingered on his before he read the message.

“I see our boy’s getting up to some good trouble on his first day,” Jay murmured approvingly. “Susan’s got a team from WA-ACLU down there, too,” he added. “Pat’s in good hands.”

“I know he is,” Logan said, nodding down at the screen. “I’m proud of him,” he said, voice a little shakier than he’d intended.

Without another word, Re pulled him close, taking the phone and sliding it into his own pocket.

“Lo?” Jay asked, watching him over Re’s shoulder.

Re pulled back then, searching his eyes. “Rough session?” he asked, one arm curled around his back as his other hand came up to cup Logan's cheek.

Licking his lips, Logan began to nod then stopped. “Not quite rough, but…” No. His early sessions with Dr. Schmetter had been rough. This was something different. “I… I still wonder sometimes,” he began.

Jay moved close and Logan melted in their shared embrace, surrounded by their warmth, their strength. He breathed in their love, in the softness, the certainty that he could safely voice the quiet worry in the back of his mind and they would still be here in his arms.

They’d spent a few confused months, floundering for an explanation for what they’d all experienced. But when Jay’s PI backed up all the strange little facts Logan suddenly and impossibly knew about Pat’s birth mother… they moved beyond rational explanations of psychosis and just accepted it.

“I wonder how he’s doing.”

Nodding slowly, Jay buried his face in Logan’s hair.

Re hugged them both, long, strong arms pulling them close. “If he’s anything like you, Lo Lo,” he said after a long moment. “And I think he is… I know he’s gonna find his way home.”

💔 Logan Croft Sanders

The drive across the bridge was long, rainy, and energized. Fighting the magnetic pull of the glowing clock set in the dash, Logan bobbed his head, tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the songs in Patton’s massive It’s Finally Over graduation playlist.

To no-one’s surprise—except, perhaps, the school administrators responsible for ceremony logistics—traffic heading into Seattle on a rainy Friday afternoon in June was… excessive. They’d only just passed the midspan on the bridge when Patton’s playlist looped around for the second time.

Pat sang along from the passenger seat, oblivious to how dangerously close they were to arriving late. Or, Logan thought, glancing at his son’s bright smile, he simply chose to be happy rather than worry about something neither of them could change.

Logan smiled, mouthing the lyrics and biting back a curse when a shiny new black Tesla cut them off.

“Good save, Dad,” Patton chuckled, flipping open his visor mirror and checking how his hair had set.

“In not rear-ending…” Squinting, Logan struggled to decipher the vanity plate. “Eight-zero-n-d-…” He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Eight-one-double-oh-seven out there?”

Pat's chuckle turned into a full laugh. “I meant not dropping the f-bomb on my poor impressionable ears." He grinned. "I mean, This would be a tragic time for me to hear the word ‘fuck’ for the first time.”

“Okay, okay,” Logan laughed, the word still sounding strange in his technically-adult son’s voice. “Allow me my… eccentricities in my advanced age.”

“You know, I read that cursing helps you withstand pain,” he said as he tapped at his phone. “There was a study and everything.”

“Are you looking for the research?” Logan asked, risking a quick glance.

“Nah, Discord,” he said, flipping over his phone too quickly for Logan to catch more than a glimpse of the last gif Virgil had sent to the family group chat. He tapped a bit more, then looked out the window. “Hey, I can see the stadium!”

So focused on the erratic lane changes of the cars around them, Logan hadn’t registered how much traffic had not thinned per se but had accelerated. They were less than a mile out from their exit. “Excellent,” he breathed, the knot between his shoulders loosening just a bit.

Their increased speed drove the rain harder against the windshield and for the next three songs on the playlist, they made a game of catching every time the wipers matched the beat. By the time the opening bars of I Love It started for the third time, they were close enough to the venue to spot soggy directional signs, the cheerful lettering: Graduates This Way → barely visible as the tagboard drooped under the weight of a day’s worth of rainfall.

“Wow,” Patton muttered, shoulders dancing. “Who would’ve thought paper signs were the wrong way to go in Seattle, huh?”

“You know who you sound like, don’t you?” Logan asked, fighting a smile.

Patton laughed, “Am I wrong, though?”

“You certainly aren’t.” Logan shook his head with a chuckle. Scanning the road ahead, he spotted a shallow covered area near the Graduates entrance. “I’ll drop you off here, then park,” he said as he pulled up and eased to a stop. “Save you a bit of a soaking.“

“Right on time!” Patton cheered and Logan finally dared to peek at the clock.

Huffing out a laugh, Logan loosened his iron grip on the steering wheel. “Not sure how we pulled that one off.” He waited while Patton tucked his phone and wallet into his pockets, then reached out. “Hey…” Logan cupped his cheek and smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Pat.”

Patton looked back at him, smile wry until their eyes met. Sunshine burst across his face and he covered his dad’s hand with his own. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Logan nodded and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. He patted his cheek one more time and let him go. “We’ll meet up inside, okay? We’ve got a little surprise for you at home.”

“You do?” His smile grew and he made a show of covering one ear. “No spoilers!” he laughed and got out of the car, closing the door behind him. “See you after!” he called loudly and followed the stream of graduates inside the hall.

While Patton had arrived on time, it seemed as though Logan had arrived far, far too late to find a parking spot anywhere close to the visitor’s entrance. Unsurprising for a school-based event, only ‘compact’ spots remained, unsuitable for a family-sized vehicle such as his.

On the third pass through the main lot, Logan spotted a placard announcing overflow parking was available on the other side of the stadium. He followed the signs and finally found a spot. Dashing through the rain, he entered his parking information on the go, taunted by the rapidly ticking clock in the upper right corner of his phone.

7:58.

Socks already damp, he dodged another puddle and tried to refocus on entering his license plate number into the little app.

It would be fine. It would be fine. Everything the school ever did was behind schedule and graduation would be no exception. He would make it inside before they started. He would make it. He would make—

A car horn blared from the road next to him and broke him from his litany. He stopped and took a deep breath.

Cheerful animated confetti announced his card had been charged. He wiped rain from the screen and pocketed the phone before continuing. In the distance, another family had just arrived at the covered entrance, shaking rain from umbrellas and slickers, smiling and laughing as they filed inside as a group.

He quickened his pace and before long, followed their path, thanking the usher who led directed him to the closest aisle. The stadium lights flashed twice, a five minute warning that they were about to begin.

Late. Just on time for LW high school.

“Dad!” Remy’s voice carried over the din and he searched the crowd.

All three boys—young men, Logan corrected himself—stood a few rows below, waving their arms to get his attention.

Worry sloughed off his shoulders and he smiled. “You made it!” he cheered, drawing them all into a hug as he took his seat. “Pat was worried,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” Virgil drawled. “Pat was worried.”

“Of course we made it,” Remy said, passing Logan a pack of tissues to dry the rain from his eyeglasses.

Emile smiled. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything!”

“Nor would we,” a bright voice boomed behind them.

Logan looked up. Roman led Janus and Remus through a knot of families clogging the aisle and into the empty seats behind them.

“You came!” Logan stood and reached over their seats to shake their hands. Janus’ lingered on his, steadying himself as he maneuvered into his seat.

“You invited us,” Janus said as though there couldn’t possibly be anywhere else they'd want to be on a Friday night. Smiling, he released Logan’s hand. “We’re happy to be here.”

“Wild horses couldn’t keep us away,” Roman laughed, fist-bumping each of the boys in turn.

“Not even Cthulhu could make us miss this, Lo Lo,” Remus added, the new nickname chasing the last of the rain’s chill from Logan's bones.

Janus brushed at the rain on his slacks with a wry grin. “Though he certainly seems to have given it his all. Or Zeus' all, I suppose.” He raised an eyebrow at Logan. “You know, we almost missed the entrance—the signs are all soaked through! One would imagine a school in the Pacific Northwest would think to waterproof their signage!”

Logan threw his head back in a laugh. “One would imagine.” The lights flashed again and the ushers began to close the aisle doors. Nodding at each of them, Logan turned and took his seat. “Well, they look as though they are nearly ready to begin.”

“Are you ready for this?” Remus asked, hand resting on his shoulder. He jerked his chin toward the boys next to him then out at the floor of the stadium, lined with empty folding chairs waiting for the graduates.

“No,” Logan said honestly. Then he smiled. “But I’m thrilled we’re here.”

Nodding, Remus gave his shoulder a squeeze and his brow crinkled. “Fuck, Lo Lo, your muscles are like rocks. Can I help?” he asked, one hand on each shoulder.

“Ah…” Logan bit back an instinctive response of ‘I’m fine.’ Remus’ hands radiated heat, the warmth seeping right through his damp shirt. It felt… nice. “If… Y—yes,” he said at last, practicing the simple answer he could hear in his therapist’s voice.

‘Yes.’ and ‘No.’ are both complete sentences. Use the one that fits and only explain yourself if you wish.

“Thank you,” he added, the last bit breathy as Remus’ hands went to war with the knots in his shoulders. His eyes fell shut and he whispered again, “Thank you.”

Janus’ voice murmured close to his ear. “A sculptor’s hands,” he began, the words that followed drowned out by the start of Pomp and Circumstance.

“Rain check on the rest of that,” Remus whispered near his other ear and gently relaxed his grip before sitting back.

The warmth of Remus' hands was slow to dissipate, and Logan let the music wash over him as happy tears burned his eyes. He looked out over the empty seats, one of them about to be filled by his giddy, irrepressible son. He looked to his left where the rest of his boys sat, Virgil with his camera ready, Remy, grinning, hand threaded with Emile’s. He listened to the happy, quiet whispers between the twins behind them, and Janus’ soft answering chuckle.

They’d made it. They’d all made it. They’d made it here to Patton’s graduation. Patton, through Herculean effort and determination and endless optimism had made it to graduation.

Cameras flashing from the other side of the stadium broke him from his reverie and he took out his own phone, ready to record every moment that came next.

For all the sturm und drang of the trip across Lake Washington, the ceremony itself was absurdly brief. By the time they all got out and met up with Patton in the front atrium, the sun had not even set. The rain had stopped sometime during the commencement speeches, and the cleared skies were brighter than they had been when Logan had first arrived.

"I really am quite grateful you all came," Logan said quietly to Janus as they watched Roman pose with the boys. "It…" He licked his lips, considering his words. "It means a lot to him and…" He met his eyes. "And a lot to me."

"You sound somewhat surprised we came," Janus said, drawing closer when Remus joined them.

"I… Well…" They exchanged a look, silently speaking volumes to each other.

Remus bumped their shoulders together, grinning. "Nah, Lo Lo," he said. His smile warmed Logan down to his toes. "We wanted to be here with you."

"Really?" Logan asked. "I thought—i feared you accepted out of politeness."

"Ah," Janus said, nodding. Again they shared a look. "Would it be helpful if we were more direct in expressing what we want?"

Remus flashed him another grin and gripped his shoulder. "We can do that."

"Well, y—yes," Logan nodded, irrationally hoping Remus wouldn't let go. "Tha—that would be very helpful."

"Then we shall," Janus murmured and watched the boys as they chased each other over the stadium steps.

They lingered in the golden light, none of them in a rush to join the traffic worming its slow way through the overcrowded parking lot and back over the bridge. Logan snapped more pictures than he could count, reluctant to stop when Roman offered to take a series that included him, as well.

He relented when Janus leaned close, hand soft on his arm. “They will want pictures of their father, Logan,” he murmured.

Eventually the sun set and the first stars glimmered, fighting valiantly to be seen past the city’s lights. The parking lot quieted and they headed toward their cars.

“Mr. H!” Patton called, waving at a figure standing at the rideshare pick-up area across from the first row of cars in the now nearly-empty lot.

Logan recognized Roman’s little two-door coupe parked in the tiny compact spots that had been too tight of a fit for his own vehicle. With a chuckle, he wondered if Roman had made Remus ride scrunched in the back seat. Just beyond it sat Remy’s car.

“Mr. H, I did it!” Patton cheered and ran ahead to greet his favorite teacher.

Frowning down at his phone, Mr. Hopkins was surrounded by two stacks of plastic totes and a large tarp folded under his arm. His face lit up at Patton’s call, waving back with a cheery, “You did! I’m proud of you, Pat!”

“We all are,” Logan said as they joined him.

“I can see that,” Mr. Hopkins grinned, one arm wrapped over Patton’s shoulders. He laughed when Patton took a selfie of them. “You’ve brought an entourage with you,” he remarked, eyes bouncing from face to face. His gaze lingered on Roman’s, recognition flickering, but he seemed determined not to stare. He turned to face Patton.

“Right!” Patton laughed. “Everybody, this is Mr. H—Mr. Hopkins. He’s my theatre teacher, well, was my theatre teacher.” He pointed to each in turn. “You know my dad, and those are my brothers, Virgil and Remy, and Remy’s husband Emile…”

Hopkins shook each hand in turn, again peeking at Roman. Logan glanced over his shoulder, worried he was making him uncomfortable. Roman was good with fans and typically dealt with even the pushiest politely and effectively.

But Roman’s eyes were fixed on Hopkins, eagerly waiting to be introduced.

“And this is Remus and his husband Janus,” Patton continued. He winked at them before gesturing toward Roman. “And this Remus’ brother, Roman.”

Janus hid a laugh behind his hand as Roman inclined his head as he shook Hopkins’ hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Hopkins,” he said, voice a little deeper than usual. Was he—

Logan’s eyes flicked over to Remus’ and he nodded, smirking at his brother’s flirting.

“Please,” Hopkins said, still shaking Roman’s hand. “Call me Lucas.”

“Lucas,” Roman repeated. “I’ve always liked that name.”

“Can I call you Lucas, too?” Patton asked, shoulders dancing the way they did when he was thinking of a joke.

Hopkins—Lucas—laughed. Was he blushing? “You bet!”

“So whatcha doin’ out here, Teach?” Remus asked, grinning back at his brother when he shot him a look that would slay a more fragile man.

“Oh,” Hopkins said with a heavy sigh. His earlier smile faded as he patted one stack of totes. “Waiting for my third Uber of the night, actually.” His phone dinged and he looked down at the screen. “Damn. Make that my fourth Uber,” he said, tapping rapidly.

"A rideshare is unnecessary," Logan said. "I mean…” He looked at Remy and Roman, the other two drivers that night. “Surely between all of our cars we can fit both you and your materials comfortably."

"Are you…sure?" Lucas looked between them, Patton and Roman nodding vigorously.

“Absolutely!” Patton said.

"It would be unseemly to leave you waiting in the rain for an Uber that may never come,” Roman said, moving to his side and grabbing the handle of one of the pushcarts.

“It’s not raining anymore, Ro Bro,” Remus said. Roman either ignored his brother or successfully feigned a sudden and dramatic hearing failure.

"It… Well, the last three canceled when the drivers saw where the pick up was." He shrugged. “No-one wants to get off the highway just to get back on.”

"There you go. It's settled. Here, you can ride with me!" Roman said and began to roll the stack to his car.

"Hey, Ro, did you forget you're our—" The twins exchanged a look and Remus nodded. "Yeah, great idea!” he said and grabbed the other trolly. “Here, I'll help."

After a bit of wrangling, Roman evicted a bright green tote bag from his tiny trunk and, with effort, jammed in most of Lucas’ materials.

In the end, all that was left were the empty wheeled carts and Logan and Janus each took one. “These will fit nicely in my car,” he said.

“Will we fit, too?” Remus asked, smile bright.

“Oh! Yes, of course!” Logan nodded at him and Janus. “I should have made the invitation clear. Absolutely!”

Remy and Virgil exchanged a little smile, relief, probably, at not needing to rearrange their own seating. “We’ll all meet up at Dad’s?” Remy asked, taking Emile’s hand.

“Yeah, are you busy, Mr. H? We’re having a ‘surprise’ celebration back home,” he said, air quotes audible.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Lucas said to Logan.

Nodding excitedly, Roman made pleading eyes over his shoulder and mouthed, “He can come!”

Stifling a laugh, Logan nodded. “We’d love to have you.”

Enlivened by Remus and Patton happily celebrating his work to set up Roman and Lucas, the long walk back to Logan's car felt short.

Janus slid close and murmured, “It seems your son is a budding matchmaker.”

Watching Patton’s glee as he recounted Roman’s flirting, Logan couldn’t disagree. “It appears he is.”

They reached the car and Logan struggled to both retrieve his keys and hold one of the hand trucks.

"Here, lemme help you with that," Remus said, moving close and reaching for the handle.

"Thank you, but I will be fine,” Logan said automatically. Despite the slight chill of the evening, Remus’ hand was warm. “You've got your hands full yourself.”

"I've got two hands, after all," Remus winked at him.

Patton barked out a laugh, quickly covering his mouth.

“We both do,” Janus said, taking the hand truck from Logan’s grip and holding Remus’ other hand.

“They’re not wrong,” Patton said quietly behind him. Taking out his own key, Patton unlocked the car with a chirp. He popped the trunk and tucked both hand trucks into the cargo area. “I’ll drive!” he said and opened the passenger door next to them before he clambered into the driver’s seat.

Watching Patton carefully fasten his seat belt before adjusting the seat and the mirrors, Logan nodded approvingly. “Your lessons have paid off,” he hummed and climbed into the backseat, leaving the front passenger seat for either Remus or Janus.

Remus climbed into the back with him.

And Janus slid into the seat on Logan's other side. “Quite the matchmaker, indeed,” he murmured, leaning close to Logan as he buckled his seat belt.

Patton started the engine, then grinned at him in the rear view mirror. “Everyone ready?”

Logan looked at Remus and then at Janus. Each met his eyes and nodded. Remus' hand grazed his knee.

…It’s the best possible time to be alive, when almost everything you thought you knew was wrong. Crack open the door and step through!

Heart racing, Logan nodded back at his son’s reflection. “Yes,” he said.

"Ready."

Author's Note: And the story is finally complete. This tale needed more room than I'd originally anticipated to say everything it needed. And, even in the epilogue, there's plenty more life for all of them to lead. (And, yes, we'll see this trio again at @intruloceitweek in October. This is just the beginning for them, after all.)