This is a Dalton!verse fic, which means that it takes place in the lovely world of CP Coulter's spin-off Dalton. SPOILER ALERT: This story contains spoilers through Episode 26 of Dalton, "Hell Night".

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Dalton. All characters mentioned belong to CP Coulter.

Rated T for mild language.


"What's wrong with Julian?"

"Nothing's wrong with Julian," Logan growled. Julian was fine, Derek was fine, he was fine, the Windsors were fine—everyone was fine. Some were in the hospital, but even they were breathing and alive and fine. The only one that wasn't fine was Adam. Logan hoped that damn Adam had gone to hell when the third floor explosion incinerated his body. It's what he deserved.

Logan wasn't a violent person by nature…no, seriously! It was always the result of the circumstances. He got violent because he had no other choice, not because he wanted to. "It's your choice to feel like violence is a necessity," Derek always told him, but Derek could be a dick about life.

Like now, when he was continuing to insist that there was something wrong with Julian.

Logan knew perfectly well that there was nothing wrong with Julian. The Hollywood star, who was more fragile than he liked to admit, was getting better but remained in recovery. The Stuarts had put him on strict bed rest and the entire hall put all of their effort into being quiet for Julian's sake. It all came at the force of Logan, but it made the prefect proud nonetheless to see how caring his fellow Stuarts were. It made him wonder how Windsor was faring—they couldn't handle being in anything other than a state of chaos for more than a minute!

Anyway, Logan himself had been checking on Julian regularly (every hour on the hour) for the past two days. He'd just finished such a check when Derek had begun interrupting with his nonsense.

"I just saw Julian," Logan explained calmly, trying not to lose his temper. "There's nothing wrong with him. He was perfectly fine and his temperature's gone down considerably—"

"Then why don't you turn around for a second look?"

Logan didn't move. He didn't know what kind of a prank his best friend was trying to pull, but he wasn't going to fall for it. He stayed rooted in his spot, his back to Julian's bed, facing the door of Julian's dorm…but he couldn't get his feet to move forward. He couldn't get himself to leave the room.

"I don't need a second look. I can sense that he's fine."

"Now you've got a special sense that keeps you in touch with Julian?" Derek laughed harshly. "Where was that three years ago? I bet that would've made a difference when he started leaving Dalton for casting calls or filming!"

"Shut up," Logan snapped. "And you know what I mean. I checked on Julian a few minutes ago. He's fine, I know it."

"Then why won't you turn around? What are you avoiding?"

"I'm not avoiding anything."

"Not even that he loves you?"

"I…"

"What are you going to do about that? He's going to come to his senses and when he does, he's going to realize that you never said anything in response to his impromptu confession, and things will be downhill from there, my friend. I'd beg you to tell me you have a plan, but knowing you, Logan, you probably don't know where you stand on the issue."

"I…"

"Turn around, Logan."

Derek sounded tired, but more than sleepy. He sounded weary to the bone and maybe that's why Logan did. He turned around, a witty retort rising to his to replace that damn sentence he kept stumbling on because there was Julian and he was perfectly fine.

He was the picture of good health, all glowing clear skin and rosy cheeks and the rise and fall of the slow, soft breathing of sleep. But then something happened. The "picture of good health" started to deteriorate before Logan's eyes; the colors faded and swam until the image was distorted. Julian looked grayish, and then pale, and then simply washed out, and then the colors snapped back into focus but the image was all wrong. He looked dusty and dirty and sweaty and there were bloodstains where before there was nothing and his breathing was slowing until it wasn't noticeable at all and then Derek was saying, "Julian? Julian! JULIAN!" and Logan was fainting away or something, because everything was going dark.

And then he couldn't feel anything at all except for the weight of that stupid sentence he couldn't say out loud to Derek.

And Logan wanted to stay there in the dark, where it was cool and calm and he could contemplate his feelings for a certain actor, but he couldn't. He was yanked out of his meditative empty state by Derek, who was still yelling, but he wasn't yelling just Julian's name, he was yelling Logan's, too.

Logan opened his eyes and found himself on the filthy third-story floor of the Art Hall not two feet away from Julian, who was still dusty and dirty and bloody and not responding. He wasn't breathing either, as far as Logan could tell.

Derek came into view and all Logan could manage was that stupid sentence he'd had so much trouble with before, in the dream or whatever it was.

I think I love him, too.


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