Crash Landing
“Okay, everybody take one!”
Kitty held her fistful of plastic straws out to the huddled group.
“Wouldn't it make more sense to pull them one at a time?” Kurt asked.
“But then the people that go first have the worst chance of pulling the marked straw. It's not fair.”
“I'm not sure that's how that works-” Jean tried, and failed, to interject.
“What's not fair,” said Rogue, “is Colossus suggesting we arm wrestle for it- ”
“I already apologized.”
“- and this is the most fair option we've come up with yet. Just go with it.”
“Really, it’s fine. I can do it” Scott sighed in exasperation. This had been going on for several minutes, with a childish levity that suggested they didn't understand that they were trying to choose who went solo on a potentially life-threatening mission. Scott was starting to accept that it was his fault for even suggesting he might not be the best choice this time.
“So like I was saying ,” Kitty powered on, ignoring him completely, “if we all grab one at the same time, there’s no problem.”
The X-Men had been on a chase after a powerful mutant that had been jumping between alternate universes. They didn't know what his motivation was yet, but in each new universe he was tunnel-visioned on tracking down power sources to fuel his next jump. The power sources in question were usually the life forces of the most powerful mutants they could find (or someone else with powers of comparable ability). The X-Men, using some borrowed alternate reality-hopping technology of their own, had been trying to follow and capture him in each new timeline. He was on a bloody rampage of using up mutants like batteries- many of whom were alternate versions of their friends- until they shriveled up and died. It had been an on-and-off struggle for the past few months, with the X-Men so far unable to catch up to him before he reached their goal and hopped to the next universe.
Transporting a whole group of people precisely and with no physical consequences was difficult at their current level of technology they were using. To get everyone over, they had to create an anchor point in the new universe that was connected to their reality. This was accomplished by moving the consciousness of one person into the body of their alternate self. The process could take anywhere from a few hours to over a day.
This was a dangerous ask for whoever went first; they were going in totally blind headfirst into a world that could have completely different rules, to an alternate self that could be in any amount of danger or delicate situations. Last month Kurt had been thrown into leadership of a renegade anti-government paramilitary group the night before a raid. And though it was significantly less dangerous, Remy was still holding a grudge from the time he had to lead a dance in front of a ball with hundreds of people in attendance, and he didn't know any of the steps.
On the other end of the spectrum, some people had it remarkably easy. Ororo, for example, had once found herself married to T'Challa as the Queen of Wakanda with an entire army at her disposal. That had been their fastest mission to date, with the mutant only slipping away because he'd had a fortunate run in with Emma Frost, who'd been visiting on diplomatic matters.
Since there was no way of knowing who'd have the best advantage going in, they'd been taking turns in a randomly-decided order. Scott was up next, which would have been fine normally. The past few weeks, however, it was no secret that he'd been failing desperately in balancing his duties as a teacher and an X-Man. He hardly slept at all, and when he did, he'd snore past his alarm and either show up late to class or miss it entirely, leaving the other teachers to fill in. Lately he'd resorted to grading homework on the Blackbird. He hadn't had a break in a while and it was showing, but his pride was stopping him from letting the others pressure him into a break. This had accumulated, unfortunately, in a passive complaint about not being up to going ahead solo leading to a whole circus breaking out trying to decide who got stuck with the unsavory job.
He understood they were just trying to look out for him, but he couldn't stop himself from being a little hurt that they didn't think he could manage it.
So here he was, trying to backtrack to a group of people who had already collectively decided to ignore him. The idea of drawing lots had gone over relatively well, but like everything else, they'd somehow found a way to bicker over it. Scott had already pulled the “I'm the leader, I get final say” card once, to no avail.
“Look,” he interrupted, squeezing his eyes shut to massage his face under his glasses, “I'm going into another Scott’s body. If I'm tired here , that shouldn't affect me there , right?”
“And if you're wrong? And you get thrown into a fight over there on two hours of sleep, alone?”
Logan had finally spoken up from his place at the side of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in his usual pointlessly brooding way. “You’re not exactly the best solo fighter we got, Slim, and you sure as hell ain’t the most resilient.”
“I can handle myself, Logan.” Scott’s voice dripped with disdain and exhaustion. He barely had time to wonder if that was Logan’s rude way of volunteering to take his place before Jean chimed in next to him.
“He's right. It's not just about physical wellness. You need to rest, too. You can’t just push yourself forever with no consequences.”
“Are you taking his side?” Scott didn't mean for it come out as angry as it had, but of course Logan was jumping to her defense before he even had the chance to apologize.
“Don’t you go snapping at Jean now, she's trying to look out for you.” he growled. “We all are.”
He pushed himself off the wall and strutted over to stand face-to-face with Scott. Everyone else in the room had backed off, knowing one of Logan’s dime-a-dozen tantrums when they see it.
“I’m sick of chasing this bastard around. I’m tired of watching them suck the life outta people, out of our friends , and throwin’ em away like yesterday’s trash.” He was raising voice now, sucking the brevity out of the air. Scott was honestly surprised he’d put up with it for so long, but he was only voicing the thoughts that everyone was avoiding. Scott remained steady despite standing at point-blank range of Logan’s anger, earning a mean sneer from the irate man for not giving him enough of a reaction. Logan dug in.
“You've been pissy as all hell lately, and we don't need you ruining another chance by messin’ it up before we even get there just because you were too stubborn to sit one out. Every failed shot we take is another dead body. Don’t forget that.” He was inches from Scott’s face now as he snarled at him, forcing him to keep his composure despite the fact Logan was the one being unreasonable. As usual.
Any chance of Scott relenting was gone now. Logan was free to judge him however he wanted, but it was because there was so much on the line that Scott refused to shirk his duties. He only hoped that Logan would come to understand that, eventually.
“I’m going, and that’s final.” he said simply, staring down Logan and his bared teeth. They held each other's mutually-disgusted gazes until Logan finally pivoted and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Everyone else sat in awkward silence while Scott clenched his jaw and recomposed himself.
Jean was going to chew him out for this later, but that wasn't important right now. The one thing Scott had agreed with Logan about was that this whole affair had gone on too long. People were dying, and just because they could come back home to a world where everything was okay didn't change that fact that people were losing their family and friends. Scott wasn't going to miss the opportunity to finally bring it to a stop, no matter what.
“That's enough standing around,” he commanded the room. “Let's get going.”
After a few preparations, Scott was lying on his back on a metal table, wires stuck to his forehead under a heavy metal headband. His eyes were closed, but he could hear the machine whir to life around him. It wasn't his first time doing this, but that didn't stop the physical anxiety. It was like waiting for the anesthesia to kick in before a surgery.
“Are you ready?” Hank's voice rumbled beside him.
“Go for it.”
He heard a few beeps, and then it was all black.
-
Scott tried to make himself move, but it was a little bit like waking up to an alarm before you're ready. He opened his eyes blearily, then immediately squinted. He was on the floor, facing the legs of a table and chairs, but the colors were all wrong. Too yellow, too bright, too saturated. Of all the realities they'd been to so far, this was a first.
He flinched as something cold and wet touched his face.
“Oh, hi there.” Scott said to the dog sniffing loudly in his ear. It was a big thing with black and brown fur and a sweet, floppy face. “Did I worry you? I'm sorry. I'm okay.”
He rolled onto his front and pushed himself up. He was still in his pajamas. The dog stayed by his side, looking up at him and panting. He was in an ordinary kitchen, maybe a little on the small side. There was inoffensive landscape art on the walls and a fresh pot of coffee on the counter. The fridge was covered in notes, flyers, and takeout menus, the disorganized sight of which made Scott feel slightly annoyed for reasons he couldn’t quite place. Most of the notes were generic reminders about appointments and shopping lists. One post-it in particular caught his eye, and It took his brain a second to process why.
It was written in red ink. The kind he hadn't been able to see in years.
His hands flew to the glasses on his face in alarm, feeling stupid for not realizing they didn't wrap around his face sooner. He took them off to inspect them and the world got a tiny bit blurrier. They were normal, clear, prescription glasses. Thin rimmed and square. Most importantly, they weren't being actively obliterated in his hands now that he'd taken them off.
“This is new,” he informed the dog. He pet it on the silky-furred head and it wagged its tail. Scott took another look around the room. This is what everyone else sees, he thought to himself, a combination of wonder and grief bubbling in his chest. He didn't want to think about how long it had been.
It wasn't until Scott looked back at the glasses in his hands that he thought maybe Jean was onto something about needing rest, because it was only at that moment he noticed the wedding band on his hand. The X-Men had found themselves and each other in all manner of unexpected relationships across the multiverse, and oftentimes it was those partners that were the hardest to convince of the whole “I'm actually your partner but from a different universe and I temporarily took over their body” thing. After some tumultuous trial and error regarding the matter, the X-Men decided as a group that as a rule they just try to keep up appearances of their alternate selves wherever they ended up until the rest of the team could show up to corroborate the story. Having to do so with a spouse involved was not ideal, to say the least. Scott hoped selfishly that he was married to Jean in this one so he could relax a little.
Scott found a phone in his pocket and looked at the time: 6:23 AM, Saturday. It wasn't every trip they made that they had access to the internet to just google things (there were a surprising amount of post-apocalypses out there), so Scott took advantage of the privilege. His lack of apparent mutation in mind, he did a few searches on mutants and the X-Men. The results that he got were a variety of news articles from the past thirteen years, and some more recent social media posts. The articles all mentioned the same two things; X-Men ceasing operation, and something called the “Superhuman Conversion”, or “Mutant Conversion”.
Scott swallowed and researched the event. From what he gathered, around thirteen years ago, everyone with any sort of abnormal power (the majority of which were mutants) lost their abilities all at once. There was no official explanation, but the leading theories were between intervention from the world’s governments or the action of some superpowered individual. The main sticking points were that it happened to everybody all at once, rather than A) to a targeted group like mutantkind or B) in a slow rollout. In Scott’s opinion, those facts lent more credence to the latter theory, as he'd seen firsthand how incapable the world’s powers were at quickly and collectively taking action on anything.
Scott put the phone down and rubbed his eyes. In a world where nobody had powers to defend themselves, a mutant like the one they’d been chasing could run unchecked. The grander implications of a world without mutants was something he wasn't quite sure how to swallow yet, either. But… at least but with no superpowered life-force to steal, how would the rogue mutant move on to the next world? Would he be trapped here?
Scott chewed his lip and tried to hedge his excitement. If his theory was correct he just had to take it slow, play his cards right, and most importantly, stay out of trouble until the X-Men got there. That said, all it would take is one other powerful mutant hiding in the world somewhere for him to be wrong.
He was jolted out of thoughts by a tabby cat jumping out of the table and meowing at him with surprising volume.
“What? What is it?”
It ran off to the other room and Scott followed. It took him to living room, where it sat in front of an empty food dish in the corner and meowed at him demandingly. Two more dogs lay half-awake on the couch, perking their ears up at him.
“How many animals are in this house?” he interrogated them, to the response of more angry meowing.
“Okay. Fine. Hang on.” he looked around the living room for a food source, taking in his surroundings for more clues about this Scott's life as he did.
There was a huge, comfy looking couch taking up the majority of the room, surrounded by matching armchairs all facing the TV. Based on the look of the place, it was probably an older building, cozy and warm-colored with hardwood floors. The living room was significantly more cluttered than the kitchen, with bookshelves filled with what could easily have been the backstock of an antique store’s worth of old knick-knacks and books. A jean jacket was thrown sloppily over the back of the couch, and the table was covered in piles of half-graded homework that could only have been Scott’s.
He moved to look closer at one of the walls, which was more framed photo than wallpaper. With satisfaction and delight, he saw it was almost all photos of X-Men and their friends from all over the world. Group photos from across the years took the majority of the space, from teenage Kitty posing with the team for the first time, to a hospital photo of all of them crowding Nathan shortly after his birth, to what appeared to be a retirement party for Charles (who would have thought that could happen, even in another universe?).
The pictures that really grabbed his attention, though, were the ones clearly taken much later. The ones taken at bars and backyard parties, with smile lines and crow’s feet shared across the happy faces. He almost didn't recognize Jubilee in a graduation cap with a diploma, all grown up and beaming. There was a wedding photo of Rogue absolutely glowing next to a surprisingly clean-shaven Remy. Ororo stood at a podium giving a speech, proud and dignified. He chuckled at one of Logan with arm slung around somebody he didn't recognize, both of them looking completely wasted. Logan had the faint beginnings of grey streaks in his hair, something Scott kind of assumed was impossible for the unnaturally old man. There were also photos of some of their friends like Moira McTaggert and the Alpha Flight team, and a myriad other faces he'd never seen before.
Tears stung at the corners of Scott’s eyes. He couldn't help the warmth felt looking at the years of love and of family spread out before him, a story of a family who stayed together even after they didn’t have the cause of mutant rights to unite them. He'd been to too many worlds enveloped in war, hate, and disaster. X-Men torn apart, or in crisis, or worst of all, never meeting in the first place. Sometimes Scott had found himself wondering if there was any universe out there where things were peaceful, where they lead normal lives. Where things could be okay. But here they were, proving his fears wrong.
The incessant whining of a very grouchy cat tore him away and put him back to his search. He opened a cabinet door, and had to jump back with a yelp to avoid getting cut by one of the several swords, knives, and sais that came tumbling out. Scott could not imagine the kind of reckless, irresponsible person who would just leave unsheathed weapons lying around an ordinary house for anyone to hurt themselves on, and he had to really really try not to think about the fact that it was probably whoever this universe's Scott was married to. Whatever kind of person this Scott is, he was either a lot more patient, or had given up a long time ago.
After stuffing the blades away with frustration, he finally found the bag of cat food in the next cabinet over. After sating the tiny beast, Scott made his way upstairs to find out who he'd be playing house with until the rest of the team showed up.
He opened the doors on the second floor one at a time, slowly, hoping not to startle anyone. The first room was a nice, untouched guest room. The second, a workspace with one computer desk and a some sort of craft bench with small tools side by side. Outside the window, he could see a spacious backyard that was more farm than garden, and a small wooden hutch, filled with….
“Chickens.” Scott scoffed. “Are you kidding?”
More animals. Scott had never wanted the responsibility of what was starting to feel like a whole zoo’s worth of creatures, and neither did Jean. He tried to make peace with the fact that this meant his chances of being married to her in this world were next to none. He hoped, anyway, because the alternative was that he had somehow become an avid urban farmer.
Arriving at the final door, Scott stopped to take a deep breath.
He didn't want to mess this up. The very first step of a successful mission was making sure he didn’t immediately make everyone in this world think their Scott was going crazy. A seemingly small task, but in the big picture there were lives riding on it. On him. With no mutant powers at his disposal, all he could do was try to be normal and not raise any alarm bells. But this Scott’s life seemed pretty tame, so as long as he didn't find Mister Sinister lying in his bed, he'd probably be okay.
Please, please, He prayed silently. Let me be married to someone normal.
He opened the old wood door as quietly as he could and peeked inside, only seeing the lumpy mass of a body under blankets from his vantage point. The room was still dim, a curtain blocking out most of the early morning light filtering in. He walked inside with measured steps.
His stomach tensed as he saw what was, undeniably, unmistakably, a man in his bed. Facing the other way, wearing a tight white tank top that left nothing to the imagination. A whole man. Beard and everything.
Scott could only stand there and stare in stunned silence. Well, certainly there were other teammates who had found their alternate selves with different sexual orientations, and others still with stranger taste in partners than sexuality could account for- so it wasn't unheard of. But he was… himself, and this was… it was a man’s man, if ever he saw one. Hairy. Muscular. Like, really muscular. Even in the faint light, he could see that he was covered with gnarly-looking scars all over his exposed skin.
Scott was in the middle of trying to figure out if there was some sort of mistake when the hefty figure rolled onto his back. He had a thick greying beard covering half his face and a few more deep scars crisscrossing the rest. Scott crept closer, thinking underneath it all he looked just a bit like-
“Oh, fuck off.”
Logan grumbled in his sleep and readjusted himself. Scott used every fiber of self control in his already obscenely self-controlled being to stop himself from turning around and slamming the door.
He took a deep breath to calm himself and ran his hands through his hair. Clearly, he had the wrong idea. Logan was just staying over for the night, or something. Or Scott was the guest, that would explain a lot. He was staying in the guest room, or on the couch, next to… well, next to his stack of graded papers. Or maybe they were Logan’s homework and Logan was a teacher in this universe too. Sure, that made sense. There were plenty of explanations. No point in jumping to weird conclusions.
That meant Scott should probably get out of Logan's room. He turned around to leave, was stopped by the sound of sheets shifting behind him. He cursed himself silently.
“What're you doin’?” The sleepy voice mumbled at him. Thankfully, he didn't sound mad or alarmed.
Scott turned back around with a quiet sigh and tried to adopt a relaxed demeanor. “Hey, uh…”
Logan hadn't moved, still buried in the pillows and comforter. There was a pause as they each watched each other.
“Was I dreaming?” Did my nightmares wake you? were the unspoken words under his subdued, slightly hesitant tone.
“No, you were sleeping quietly.” Scott found himself answering honestly before he could stop himself. Actually, it was the most peacefully he'd seen Logan sleeping in all the time he'd known him. Something about that made him feel… well, good, he supposed. Good for Logan.
“I was, uh.” Scott ran through his mind quickly for another excuse for being in Logan’s room. “Just making coffee. Wanted to know if you wanted any.”
“What time is it?”
“Six something.”
He growled and threw a hand over his eyes. “You have the day off, Slim.”
His universe’s Logan was the only one who rose as early as Scott, but that must not have been true here. “Don't worry about it. Sorry to wake you.”
Logan threw him a half-lidded, exhaustedly disbelieving gaze that Scott had seen a thousand times in his world, usually when Scott asked Logan to do something after a long day of fighting.
“Come back to bed. We got all day.”
Scott stood there, frozen. ‘Come back’.Come back. Stop. Come on, now. He did not think this was funny. But all the same, while Scott was unmoving in dumbfounded state, Logan beckoned an arm out to him.
He was supposed to be acting normal. That was his job. Go along with whatever he had to until the X-Men got there. It was their standard, agreed-upon procedure for these multiversal missions.
Logan flopped his arm down with a huff and stared him down with a sharp glare. “You said you'd stay in today.”
And there was nothing else to be done about it, was there? Scott moved his feet to the bed slowly, feeling like he had to individually convince every single one of his muscles to approach the man who’d yelled in his face just an hour or so prior. Logan’s expression softened as he approached. Scott lifted the blankets and stiffly lowered himself beneath them, lying as far on the edge of the bed as he thought he could get away with, facing away from Logan.
About three seconds passed before the back of a hairy hand smacked the side of his face.
“What's up with you ?”
“I'm-” Scott felt something inside of himself give up and maybe die just a little. “I'm tired.” He answered sincerely.
There was another moment of silence. The hand on his face moved down to his shoulder and pulled him onto his back with more force than he was ready to resist. Even looking at the ceiling he could feel Logan's eyes on him.
“I can tell,” Logan said with a spark of humor in his voice. “You left your glasses on.”
Scott always slept with something over his eyes, so he didn't even process the feeling of the warm metal pressed into his face. Logan plucked them off, and even knowing it was safe, Scott squeezed his eyes shut instinctively for a few seconds before realizing what he was doing. He hoped Logan didn't notice, but doubted it.
Before he knew what was happening, Logan’s big, warm arm was wrapped around him and pulling him close. More than close, he was pulled right up into his side. Startled, Scott tried to put his arms up to stop his face from being pressed into Logan's broad chest, but he was unsuccessful in resisting the motion.
“Jesus, I don't think I've felt your shoulders this tense since the X-Men days.” Logan mumbled, not knowing how right he was.
“I'm fine.” He dismissed, feeling like he was fighting his body to stay tucked into Logan's armpit like this. “Just go back to sleep.” So I can get out of here.
“You first.”
“I’m already up, I don't think I can.”
“Watch one of your videos or something.”
Scott relented and pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his recommendations until he found a long documentary that looked interesting. It would pass the time, at least. He shuffled onto his side so he could rest his hand holding the phone on Logan's chest. This also meant, he realized a little too late, that he was also pressing his face directly into the side of Logan's pec. The carpet of greying fur there threatened to smother him and Scott wondered for the fourteen hundredth time how it could possibly be that so many women found him attractive. But it was too late, Logan's gorilla grip was holding him in place, and all Scott could do was miss when he was getting shouted at for being incompetent.
The video was playing but Scott wasn't listening. He was looking at the scars winding across Logan's skin in various shapes and levels of aging, telling the story of a man who couldn't even stay out of trouble with his healing gone and his life actually on the line. He glanced over at the hand Logan still had resting on his midsection. The was the fading pink of a large gash on the back on the back of it, a chunk of flesh missing from the ring finger (with no wedding ring, he couldn't help but notice), and the traces of small white cuts scattered around. But most notably, between his knuckles, there was nothing. Just rough skin.
Either Logan hadn't taken his claws out since before he got his oldest scars, or he'd lost them entirely. For some reason, Scott not without his ruby quartz glasses was more digestible than the thought of Logan without claws.
A firm hand slid across the back of his neck, startling him. “Seriously, Slim.” Logan grumbled with sleep and annoyance in voice. “Relax.”
Calloused fingers pressed down hard into his upper back, hitting just the right spot to make him untense instantly.
“Oh my god.” he moaned against Logan's skin without meaning to. Logan only snickered and massaged deep into the muscle with his strong hands, rendering him absolutely helpless. God, he really was tired.
Scott wanted to push back, but the relief flooding him forced him to accept his fate and melt like butter. Yeah, of course Logan would give a mean massage. Because nothing is fair in this existence . More and more of his body relaxed. When was the last time he took a load off, really? It was work, sleep, work, sleep for the past few weeks. And even then, the sleep was anxious and restless. That didn't make Scott any less mad at himself for giving in, but god, Logan was playing him like a fiddle.
After a few minutes the motions ceased and Scott was as good as dead from the neck down. He hoped that meant Logan was drifting back off, and Scott could have his dignity back (however rare that was turning out to be any Logan's presence).
Now, Scott did not think of himself as an ungrateful person. He was very grateful for many parts of his life. He was grateful for the X-Men, for Xavier, for his relationship with Jean. Though it wasn't the best circumstances that brought him to the mansion, he lived in relative comfort with all his material needs met and more than enough money at his disposal. Though being an X-Man was hard, incredibly hard, he bore the duty of leading them and did so with pride.
But it was at that moment, when Logan's hand slid down and grabbed his asscheek, that for the very first time in his entire life, he had the thought that he wasn't getting paid enough for this.