February 3, 2022—Seattle, Washington—13 Days Later #2
Logan sat slumped in a vinyl chair just outside the isolation wing, his head tilted back against the cold wall, eyes half-shut.
His body didn’t feel tired so much as emptied.
There was no fight left in his muscles, no thought left to chase.
Just silence. Just breath. His limbs had gone heavy with the kind of exhaustion that came not from lack of sleep, but from carrying too much for too long.
His family had come earlier. Brought sandwiches he didn’t eat, coffee that had gone cold, and hugs that tried too hard not to feel like goodbyes. One by one, they’d drifted out, quiet squeezes on the shoulder, soft reassurances, doors whispering shut behind them.
Now, the hospital was still.
He let his eyes fall closed.
The moment sleep began to drag him under—
“Princess, go home.”
Logan’s eyes snapped open. Dean had dropped into the chair beside him with a heaviness that the hospital corridors witnessed too often.
Logan rubbed his face, already bracing. “Later,” he muttered. “How’s Alon?”
Dean stretched, arms behind his head, legs kicked out long in front of him. “Recovering,” he said with a yawn. “Still cranky about missing training. Mostly just pissed that he’s falling behind.”
He flipped his phone lazily between his fingers, a mischievous glint catching in his eye as he glanced toward Alon’s room.
Logan narrowed his gaze. “What did you do?”
Dean’s smirk grew like it had been waiting all night. “Well,” he drawled, dragging the word out, “Adrian and I were in the same unit as Alon’s in now. I might’ve… pulled a few strings.”
Logan blinked. “What kind of strings?”
Dean shrugged, far too pleased with himself. “Alon’s going to be here a while. They need to monitor him anyway, make sure the transplant worked, see if anything shifts. You know that already. You and Dr. Tierney have had those talks. More routes, more options, more waiting.”
Logan nodded, slowly.
Dean leaned in, eyes bright. “So I made a few calls. Said a few things. When Alon’s cleared to return, he’ll slot back in with his team like he never left. No penalty. No falling behind. It’s already sorted.”
“You can do that?” Logan asked, incredulous.
Dean just grinned and leaned back again. “I did.”
Logan exhaled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “That’s… good.”
“I know.” Dean stretched like a cat, arms overhead, spine popping, and let the quiet settle.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was just there, like breath or time or gravity.
Then Dean turned again, quieter now. “Come on, Logan.”
Logan looked over, jaw already tightening.
“Call a cab,” Dean said. “Go home. Sleep for a few hours.”
“I’m fine,” Logan insisted.
“You’re not,” Dean replied, voice soft but steady. “You look like shit. I’ll stay here tonight. I know you don’t want to leave him. But you need to rest.”
Logan didn’t move.
Dean gave him a look, not cold, not hard, just human. “He’s going to need you tomorrow.”
Logan inhaled sharply, he tipped his head back until the ceiling tiles blurred, feeling the air thin against his ribs as though Dean had compressed the entire future into that single sentence. He knew Dean was right. Of course he was. Tomorrow… Adrian would need him tomorrow.
But still—How did he walk away?
How did he leave Adrian alone, even for a few hours, when the line between life and loss felt so impossibly thin? When tomorrow could be…
He couldn’t finish that thought; he could not even think that thought.
For a long moment, Logan didn’t move. His fingers twitched faintly in his lap before he reached into the pocket of his jacket. The motion was slow, almost reverent—as if the thing he was about to pull out was too fragile to handle casually.
Then, with a breath that felt like it had taken weeks to gather, he drew out a small black jewelry box and held it out.
Dean blinked, momentarily taken aback. He gazed at the box for a heartbeat longer than necessary before gently accepting it from Logan’s hand. His fingers moved with an odd clumsiness as he lifted the lid—
And then he froze in awe.
Inside, nestled against luxurious black velvet, lay a ring.
A band of white gold, glowing softly under the subdued hospital lights.
A delicate array of perfectly cut diamonds dazzled along the center, embraced by two sleek silver edges.
It exuded elegance yet possessed a reassuring solidity.
Quietly radiant, it was a ring crafted to endure the passage of time.
Dean turned it in his hand, and that’s when he saw it, the engraving on the inside of the band.
My lifesaver.
The words were delicate, etched in a script so fine it almost shimmered when the light caught it just right. A secret, meant only for one person.
Dean exhaled, a breath that lingered between them like steam in winter. Logan’s voice followed, threadbare.
“I really can’t lose him.” The words came from Logan’s throat like a prayer—cracked, hoarse, barely there. When Dean looked up, Logan had buried his face in his hands, his shoulders trembling with the effort of holding everything in.
Not crying.
Not yet.
Just holding on.
Dean slipped the ring gently back into its box, closing it with a soft snap. He looked at Logan again, something gentler behind his eyes now.
“How long have you been carrying this around?” he asked, his voice quieter, steadier.
Logan dragged his hands down his face, resting them in his lap.
“Two months,” he murmured. “I’ve been looking for the perfect one for so long…” His voice cracked, just enough to betray the weight he’d been carrying alone. Then, softer, almost ashamed, “But I don’t know if I should ask. Not now.”
Dean’s eyebrows lifted. “Wait—what?” He let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head, incredulous, almost affectionate. “Are you seriously worried Adrian might say no?”
Logan didn’t answer. He just stared at the floor like the thought was a knot he couldn’t quite undo. Dean reached over, pressing the box back into his hand.
“Logan. Trust me. It’s a big fat yes.”
Logan let out a breath of a laugh, but it was hollow, his shoulders still braced like he couldn’t exhale all the way.
“I know it’s a yes,” he said quietly. “But what if it upsets him? What if it’s too much? What if he’s scared, or overwhelmed, or…”
Dean cut him off firmly. “No what-ifs.”
Logan looked up.
“Ask him,” Dean encouraged. “He’d be so damn happy.
Trust me… Adrian is a bit cheesy and overly romantic when it comes to that stuff; he’ll be the happiest man alive when you ask.
” Then, softer, with a knowing glance, “But not here. Not in this place. Wait until you’re home. It’ll be more meaningful.”
Logan let out a slow breath before nodding. “Then in three weeks, I’ll be engaged.”
And for the first time in so long, he smiled. A real, unguarded smile. The idea of it, the certainty of it, settled deep in his chest like light returning to a place that had been dark for far too long.
Dean, of course, couldn’t resist. “Yeah. Isn’t it, like, your second engagement?”
Logan shot him a glare and promptly elbowed him in the ribs.
Dean let out an exaggerated groan, rubbing his side dramatically. “Hey!” he protested.
“You’re a mean person,” Logan muttered, shaking his head. Then, softer, more genuine, “I can’t believe you’re the first person I told.”
Dean just smirked. “I’m sorry, but you basically set me up for that one. And let’s be honest, I’m growing on you.”
Dean grinned, stretching lazily as he pulled out his phone. The glow of the screen reflected off his face, casting a soft light over the teasing smirk tugging at his lips.
“Get out of here, Princess. I’ll see you in the morning.
” He stretched out in the chair, all long limbs and lazy ease, tapping on his phone screen.
The soft blue glow lit his features, casting gentle shadows across his face.
There was a smirk tugging at his lips, yes, but something else had crept in.
A softness. A stillness. The kind that came from what—or who—waited on the other side of the screen.
Logan rose from the bench, stretching the stiffness from his spine, his limbs unfolding with the slow, aching reluctance of someone who’d been sitting far too long. He turned toward the elevator, ready to call it a night, or at least pretend he could, but something made him pause mid-step.
Dean hadn’t moved.
Still rooted to the same spot, still staring at his phone, but the expression on his face had shifted.
This wasn’t the easy grin he wore when laughing at something stupid, or the cocky smirk he threw around like spare change.
No, this was quieter, softer. A smile that didn’t reach for attention, that didn’t perform.
It hovered on his lips like something half-remembered and wholly cherished.
He looked at the screen as if it held more than pixels, like it carried meaning. As if what glowed there wasn’t just light, but something delicate, something alive. Something real.
The phone buzzed gently in his hand, the sound barely more than a sigh, and Logan watched as Dean’s eyes softened further, the faintest shift in his expression betraying everything.
He bit down on a smile that wasn’t meant to be seen, and a breath caught in his throat like it had to make space for whatever had just reached him through the glass.
There it was, that stupidly tender look, all soft edges and quiet reverence. Like someone reading a letter they’d memorized but still couldn’t get through without feeling it all over again.
His thumbs moved slowly, deliberately, as though each word he typed was a string of glass beads he didn’t want to crack. His whole body had gone still, except for that barely-there smile, the kind people wear when they think they’re alone with something beautiful.
And Logan just stood there, watching the whole thing unfold with a slow lift of his brow.
“Who’s that?” Logan asked, voice casual, but laced with quiet curiosity.