Disclaimer: I do not own Veronica Mars or it's affiliates.

He doesn't really know what's come over him because him and Logan are not really the type to discuss feelings except for in that offhand manner in which they pretend everything is alright even though it obviously never will be. But tonight, tonight is different. Tonight Logan wasn't supposed to be home. Tonight Logan and Veronica (whom he finds he can't even pretend to approve of -or really approve of- anymore because dude that's his best friends heart she's always stomping all over) were supposed to be on some huge grand makeup, sex, date thing. Logan had given him free reign of the space and Dick had planned accordingly. Beer, babes, and a shit load of condoms. The flaw in the plan? Logan Echolls sitting shell-shocked on the sofa. Normally, Dick could have breezed it off, just ignored the guy, ushered the ladies to his room and been on his merry way. It's normal procedure for him and Logan. But there's something in the frozen, carved out of stone stature Logan's in. Something about the way his lower lip is wobbling ever so slightly, the way his eyes haven't flickered from the fixated spot on the wall, the way they seem to be sinking slowly into watery depths of pain and misery. Something about the way his breath is oh so soft and quiet, but still passes ragged and wrenching through his body. Logan's still, too still, and Dick is gravely worried. Logan's never looked like this. Not through Lilly or Lynn or Aaron. This is a look Dick somehow recognizes, that somehow tugs at him from a buried depth within him. A hollow, rotten cavity filled with little league and Shelly Pomroy's party. Cassidy. Cassidy had looked like this once, twice, and Dick had ignored it. He won't ignore it anymore. Dick sends the girls away, ignoring their screeches and eyerolls and we could do soooooo much better anyway's. He sits, gently, next to Logan and waits. He's not sure what for, Logan seems incapable of speech, but he's determined not to abandon him. Hours pass by, surely it's hours, but maybe it's years or decades, he can't see the clock and the situation isn't changing.

"Logan," he says, if he's speaking at all. Because he's certain his voice has withered and crumbled away like the rest of him. "Dude, what's wrong?" It takes a long time to garner a response. Like he was speaking down a long and winding tunnel rather than a few inches apart. Logan blinks. And then he blinks faster. And then his breath is tumbling out of him faster than he can control it, but not with words, with jagged, splintering sounds, and Dick wraps his arms around Logan because he knows those sounds. He knows they're the result of something broken. But Logan's been broken for a long time.

He holds Logan, until his arms ache, and Logan's quietened. It''s very apparent that Logan can't speak, won't speak. Dick tries to eases him off the couch with the intention of sending him to bed, but Logan's fingers curl tight around the cushions when Dick tries to move him, knuckles going white from the intensity of his grip, and Dick decides to leave him be, instead going to fetch blankets and pillows and tissues and water.

When he returns he wraps Logan in a cocoon of blankets, draws the blinds as tightly as he can and dims all the appliances. He gazes at his best friend for a moment longer, whose laid down on his side and facing the wall, eyes still unwavering from the imaginary thing that Dick can't see. He sighs, fidgety and entirely unsure of what to do and leaves the room, praying that Logan will sleep this off because seeing Logan damaged like this is fucking with his head.

The next morning he finds Logan curled up under the blankets, eyes fixated on the same point on the wall. He's not sure if Logan's ever fallen asleep. He's not sure if Logan's ever going to sleep again. He sighs again, feeling older than he ever has before, perhaps not older but age appropriate and orders room service. Three crushed sleeping pills later and he feeds the food to Logan, who barely swallows. He waits until he can see Logan's fixated point start to waver and blur. Then he asks, "Did she leave you?"

It does in fact take years then. Years as Logan's eyes drown beneath crushing waves of kaleidoscope images and the point on the wall disappears entirely. Logan's eyes are open the smallest fraction of a millimeter, but it isn't enough. It isn't enough for Logan to hold on anymore.

"Who?" Logan asks and the heavy weight of the entire universe comes slamming into Dick's shoulders. It's such a heavy thing to bear. He won't be able to carry it.

"Veronica," he prompts.

Logan's eyes flutter closed.