It was raining outside, a soft pitter patter against the pavement and the windows, giving the outside world a look of utmost melancholy. It looked like one of those black and white paintings that the rain had dribbled on and washed away all the lines and colors.

Blue eyes finally flicked open again, steady icy gaze focused on the view outside the apartment, on the white curtains, to the painting on the wall, and finally finding their way to the form of a rather familiar figure lying on the couch.

Logan had been asleep again. For how long he didn't remember, but that seemed to be the only thing he wanted to do lately. He hadn't talked much at all... maybe a couple of words... a handful of them at most, and he hadn't gotten to know that figure as well as he wanted to quite yet.

He was lazily arranged on a bean bag chair facing the couch, gaze not straying elsewhere after it had landed on Jibril. He was warm, comfortable, curled up and near clinging to the red fabric filled up with odd bean-type things.

His hair had been braided into hundreds, if not thousands of tiny little intricate braids and some fell in his face, varying in color from black to white. His toes barely touched the soft black carpet but curled around it all the same, and he lazily blinked.

He focused on the leather couch, on Jibril's face, sighed, took in a breath that tasted like the apartment smelled (a fresh summer or spring rain, was it?) and...

"Jibril?" His voice was fairly weak from not speaking so much. Still hoarse too, and not as soft as it had been before.

Some might wonder if this really was the murderer they'd previously known.

...It did seem like a melancholy place. Like somewhere to lay down, smoke, and reminisce. Which was what Jibril Digger happened to be doing right now, though he had finished his joint a few hours ago. He tried not to smoke in front of the boy, pot smoke isn't healthy.

Then again, Jibril wasn't a very healthy angel, rather too thin looking and his skin looked even paler without the lights on. It was getting near evening wasn't it? The sun hidden behind the grey clouds that brought this rain.

He was thinking about when he stumbled, quite literally, over the body of this practicaly dead boy. Jibril was never able to ignore an injured child. So he healed this boy on the spot, collected him up, and took him to his house. The boy had slept for almost a complete week straight.

Jibby didn't get the luxury of such sleep without nightmares visiting him. He simply contented himself with watching over the boy and getting water into him. Water was vital to humans, wasn't it? He liked the smell of water, especially rain....one sually wonders how pot smoke isn't the scent of the apartment. But no, it's rain. Or clean sheets.

Cleanliness is one step closer to godliness. That's one thing the boy has probably learned about Jibril, he was almost anal about being clean. That, and he was a soft person, soft spoken, and soft in touch and personality. Jibril hadn't learned much about the boy, except that he was in his teens, very quiet, and that his name was Logan.

Jibril never really gave a lot of information about himself, just his name, and that he was an angel. He may talk about himself later...but later is later and not right now.

Someone spoke his name. Jibril had grown accustomed to the voice, since he heard it everyday, at most a few times. He didn't ask why the boy didn't go back to his home, even though he could since he went out everynow and then, it wasn't his business.

He opened his bright green eyes, head turning to look at the boy. Some strands up now lime green hair, since he dyed it a few days ago, fell into his pale face. He looked at the boy, eyes soft, and over the braids that he did for the boy.

"Yes Logan?"

Deep, but soft voice, hoarse in it's own way, for it's own reasons.

Logan shifted on the bean bag chair, sinking into it whichever way he moved and finding that no matter how he turned the thing was just impossibly comfortable. He felt as if he were sleeping on a red-colored cloud.

"I... need... you to take me... somewhere." Well, that was more than he'd said in one sentence for quite a while. But he'd been putting off saying it for such a long time he felt it needed to be said now. No more beating around the bush.

His expression was that of absolute need and his eyes were cold with seriousness. It was hard not to be serious when thinking of Criss, though. He hadn't seen him in what felt like forever, didn't even know if he was even alive or not. It would absolutely wrench at his heart if he found Criss to be dead and he didn't even get to say goodbye. In fact, it would pull at his heart even to know that he wasn't there to visit him when he went in for surgery. He was going soft. The killer has a heart after all.

He was hoping Jibril wouldn't say no to him, but he hadn't really said no to much of anything Logan wanted since he'd woke up in his apartment. Logan, actually, had been rather disturbed when he'd first seen Jibril but had been much too tired to care. Logan didn't object to his softness exactly, as he was really an affectionate person deep down... if you could ever manage to get down to that person. It was almost impossible to do, but if you got him when he was down it was entirely too easy a thing to do.

Jibril shifted up, onto his side, more green strands falling into his face. His eyes looked over Logan, studying the emotions in the other's eyes. And finally he nodded. This seemed serious, and if that was what Logan wants, Jibby shall do.

He stood up, the leather squeaking softly as he did so. His long, heavy black pants barely hanging on his hips, revealing the blue, grey, and white plaid boxers. Luckily, the pants were held up by a thick leather belt with a large brass buckle, very ornamental. The made soft rustling noises on the floor as he walked over to the green bean bag.

On it was his flannel shirt, black and white and plaid, something he was very fond of. He bent over and pulled it on, over the white wife beater he wore. The wife beater was loose enough to keep him cool, and was showing parts of his tattoo that was covered by the shirt.

He turned back slowly around to Logan, wondering where his shoes were before very slowly realizing that he was still wearing them. One quick look down confirmed that as he looked over to make sure the bottom snaps were done. He went on to also check that all the bondage straps on his pants were correct as well as the chains.

Everything seemed to be in order. His peircings we're in, the nose and tongue stud, lip ring and earrings we're silver and clean. Never put dirty jewelry on, unhealthy and not very safe. So yes, everything was in order. He looked back to Logan, then to the window and back.

"You need an umbrella." A thoughtful pause. "I think I have one. Come."

And he walked, daintly and quietly as possible save for the rattling of the many chains that were on his pants. He was in front of the hallway closet, looking through whatever coats he had there. He should have one somewhere.

Nodding, Logan uncurled himself from the comfy little piece of furniture and stood. None of his clothing rustled as he did so, and that might’ve been courtesy of the fact that his clothing didn’t really have any chains (aside from the two silver chains hanging from that black choker of his, one longer than the other. A black skull cross hung from the longer one, and a star from the shorter one). But no, Logan was always silent in his ways and in his footsteps. One learns to apply that silence to everything after a couple years of killing and terrorizing people.

He was silent in more ways than just his footsteps when Jibril had first found him, however. His vocal chords didn’t work for a couple of days due to the spell Alex had cast, and the boy couldn’t even whimper helplessly (though the idea of Logan whimpering seemed absolutely ridiculous).

He pushed one of the many black braids away from his face (as after so long going without coloring it the white had faded back into his natural color) and sighed, heavy boots not even making the slightest noise of protest as he did so. He was careful not to drag his feet in Jibril’s apartment as he had done for Criss, and he felt a slight twinge at his heart. He wanted Jibril to hurry. Hurry so he could see if his father was all right. Yes, his father. Time spent apart only makes the heart grow fonder, right?

His boots crawled about a quarter of the way up his calves at most. They sported lots of black laces and buckles down the side of them and appeared to have at east three inches of very thick heel, as well as that same thick height put into the front of the boot. They were shiny and well taken care of, bringing Logan to a rather comfortable height of 5’8”. Yes, five foot eight, as he’d managed to incredibly grow two inches.

His shirt was made from some unknown material that appeared to be very very thin cotton. It was black in color, artfully sort of wrinkled-looking, had a deep-set ‘V’ neck that showed off some of his chest, and had virtually no sleeves (or just enough sleeve that stopped just barely over his shoulder). In the middle of the shirt to the left side were three holes that had silver metal around them, having three plastic-like black bands criss-cross at the bottom and one sort of arcing at the top.

It was cut in such a way that the shirt didn’t end in a straight line but a rather graceful and less exaggerated ‘U’, falling a couple inches over the leather shorts he wore. They had garter straps connecting to fishnet stockings covered part of the way by his big black boots.

All in all, he looked pretty… put-together, you could say, topped off with the hair and all of the rings from his eyebrow, ears, and lip.

The reason he was dressed this way was because no matter what (generally) the circumstance, Jibril had his guests out of their pajamas right after breakfast… and not in any bad way, either.

Logan sauntered up to Jibril, silent (and pale, though naturally) as a ghost. “All right.” Two words. He could deal with that. He was just ready to see Criss, and he was thinking of him in a ‘I want to see you’ sort of way and not a, ‘you weren’t there for me’ way.

He was too ashamed to go by himself to see Criss, though, so that’s why he wanted his angel to come with him. His angel.

He liked the sound of that.

(Sorry I couldn't post last night!! ><;;)

(( No problem, no problem! I passed out at 12 anyways ^^;;; ))

His angel, hm? The first time Logan had ever called Jibril 'his angel', Jibril had simply nodded and went on with doing nothing. Jibby doesn't mind, if that is what Logan wants to see Jibby as, then so be it. If Logan wanted Jibril to be his angel, he would, seeing as Jibril saw himself as the boy's guardian angel...or something like that.

Jibril was too focused on finding an umbrella for Logan to notice that the other had joined him. There must have been one somewhere, ah, here it is. He pulled out white umbrella, the fancy type, pointy and with a cane handle. He looked over it and handed it to Logan.

"Here."

He didn't want Logan to get wet. He himself didn't mind getting wet, especially from summer rain. He stepped back, shutting the closet door and turning, walking to the front door. He was ready to go, was Logan? He looked to the boy. Logan looked very nice in those clothes, though it still bothered him slightly. Going out in public like that is likely to get stares but...he sighed, he didn't think Logan would really mind.

"Ready to go?"

There was a soft smile on his face, and he opened the door. He didn't ask where they were headed, nor how to get there, he'd just follow Logan wherever he led. Like a good little angel.

Logan took it with a grateful nod, vaguely wondering why Jibril didn't take one for hinself. Perhaps he only had one? Or he didn't care about himself? If it weren't winter Logan would have said something like 'you'll catch your death out there', but since it was summer he didn't fuss so much. He just nodded.

"Okay, thanks." He never said more than he needed to.

"I'm ready." More than ready actually, but he wasn't going to say that.

Logan slipped out of the door, only half-way waiting for Jibril to follow.

Jibril nodded, following Logan out, turning only to shut the door and lock it. The key was put back into his pocket and he followed Logan down the steps to get outside. It didn't take much more than five minutes, and by the time ten minutes was up, they were outside walking down the sidewalk.

There was a wind, which cooled the temperature slightly, but the soaked Jibby didn't mind. He just walked beside Logan, water streaming down his whole body. His hair was plastered to his face but out of his eyes since he brushed it aside.

His clothes, being soaked, clung to his body in areas, especially his wife beater. It was white, thus it turned see through when wet, showing the thin, pale, and toned torso under it. His flannel shirt had slipped down around his elbows, revealing the tattoo on his back under and now visible through the w.b.

He liked the feeling of the rain against him though, he found it soothing, despite the weird stares the others outside were giving him. His attentions were on the rain and Logan, he was still beside him. The boy's eyes looked anxious.

They must be going to his home.

Logan was careful and precise in his footsteps, as a killer should be. He was careful not to step in puddles but he kept his eyes ahead of him so he would not bump into things. He was anxious, yes, so his pace was fairly quick while he held the umbrella over his head, scurrying along. They were stared at but Logan didn't notice, as he was always and had always been stared at. Freak. Creep. Loser. That's what Logan had been and was, and it's no wonder he turned out how he did.

Every once in a while Logan would offer Jibril a sideways glance to make sure he was following, but other than that he was focused on where he was going and getting somewhere as fast as he could. He hoped Criss was home.

After a while, there they were at the place Logan had been dreading going to for a long time now.

"Come, Jibril." He said softly as he went into the building, searching for the apartment number that was Criss'. He reached the door, looked over his shoulder for his angel, and hesitantly knocked on the door.

Jibril was there, walking right behind Logan as they moved in the building, dripping water onto the ground as he did so. But he was there. This must be wear he lives...or something. He was looking around, remembering how they got here and whatnot.

It would most likely be forgotten. So he might have to tattoo it to his wrist. Along with Logan's name, yes, he could probably forget his young Master's name too. He should risk tht and get the tattoo as soon as possible.

He had paused at one part, looking around, not realizing he had done so until Logan commanded him to come to him. He blinked, looked to Logan and obediantly walked up to him and stood beside him.

The other's hesitancy to knock made Jibril curious at who's apartment this was. Was it his parent's? Someone he knew? Jibril kept his face blank and open looking, it wasn't very intelligent looking but it was better than other expressions.

Here goes nothing. Jibril waited for the door to open, ever so curious. Like a cat.

“Come in.” He’s getting careless. That door was never unlocked when he was home. But it was now. And he was calling someone into the home before he knew who it was. Careless and stupid.

Criss had been sitting in the large leather wing backed chair watching the paint on the wall get neither darker or lighter. He was sprawled over the chair with one leg bent at the knee and tucked into the chair, the other hanging over the arm of it. One hand rested on his stomach, the other was holding a book that his eyes weren’t reading. He was dressed in the same clothes slept in the night before. The light blue denim jeans rode his legs tightly like a second skin and highlighted all of the...lovely assets of him. His shirt was a red muscle shirt, clinging to his muscular chest and outlining the thin patch beneath it over the left side of his chest, all of the bandages. At this point he’s got a thin blanket drawn over his legs and up his stomach.

His hair is in at least a hundred, straight, perfect, black braids, about half of them clasped with red beads at the ends. He looks pale to his usual dark, even tan and he looks thinner and a little less muscular to his previous chiseled form of two months ago. It comes from lack of sleep, lack of food, and major stress. The medication and painkillers her was one also did not help in giving him much of an appetite. And not long ago, he’d been attacked in the park by a boy. He technically should be in the hospital but his doctor had agreed that if Criss spent more time in the hospital, his health wouldn’t improve because he wasn’t resting or relaxing there. The good man agreed that if Criss rested and didn’t move about often, he could remain home.

It seemed that more and more he stayed awake when he should be sleeping and as the days passed it seemed more and more likely that his son, or rather foster son, was not alive or at the very least was not going to come home. And the more likely this became the more determined Criss seemed to become in finding him. The doctor who had preformed his failing surgery continued to tell him that the stress was doing more damage to Criss’ body then the medication was doing good. So when he heard the knock on the door, for a moment, just one short moment, Criss was filled with a softer, lighter feeling of hope. And then it was gone as he recalled having the same feeling when he’d seen the kid in the park that had looked so much like his Logan. And he recalled the disappointment when the boy who looked and was so much like his Logan had turned out not to be.

It's almost funny that Logan looks so similar to Criss. It almost looks like Logan could've been his real child and not his foster child. Blue eyes, dark hair and pale skin. If only he were a few years younger...

Logan took it upon himself to close the umbrella and hand it to Jibril, wiping his boots on the carpet outside the door to the apartment. "Hold this, please," he said softly as he took in a shaky breath, still hesitant. Then he placed his hand on the doorknob, turning it very slowly. Then he opened the door, standing there in the doorway. There was a slight anxiety in those pale blue eyes of his as he just stood there, looking.

"G...oth." He still sounds hesitant, too.

And Jibril didn't look like either really. He was pale, but with those large green eyes and bright green hair? Never. And that soft face of his, angelic due to being an angel and never changing. The other two will get older and older and Jibril will be stuck like this. Never changing. It's a sad thought really.

He took the umbrella as Logan told him to, holding it against his body gently and carefully. He watched the other, he seemed so nervous, he wanted to comfort him. Maybe his presence could help.

He had stepped up behind Logan, one delicate hand resting gently on Logan's shoulder. Remember that strong tingling sensation one gets when Jibril touches someone? That is what Logan would be feeling right now, washing over and in his body. He needs to calm down, not be so anxious.

Jibril took his time studying the apartment, it was dark, no lights were on. One could say Jibril's eyes were lights, practicaly neon green, they stood out in the dark, shining as he looked over everything.

Now who is this Goth?

Criss shifted once, barely, when the door opened.

G...oth

His blue eyes swung slowly away from the wall and over to land on Logan. He actually tensed for a moment and squinted in the faint darkness, trying to disipher is he was really seeing Logan or if this was that child again, the boy that looked like his Logan. He stared for a long time before his fingers just lost their grip on the book and he dropped it. He unfolded his legs and stood up slowly, wobbling to the side just a little before walking forward hesitantly.

His Logan. He reached out and touched Logan's black and white hair, just to be certin it wasn't orange and red. His Logan. He reached out and pulled Logan into his arms then, despite everything in his mind that screamed that the boy hated being touched, that the boy didn't like to be hugged. That his hug was just going to make Logan leave again. Logan could probably see the weight he'd lost, feel the padding of bandages under Criss' clothing.

"Criss." Not Goth. "Crisstoph. Where..." His voice had grown groggier, sleep deprivition and the painkillers weren't helping. Aside from the fact that his throat had suddenly gone dry and tight. "Where have you been?" The second try was a little firmer and clearer. Fatherly demand. Not angry, just worried. Relieved.

His blue eyes went over Logan's head and rested questioningly on the man. Was Logan in trouble? Had this man brought him home because he was in trouble? His arms tightened protectivly and he shifted Logan away from the other.

His icy blue eyes flicked back to Jibril for a split second then looked back to Criss, trying to find something to say... trying to not just stand there and look like an idiot by staring. But he'd been gone too long, what was he supposed to say? What could he possibly say to make up for all of this?

He swallowed hardly before that tingling feeling washed over him, but it only relaxed him a small amount. It was a foreign feeling and it was almost... unwelcomed? No, not unwelcomed, simply foreign. He blinked, looking up at Criss, unsure whether he should've come here or not.

"G-... Da-.. Criss.." He'd slipped up twice. Almost called him Goth, then Dad.

"I tried to..." To come, to call you...

Despite the fact Logan hated being touched he clung to the man as if for dear life... as if afraid he'd just... die on him or something.

He never did finish that sentence.

"I'm Jibril."

Soft but bright green eyes looked into the peircing blue of Criss. That gaze made him feel small, he shrunk back slightly. Jibril is a timid creature, he might break into tears if it was a glare and not a gaze. It was still frightening nonetheless. He bit the inside of his lip, the lip ring moving slightly. How to explain this...

"Logan has been staying with me for the past few months after I found him, sir, he was practicaly dead and I didn't know where he lived. I healed him and took him to my apartment..." He paused looking down...here he goes blabbering everything, the man probably wouldn't believe him... "...He was in a coma like state for almost two weeks...I took care of him and have been for the past months."

He squirmed, rather uncomfortable with the man staring at him so hard like that. It wasn't an inviting stare and he felt that the other wasn't very pleased with him at all. This was going to be very hard.

"You tried....what?"

Don't tell him Logan. It'll break him if he knew that you called for him and he hadn't been able to help. It'll kill him. But then...He'd have loved to know that when he was in real trouble, he'd called for Criss, not anyone else. He'd wanted Criss. But still...It might break him.

His eyes didn't waver from Jibril through the explination but grew harder, colder. His stomach knotted and her turned more, now compleltly hiding Logan from Jibril. He didn't expect the man to hurt Logan, not if he'd kept him for a month and taken care of him. But he'd kept him. Away from him. He'd kept his Logan away from him. Was this...jelousy? Surely not.

His heart nearly shattered from beating to terribly hard when Logan clung to him. Careless, he'd gotten so careless. While he was hiding Logan from Jibril, he'd also put his back to him. Dangerous. His chest ached beneath the bruising and stitches from his heart beating so terribly fast and from how tightly he was holding Logan to him, and how Logan held on to him. He didn't care.

Finally he pulled Logan back some to look at his face. "You were hurt. How? Who hurt you?" Another demand. Do you remember, Logan, how terribly angry Criss had been when Alex broke your hand? That was just your hand...

He didn't speak for a long time but just nodded into Criss' chest when Jibril explained what had happened. Logan really didn't want to explain and couldn't explain this whole thing... he vaguely remembered what had happened while he slept, but oh how he remembered how much he had been hurt. How much it hurt. How loud he screamed and was silenced. But Logan wasn't going to say any of that.

When he was pulled back he looked up into Criss' eyes. "He's not bad." You don't have to hide me. He took care of me. Don't treat him like that.

Oh yes, he remembered how angry Criss had been... how angry it made Logan that Criss had to be angry.

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter." No, he wasn't going to exact revenge on Alex. Not now, not ever.

And Alex could count on Logan staying as far away as possible from Keye or anyone friends with that spineless bastard.

As the gaze grew harder and colder, Jibril felt as if he was wilting down, and down. And he went down, lowering until he was on his knees, umbrella across them. His gaze was downward, he felt like crying but wasn't going to becuase there wasn't a reason to. This Criss was a powerful man, he could feel it.

He gazed back up though, when Logan spoke and then crawled forward slightly. The emotions that Jibril felt emmitting from Criss were so strong, as were Logan's, it was almost overwhelming. He extended a hand and touched it gently against Criss, that strong tingling sensation then it was gone when he dropped the hand.

"Whoever hurt Logan did whatever he could to make him feel pain without killing him...all his bones...broken."

He felt that he needed to tell Criss this, it was his right as...his father, right? Yes, it was his right to know, no matter how gruesome the details were. It was hard for Jibby to tell, but he was going to make Criss listen. His soft face and soft green eyes looked between Criss and Logan. They did look so much alike.

But there was a difference. As if protecting himself from the cold of the other's gaze, he wrapped his arms around his torso, not even realizing he did and sat down on his knees, waiting.

It doesn't matter

"It matters. It does matter." Because he was going to kill whoever had hurt his son so terribly. He was going to murder them.

whatever he could to make him feel pain without killing him...all his bones...broken

He was going to murder them, slowly. Very slowly.

When Jibril touched him, he didn't move at all, but he dropped his blue eyes to the hand on him until it moved and then let his gaze go back to the man. Not normal, he was somthing unhuman, Criss could tell this much. As Jibril told him what had happened to his son, Criss' eyes had grown harder, colder, where one might think it was impossible for them to show anymore hate, to get any colder, they did.

He pulled Logan back into his arms, felt the throbbing at his chest, didn't care. He had Logan again. That mattered.

"I thought...." You were dead. "You didn't want to come back anymore." Scowl because now he was just not sure what to think. His eyes softened again. If Logan trusted Jibril... He didn't turn back to Jibril, he kept his body between them, kept Logan to him. "Close the door, Jibril." Meaning alright...come in.

Wouldn't he be as bad as Logan if he murdered Alex? Even if it did, Logan didn't want him to muder him anyway. Logan didn't want Criss to be angry. It wasn't healthy for him to get like that.

"But... I did... want to come back." He wasn't angry at Criss for thinking that at all. No, not one bit. In fact, he couldn't really even blame him. "I couldn't. Because I thought..." he seemed sort of hesitant. Showing this much emotion is a very foreign thing for him.

"I thought you'd hate me."

Jibril nodded and stood up slowly. Criss didn't tell him to leave, which was a good thing. He turned and walked over to the door, shutting it and placing the umbrella on the handle. Then came off his shoes, it's impolite after all to wear your shoes in other's houses. Small, delicate feet were visible before his pant legs covered him up, even his socks were wet.

This house was cool, and even Jibril was slightly chilly, but he did his best not to shiver. He walked slowly back over to the two, looking rather forlorn in his wetness with his large eyes barely visible behind his green hair. He was like a wet puppy, or kitten. Despite his height, he seemed to be even smaller than he actually was, what a sad little angel.

He said not a word, just listening, or barely listening, it was rude to listen to other's conversations. This was time for father and son to comfort one another. He felt rather like a third wheel, so to give himself something to do he...well, focused on not doing anything really. Just sitting there and being quiet.

"I'd never hate you." In fact, the adoption papers are still sitting out there on the dinning room table. Because Criss missed him that much he swore he'd legally adopt Logan if Logan would sign the papers too. He finally let go of Logan, his faingers lingering on the boys arms, to turn to Jibirl. He walked a few feet down the hall and stopped at the closet, touching his chest and whincing.

He found a towel and came back, holding it out to the other. "I'm Gothtech." Not Criss. "I..." He rubbed his chest and dropped his eyes, trying to blink away the stonieness of them. "Thanks for...taking care of him, you should have brought him home."

At least he got a thanks right? Jelous Criss?

He touched Logan's hair again, because really it was the only thing that had been very different between him and that boy that he'd found in the park. And he felt the need to touch Logan, to know he was real.

He watched his father (as Criss was the only one who could ever have that title ever again in his life) for a long while before a small smile graced his thin lips. A smile, not a smirk, and not a cruel or bitter smile either. How long has it been since he's last smiled like this? It must have been at least a few years.

Logan looked up into Criss' eyes, concern filling his own icy blue gaze. "You should sit. You look like hell." Worse than he did a couple months ago.

(short, sorries!)

Jibril took the towel, though he visibly winced when the other said he should have took him home. He licked his lips, and looked down when he spoke. It was obvious he really didn't like that particular comment, the pout like expression was almost angry.

"I didn't know where he lived...he hardly spoke anything and I didn't want to push...He had to chance to go home every day, he would go out and then return to the apartment. I didn't try to stop him from going or try to kick him out. I figured when he's ready he'll go back home, and obviously he was today."

He looked up at Criss, that pout was still there, not very intimidating looking at all. Especially with his bright green eyes looking rather watery but they were burning, hidden behind all those clouds in them. He'll admit it, it kinda hurts when Criss does that. But he supposed he couldn't blame Criss, Logan had been away from his home for a while.

He sighed, drying his head and face with the towel, he slipped off his flannel shirt, turning around to hang it in his umbrella. At this time, one can get a wonderful view of that tattoo of his, covering all of his back, it looks like swirls of clouds and something like writing of some sort.

Finishing that, he wraps the towel around his body, the tattoo now hidden as he turns back around to the other's and walks over to them. Logan was right. He studied Criss himself, he really didn't look healthy, plus there was something wrong with his chest. He felt it. Jibby's eyes were rather concerned, he was thin too.

"It's getting near dinner time."

Meaning, I want to cook, and what I cook you will eat. Does Criss have any food here anyways?

He rolled one of Logan's braids in his fingers, his gaze growing...hurt? when Jibril spoke of Logan's comming and going in his appartment. Had Logan been walking, alright, but not come home? How long had he been able to and not? But he'd come home hadn't he? In the end he was here, letting Criss hug him, calling him Criss.

"Your right," he addressed Jirbil while looking at Logan. "I'm being selfish." His tone implied he is, after all, my son. I have the right to be selfish and angry and hurt. In fact, he may as well have just said it outloud with how thickly he'd implied the words. He let go of Logan's braid when he finally gazed at Jibril.

ou should sit. You look like hell

He dropped his bandaged hand entirly from Logan's hair and nooded, starting into the living room and half falling back into the chair, sitting on the blanket he'd been covered in. He reached over, whinced, turned on the lamp to put some light in the room. In the light, he looked worse, his skin paler and much of him either bandaged or band-aided.

"I feel better then I did." Because now my stress level has plumited all the way down and your home.

It's getting near dinner time

Criss thought he was implying that he was hungry. Certinly he had food, a lot of it. In case Logan came home and was hungry. Not that Criss had been eating much of it. There were pill bottles on the coffee table, three. Two of those pills caused apetite loss, but they stopped the pain.

Criss had a reason to be angry and upset by this, and Logan could understand why. What normal father wouldn't be upset by the fact their son who has not been home in months was all right and didn't bother to come home? It still didn't make him any happier that he was upset, though. It was his fault that he was angry, too.

Now Logan frowned. Criss didn't neccesarily have to like Jibril's presence here or even him in general, but it was mildly hurtful that he had to dislike him like he did, even if he had reason to.

When Criss started into the living room Logan followed, sitting on the floor next to his father's chair, looking up at him. Still a frown. He did look worse.

"Are you okay? Did you go in for surgery? Are you... eating? Jibril could make something..."

So concerned. Nothing like the boy Criss first brought home.

Jibril had silently followed them into the living room, watching them speak, keeping to himself. He did not want to get yelled or snapped at in any way by Criss, so he simply stood there.

But he was cold still so he removed his shirt and stuck it in his back pocket, continuing on to towel dry his torso. From his neck all the way down to the hip bones that you could barely see.

Then onto his hair, which never took too long to dry. It was a funny site after he removed the towel, the air was much drier of course, and sticking up, but it was also curling.

Yes, curling, becuase Jibril's hair was naturally curly, as in thick wide spiral curls that are a bitch to straighten. Cause Jibril straightens his hair nowadays. By the time it's completely dry, it'll be hanging in those curls. How annoying.

After he was done toweling himself, he took his shirt out and gave that a towle dry too, squeezing it out in the towel so that no water gets on the floor. A nod to show he agreed with Logan.

"Yes, I'm making dinner, both of you are too thin, especially you Goth." He motioned to the pills, yes he could read the labels, even from where he was. "It's important to eat no matter what medication you take."

Says the angel who looks just as bad as Criss but really, Jibby feels that he's not the one that needs to eat. He eats snacks throughout the day and thus he feels he is fine, anyways he can go on a lot longer than Criss. Oh hell, why not just go into the kitchen and cook?

"I'm going to make dinner, Logan, what do you want me to make for you and Criss?" Oops, he called him Criss...ah well, to his face he'll call him Goth, but when talking about him he'll call him Criss. Sounds fair.

And yes, ask Logan, he'll tell Jibby, Criss might snap at him or something. Jibby won't be eating though, remember the 'you and Criss' part.

He stood there, looking deliberately at Logan, waiting politely for an answer. It shouldn't take long for the boy to give his answer, it never did really.

Logan may be mildly hurt for a while, because it may take him time to warm up to Jibril, or to even treat him like a regular guest. Sure, the man (which already Criss was doubting was man) had taken care of Logan, but he’d not brought Logan to him until now. He’d not even tried to contact him. Of course, Jibril wasn’t doing anything that Logan hadn’t wanted but Criss wasn’t about to blame any of it on his son. Therefore, it must be Jibril’s fault. Also, Criss was feeling doubly possessive of Logan since, not only had the boy he loved disappeared and worried him, he’d also met a child that reminded him so much of his own boy that it had become hurtful. And then that boy had hurt him.

One a brighter note, Criss would be thrilled to know that Logan was no longer mentally referring to him as Goth or GothTech or Foster parent. He was referring (mentally) to him as father.

Are you okay? Did you go in for surgery? Are you... eating?

“Better now, much better,” not even questioning that Logan was so concerned or that Logan was sitting so close to him so willingly. He was just glad to have him, to know he was safe. He rested his arm across the armrest to where his fingers came to rest above Logan’s ear, fingertips touching his braids and remaining there. He seemed to have a need to touch right now, to know he was really and that he wasn’t Odin. Surgery, yes, that had not gone well. His other hand instinctively went to his chest, over the bandages. “Yes.” He didn’t linger on the subject, just a quick answer. And then a pause…and a truthful, “no.” He’s not been eating well. His eyes had been following Jibril’s movments and the followed his gaze to the pill bottles.

It's important to eat no matter what medication you take."

“Of course it’s important.” Just a simple acknowlegement. He’s eating enough to stay alive. At least give him that. He’s entertained the thought of suicide several times. For still having a pulse at this point, I’d say he’s doing pretty good.

make for you and Criss

Criss didn’t seem to mind Jibril asking Logan and not him what he should cook, he didn’t even seem to mind that Jibril had invited himself to cook in Criss’ home. He’d himself would have just asked Logan anyways. But not a second passed when those words slipped Jibril’s lips that Criss’ pale eyes came back up and he corrected him. “GothTech. Goth. GT.” Those are your options Jib. He’s even settled for ‘teachy’ once, but only because he’d started the ridiculous name calling with Oreon by calling him Icey and snowball.

Logan looked up at him uncertainly. He near scoffed at the man's reply, folding his arms over his chest. "This is better?" He asked, looking sadly over Criss once more. If this was better, he must've been worse before...? How could he look any worse? A frown creased the young man's lips. He did not sound happy in the least. He should have come home sooner.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there." He looked back to the floor now, regretting not coming home even more so now. But how could he have been there for the surgery anyway? While that was going on he was lying in an alley way unconscious for five days or longer. He still regretted it.

"Are you going to eat now?"

Because I'm not going to eat if you're not going to.

He secretly hurt for Jibril. It wasn't fair that he was getting blamed. That he wasn't being treated how a guest should be.

"It's my fault... this."

That took a lot to admit. But what exactly was his fault he didn't clarify.

Jibril had kept quiet, even when he was done talking. Maybe Logan would have to tell him what to say, considering he does anything Logan tells him to. He swallowed, leaning against the doorway but when the other says that it is his fault, he comes forward slightly, becuase Criss seems to have this tendency of snatching up Logan and pulling him away from the angel if he got what seemed to be too close. He didn't argue though.

Of course there were many things he could say, but he was rather...not nervous or worried, but cautious becuase the man might attack him if provoked. Hopefully it would just be physical, those heal in a jiffy. He continued walking forward slowly until he was near Logan but near Criss too. He had finally pulled his hair out of his eyes, they /were/ glowing.

"What is your fault Logan? Surely not Criss being sick, though you did help add stress, being stuck in this situation could be really no one's fault...but being tortured-" Ah his way with words. "-like that? It is your fault? Which would mean the person had a justified reason to do such a thing? Is that what you are saying?"

'Scuse him while he asks these questions Logan, but he would like to know himself, seeing as he was the one who found Logan and healed him. But he would never hold it against Logan, while he might not like Logan going out and getting himself in danger, he never asks the reasons for one to do such actions.

He stretched his back slightly, Logan might know what that movement means, his wings wanted to get out and relax. But he just bit the inside of his lip and ignored the pressure. He had nothing else to say. So he simply stood there in silence.

He wanted a joint.

If Jibby were to roll a joint in Crisses presance, He'd do a lot more then just pull Logan away and physically attack him. I'm sure Odin's headache after Criss attacked his mind took a very long time to go away. In short, Criss would not appriciate that.

"This is better?"

Criss lowered his blue eyes back to Logan's, held them for a moment and saw Odin there. How can two boys look so similar? Criss has already been entertaining the thought of brothers, or reletives of some sort. He closed his eyes and frowned. "Yes. This is much better."

Not the pain itself. But the fact that he had Logan back, he needn't worry about him as well as his pain. And oh how quickly someone can decide not to kill themselves with just a glimpse of a face. He watched at the corner of his eyes as Jibril moved closer but didn't tense as if threatened. Actually, he didn't mind. Unless Jibril was willing to kill Criss, Logan would be his no matter how close or far Jibril stood from them.

"Don't be sorry. Fede came and saw me." It didn't occur to him to explain who Fede was. He also understood what Logan's question about eating implied. "I will." Or at least we'll try. He scowled at Logan's claim to fault and looked at Jibril as he asked his questions. not Criss being sick. His fingers tightened on the arm of the chair. "Goth." Not Criss. Carful Jibril, your not making it easier for Criss to warm up to your presance.

"What is your fault, Logan?" He asked gently.

It was hard to believe he considered this better still. Logan had difficulty comprehending this, though if he knew Criss had been thinking about killing himself... let's just say he wouldn't be happy in the least. He'd actually probably hit or kill him himself if that were the case. Nevermind he'd thought about the same thing a couple times himself.

He cocked his head to the side slightly. "Fede? Who's Fede? Does that mean I have to... share?" His expression was odd and contorted. Confused, jealous... it was a funny-looking expression all the same with his head still cocked to the side, one eyebrow up but the other one scrunched downward. Share Criss? Never.

"...'s my fault for not coming home. 'n being beaten like that.." he said after a while, his expression returning to the normal blank and Logan-like expression.

"And, it might've been obvious, but if Jibril was not what he was..." he trailed off, shaking his head and shrugging.

Jibril's face went back to expresionless as he watched Logan's own face. Logan was possessive wasn't he...probably why he seemed to like the word 'my' or 'mine'.

Jibby was over by Logan and Criss now, his fingers playing with the braids he put Logan's hair into, wrapping them around his slender digits. He really did adore Logan, and Logan being safe and happy was all he cared about. he would not allow anyone to try to make it not so. He wasn't even bothering to look at Criss right now, his eyes were focused on Logan. The angel was almost anxious feeling until the boy's expression returned to what he dubbed as the mask expression, then he relxed again.

It was obvious how he felt for the other. One couldn't call almost call it love, but not yet, no not yet. It was still adoration, a deep fondness for the boy, and it wasn't the need for something physical. Of course, the angel would still love giving and receiving hugs and kisses and such, but nothing else.

Heh, Jibril shook his head softly, almost seeming as if he didn't even move it. Then Logan said it was his fault and what was that? What Jibril was? Ohyea...he's an Angel isn't he...yes, yes. His face took on a small, sad smile. does this mean he has to show his wings? A soft sigh.

Things are funny.

hard to believe he considered this better still. Logan had difficulty comprehending this, though if he knew Criss had been thinking about killing himself...

Killing himself hadn't been what was so terribly hard. The possibility of Logan still being alive had stopped Criss from doing so, the papers on the table had stopped him. What had been so bad that being so sick that he felt he couldn't eat, so tired but he couldn't sleep, and his body one big mess of wounds seem better was that he'd tried to explain to himself why Logan had gone. And the most likely thing he could come up with (because Logan never showed his affection) was that Logan had left to get away from Criss.

That had nearly killed him. Well, that and Logan's creepy look alike. But he wasn't about to mention that now.

...his fingers playing with the braids he put Logan's hair into, wrapping them around his slender digits. He really did adore Logan...

Criss stared over Logan's head at Jibril. His gaze was dark and jelous, unhidden with no attempt to be otherwise. He was Jelous. Can we say 'like father like son' in this situation?

Logan being safe and happy was all he cared about. he would not allow anyone to try to make it not so. He wasn't even bothering to look at Criss right now, his eyes were focused on Logan.

And Criss recognized the look, because he'd seen it before on many faces. Adortion. Jibril really cared for Logan, which Criss had already figured out. It's part of the reason he's jelous. He's afraid that Logan will love Jibril, and maybe show Jibril the affection he hadn't shown Criss before. Competition? Hurt. But his eyes softened a little, and then watered. He was jelous, but if someone could care for his son, a murderer and a usually spitful boy, then that was ok with him. But it hurt to think that he had competition now and that maybe this other, one who knew Logan less, couldn't possibly love Logan like Criss did, might win Logan's heart.

"Don't," he dropped his eyes to Logan again, touched the side of his face with his fingertips, which, despite his hand being bandaged, were not bandaged. "Don't think that. It wasn't your fault. I don't know why you didn't come home but nothing that's happened to me was anything you could have prevented." Because most of it (aside from the cancer and being attacked) was self-inflicted. "You couldn't help that someone....someone did this to you," and angry crept into his voice there but he pushed it back. "Don't worry, Logan. Fede won't ever take your place. She isn't my child in any way. She's more like....like a student."

Logan was mildly frustrated at this point. "But Dad," he didn't notice the slip-up in his words at this moment, "I deserved it. Just please, believe me. You might not understand, but I did deserve it..." He looked to the wall a moment and closed his eyes. He took in a breath.

"And maybe if I would have come home sooner you would have looked better, wouldn't have..." He closed his eyes even tighter in his frustration. "I guess it would have made me feel better if I was there for you."

He waited a moment, bit his lip.

"I know she won't replace me, but I..." He opened his eyes to look down at the floor. It was so damn frustrating when he couldn't find the words to use. "I feel like I have... to share, still. And I know you don't like my angel, so that's the way I feel about Fede."

(Sorry it took so long and is so short and sucky. >.<)

Jibril was silent as always. There wasn't much for him to do, besides stand here, cold. He was shivering. It was about time his knees gave out. It didn't look that way, no, he just slid down soo that he was kneeling now, legs on either side of him. Logan was being odd. The angel sighed. He was tired.

Being called an angel did not affect him, he just sat there, staring blankly at the other two. It was a sight that could make one doubtful person blink and state that this pathetic looking wet man could not be an Angel. Had Criss ever met an angel? this probably wouldn't be the most impressive first time experience if he hadn't.

He didn't want Criss to not like him. Maybe he wouldn't like the fact he was an Angel, hopefully though, that fact wouldn't do that. He looked over to Logan, the pressure on his back was really starting to make it ache. He needed to let his wings out.

A hand was raised and he tugged on the hem of Logan's shirt, large eyes looked up at him.

"May I let my wings out now?"

He's asking for permission. Hopefully Logan would notice how stiffly Jibril moved and how noticably uncomfortable he was. And hopefully he'd say yes.

But Dad

Criss made another soft sound, sighed, and a faint, pleased smile touched his lips then. He'd never imagined what it might be like to be called dad. He'd always wanted a child, couldn't ever get an agency to give him one because he was a single man living alone. And then finally, when he finds one, they shove him a kid that's least likely to call him dad and tell him they love him. It felt amazingly light to be called dad, especially by Logan.

He leaned forward, despite the pain in his chest, and looped an arm around Logan's shoulders.

deserved it. Just please, believe me. You might not understand, but I did deserve it...

His anger rose again that someone could make his son believe that he deserved something so terrible. "No. You didn't. No one does." Not even Logan's victims.

I feel like I have... to share, still. And I know you don't like my angel, so that's the way I feel about Fede.

Criss was queit for a long time, then looked over at the angel when he spoke. He did feel like he was sharing. He frowned. The angel....angel. Criss has met an angel before, but only in passing. The angel was shivering. And Logan was calling it 'my angel'. He'd never called Criss 'my foster parent' or 'my father' or my anything. Scowl. He stood up and moved to the bedroom. He returned after a moment holding a black sweater and pushed it towards the angel.

"Put that on. I havn't got pants that'll fit you. You can hang your shirt up in the bathroom and let it dry."