A Little to the Left

Some would think that a sudden absence of superpowers in the world would mean a break for the former superheroes. 

On the contrary, Logan was busier than he had been in forever, and worse, had no healing factor to keep him awake through it. Criminal groups that had long been held in check by the threat of heroes were crawling out of the woodwork to take advantage of the situation. Thankfully, there were people like Logan who could more than hold their own with no powers necessary. So there he found himself, pulled to all corners of the globe from one emergency to another, with associates he hadn't heard from in years calling him up for help.

Most of the X-Men stayed holed up in the mansion, on edge waiting for retribution from humans in their weakened state. They didn't know how long this would last or if Jessica, the mutant child who'd started this, could put everything back, if it would all be temporary. It was a world of unknowns. 

All things considered, Logan thought he was doing fine. Mortal, sure, but that wouldn't last (or so he told himself to stave off the heavily looming implications, and the dread that accompanied them). His pain tolerance stayed exactly where it was, with the bigger problem being remembering the damage that various injuries could do to him, and when to back off when they got to be too much. And no more claws? Well, you don't get to be the best there is by having steak knives between your knuckles.

The adamantium went away too. That was the most confusing, since it had nothing to do with his mutation. It was put there by good ol’ human ingenuity and malice. But he supposed none of it had to “make sense”- they were playing by the rules of a scared little girl. 

Early on, he'd gone looking for Wade Wilson, thinking that with no healing factor, the cancer would run its course at last. Logan showed up ready to say what might be the final goodbye to his old… whatever they were, only to find him supple and handsome, growing his blonde hair back. He was going to ask if it fixed whatever was wrong with his head too, but had that answered before he could pick his wording by way of the man taking all of clothes off to “prove he was smooth ALL over.” Nice to know some things hadn't changed, he supposed.

This round of having no adamantium came with its pros and cons. Cons were easy; he was weaker, more breakable. With no healing, a dangerous combination. He had to put that century worth of combat training to use, brush off techniques and remember how to evade (It was temporary, he told himself. It was temporary). Pros, he was light on his feet again, and all the muscle he'd built up supporting that weight every day was still there, ready to be put to new uses. It was like the training wheels were off; equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. 

The biggest surprise was how hard losing his senses hit. Going without one or the other for a fight for two wasn't unheard of, but all at once for an extended period was another story. It hit him in ways he didn't anticipate.

The world was smaller now, confined. No matter where he went, it was like he was in a tiny room, barely aware of what was happening outside of it. Threats he would have been able to sniff out a mile away now hit him from behind. He couldn't track, couldn't survey his surroundings, couldn't prepare himself. He was neutered.

Combining that with a sudden physical vulnerability was a dangerous mix. Logan had to be aware and ready to defend himself at a moment’s notice every waking second of his life. Every unknown twitch of movement or reflection in a window gave him a startle, every sound he couldn't instantly identify a distraction. And his smell? Virtually useless. Completely in the dark. He didn't know how people lived like that. 

A lot of food he used to like tasted like shit now, and he had to set alarms for meals to make himself eat at first. That was one thing that got better over time, at least.

But no powers is where the one plus side came in: alcohol worked again, and lord knows he needed it. Between the nerves and the nightmares, he couldn't make himself get even a full hour of sleep. Being blackout drunk wasn't the same as real rest, of course, but once you go 48 hours straight just to get 2 hours of shitty sleep and do it all over again, you take whatever the hell you can get. Especially when people are counting on you. 

Soon enough, the constant paranoia of having to look over his shoulder made it too hard to focus on the mission at hand, and the only way to keep himself calm enough to work was with a beer or two.

Not to mention the lasting pain of recovering from major injuries like broken bones, that wasn't something he was used to either. He knew what kind of road relying on painkillers would take him down, so he chose to stick with the devil he knew and drank to dull the misery.

Weeks of chaotic uncertainty turned to months in the blink of an eye. That's when people started saying what they were all scared of: it might take years. It might not come back at all. Things were slowing down for what felt like everyone but him. 

Logan's longer recovery periods from injuries took place at the school, where he could be around to help in the form of emotional support for his friends. Much of the student body had made the shift to move back in with families until further notice, but many children had been rejected by their family completely and couldn't go back. Some unfortunate students were orphaned either by their own powers, those looking to abuse them, or anti-mutant hatred. Charles would never close his doors to them, of course, but now their futures were further in the air than ever. The professor himself switched between distant and supportive as he adjusted. 

Classes continued for the remaining students, because the world kept turning no matter how many people held their breath. Jessica tried to reverse what she'd done, but as far as they could tell she'd lost her powers along with everyone else, so all anyone could do was wait and see.

Every time Logan came back he considered staying, but he was a teacher more in name than practice, no matter how many people told him otherwise. His classes had been informal to begin with, and he couldn't do much except verbal instruction for self-defense classes since he only ever found himself there now when he was too beat up to do anything else. The best thing he ever had to give was helping students learn to control their abilities, which was now obsolete. Everyone told him he'd always have a home there, but he knew he was quickly losing his place. As soon as he could throw a punch without tearing stitches, he'd be out again.

He told them all that it had nothing to do with the fact that every time he showed up with a new cast or set of stitches, he'd get a fresh round of intervention from well-intentioned friends suggesting he slow it down a little. Or attempts to start up a conversation about what being killable might mean for him. Or the arguments that broke out as more time passed that he didn't remember, and only knew about because somebody would mention it the next day. It wasn't his fault if Hank or Scott or Charles or whoever else waited until after he had a drink to get himself asleep through the pain to try to have a serious talk with him.

Whatever they said, there was always another fight coming. Slowing down wasn't in his vocabulary. People needed him, people would die without him, and Logan wasn't about to lie down and let it happen because he was having a few bad days. And if he ended up biting it for good because he tried to save even one person who'd halfway earned it, that's as good a death as someone like him could hope for.

Then the months stretched into a year into two. Logan was leaving a checkup with the good doctor McCoy when Scott appeared around a corner behind him, making him jump out of his skin. He tended to let his guard down in the mansion.

“Logan.” Scott said with the relief of a man who had looked multiple other places first. 

“Summers.” he replied with faux nonchalance, as if he hadn't been so startled he almost dropped his jacket.

“We need to talk.” Scott’s face was as hard as Logan was used to, but his eyes weren't. He had to look away. On top of that, he had just gotten through with Hank lecturing him about going to a regular hospital. He was not in the mood for another talk.

“Can't it wait?” he growled. 

He could practically hear Scott roll his eyes. “Technically-”

“‘Technically’s good enough for me.” he took a step forward, but Scott put an arm out against the wall to stop him. 

“What did Hank tell you?”

“Don't worry, Scotty.” Logan clapped him on the shoulder. “The STI tests came back negative. Nice of you to worry, though.”

Scott blinked in disbelief at the method of his redirection. Logan could have left then, but he was having too much fun.

“Look, I know you don't get enough action for it to matter, but regular testing is important when you don't have a healing factor-”

“Logan-”  

“Good seein’ ya, Slim. Take care.”

He slid past the man, who was taken aback at the gall. Perfect, just how he liked him.

Seems every time he showed up, more and more people tried to sit him down and talk to him about the trouble he got himself into, like each of them would be the one to convince him at last to hang his hat up. It had gotten real old.

Always a sight for sore eyes, however, was Ororo waiting for him leaned against his bedroom door. She gave him a warm smile and kiss on the cheek, both of which he returned despite her blatant ulterior motives.

“How did it go with Hank?” she asked with a parting caress to the cheek.

“I'm fine. Just getting some stitches removed from my back while I was in the neighborhood.” His hands fell to rest on her hips in a familiar rhythm. “He said if I tried to do it by myself again he'd stop seeing me.”

“An empty threat, no doubt.”

“So.” he spun her around to take her place and get to his room. “Did you and Scott plan this?”

“Yes.” she answered with blunt honesty and followed him in. It was a mess in there, but she was used to it. 

Logan picked his clothes up off the ground and threw them in a laundry basket to wash before he left. Ororo, so elegant she stood out like a sore thumb in his trash heap of a room, sat on the edge of his bed. 

“Well, you got me cornered.” he said with a grunt as he bent over. 

“I wouldn't need to corner you if you stayed put.”

“I would stay put if I wasn't swarmed every time I came here with people tellin’ me how to live my life.” he countered.

“This isn't about that. You need to hear this.”

Her serious tone drew his attention. Logan made eye contact to show he was listening before returning to his task.

She breathed a troubled sigh before continuing, not enjoying this any more than he was. 

“The school is going to be changing.”

There was an immediate nervous lurch in his stomach, but he knew this was coming. 

“Changing to what?”

“A human school. Not that there's another kind, at the moment.” Hands crossed in her lap, she watched Logan for a reaction. He didn't give her one. “A school for children with special needs. Disabilities that prevent them from succeeding in an ordinary school environment. Charles has been thinking on it for a while, and he thinks this is the best way to carry on the spirit.”

“And ol’ Chuck?” he said after letting go of the inside of his cheek with his teeth. He'd run out of clothes and started picking up trash so he didn't have to look at his friend. “What's he going to do?”

“Retire.” she said and Logan chuckled to himself. “I know. But he's earned it.”

“And if mutants come back?”

“We can reintegrate the school. Or, start at a new location.”

Logan nodded. “And, uh… the rest of you?” he said, swallowing hard and covering it up with gruffness.

There was a patient break from Ororo.

“Not everyone has decided. We're going through the end of the school year and making sure every student has a plan. I imagine some will be staying through the transition.”

Logan was quickly running out of things to clean. He faced the wall and leaned on the dresser.

“We aren't going to scatter like bugs, Logan. And even if we did, it wouldn't weaken our bond. We've been through too much for that.” she was slow, reassuring, achingly kind.

Logan didn't want that. He just got the news that he was about to lose the only real home he ever had. 

She stood and placed a hand on his back. He let it linger without complaint, so she wrapped her arms around his chest from behind and hugged him.

“I'm alright, ‘Ro. This ain't necessary.”

“Perhaps not.” she said as she pressed her cheek to the side of his head. A beautiful floral scent drifted over his shoulder. “But welcome, I hope.”

“You okay with all this?” he asked. She'd been among those who was devastated by the loss of her powers, and hoping dearly for their eventual return.

“I am frightened of what awaits on the road ahead. But in comparison to what we've been through, it almost feels silly, doesn't it?” she readjusted her head to rest her chin on his shoulder. “I cannot spend the rest of my life waiting. I must move forward.”

He smiled. She was amazing, but he never expected any less. “Easy for you to say.” he said sarcastically.

She made a high pitched noise of offense.

“Well, your powers weren't even close to your best quality. Not even top ten. You'll keep doin’ just fine without ‘em.”

Ororo laughed in conceit at the compliment, and his horrible sense of humor. Logan put his hand over hers where they clasped over his heart. He didn't want to make her worry about him, but he also knew that she would rather worry than see him hold back from her. She was a good friend like that. He was going to miss her. 

“You goin’ away, then?” he asked. “Wherever the wind takes you?”

“I think so, until I have a long-term plan.” she swayed lightly back and forth, taking him with her. “But do not think, even for a moment, that I will let that hurt our bond. I'm a phone call away, as ever.”

“I know you are.” 

“Good.” She kissed him again on the temple and released him. “Don't wait until you need help to do it.”

She took her leave, idling at the door to give him one more affectionate glance that he returned as best he could.

They'd kept up over long distances before. Logan wanted to believe it wouldn't be any different, but the doubt dragged him back. Him, Ororo, everyone, they'd all gone longer periods apart without losing their friendships. But what drew them back together time and time again was the fight for mutant rights, the need to defend the innocent. What would bring them together now? Weddings? Birthdays? Sports games and casseroles?

He was also nagged by the thought that Ororo might find a spouse worth settling down for, one that didn't take too kindly to the flirting (and sometimes extra) that Logan's long history of non-committed and/or non-exclusive relationships had allowed for. He could let it go and knock it off if he had to, but… well, they didn't call her a goddess for nothing. He'd miss it.

Logan took off to the bar to decompress for the rest of the day. He didn't need to be feeling nostalgic for the school while it was still up and running. He'd kept in contact with a few of his favorite students, and had a feeling that list was about to get a lot longer.

Sometime into the evening a slim man in a hoodie and skinny jeans slipped into the seat next to him. Logan was in the process of deciding whether to check him out or tell him to fuck off, when he ordered a drink in that tell-tale German accent.

“The lager, please.” the voice lilted. 

Logan kicked himself for not recognizing Kurt right away. Even now he wasn't used to his human appearance, and naturally he couldn't smell him coming anymore. He and Hank had caused the biggest disconnect for him for that reason. Logan had also, in the past, come to resent the man's human appearance after years of using it as a disguise to get around, vastly preferring his authentic self. Seeing this version of him as the “real one” when he couldn't verify it was his friend by scent came with a hell of an adjustment period.

“Elf.” Logan greeted with a raised glass, and got hit with a blinding bright grin in response. Even though his eyes didn't literally shine anymore, he could fool people.

“Our dear friend Scott was quite upset.” he said, launching right in.

“Ain’t he usually?”

“He thought you'd left without speaking to him.”

“... Don't I usually?”

“If that's what you would prefer the rest of us believe, then certainly.” he flashed a devilish grin. 

“Jesus Christ.” Logan knocked back a few gulps from his pint and hissed. “How many people did he send to follow me around?”

“Of that I am not sure, but I do know that I came here of my volition.” Kurt hiked a heel up on his stool, letting his knee fold and rest against the side of the bar. “You don't think I've been reduced to needing Cyclops to tell me to see my best friend?”

Logan slumped his head in his hand. “Sorry. Feelin’ antsy.”

“I understand. Better than most.” he took a drink from his own glass. “We are all trying to find our way on this new path, learning what it's like to live a human life. But you and I, we never had much of a place in the world to begin with, did we?”

Logan sized up the beer between his hands. “I never had that much direction in life, and what I did was rotten.” As much as he stuck out there at times, Xavier, the X-Men, and the school had given him purpose, meaning, a way to apply himself to something better. He wasn't the only one who was losing that.

“Do you fear that you'll fall into old habits, so to speak?” Kurt cautioned, referencing his bloody past.

Logan shook his head. “I dunno. I'm trying to keep doin’ somethin’ worthwhile with myself. But sometimes…” he wiped the side of his nose with his thumb. “Sometimes I wonder if I can stop myself from crossing the line, with no one around to stop me.”

Kurt sighed dramatically. “And yet you leave by yourself, of your own volition.”

Logan set back to the task of draining his drink and flagging the bartender down for another. “I don't see you all botherin’ Emma or Bobby or whoever the hell else about being out all the time.”

“Perhaps we are biased. Most others don't visit only when they are so gravely injured they cannot take care of themselves.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Logan waved his hand, as if to shoo the whole notion away. “What about everyone else? What are they up to?”

“Ah, well, there aren't many plans in stone yet. You haven't been the only one in and out, those who haven't been responsible for a class have been absent most frequently. Let me think…” he looked off into space. “Charles is retiring, I’m sure you’ve heard. Running off with Magneto, possibly? That is just my speculation.” 

Logan snorted. 

“Hank will continue to teach there, but he has already begun replacing his time for X-Men activities with other scientific ventures. Our Kitten is going to get her computer science degree, she may go on to teach as well.” Logan nodded in approval. She had mentioned going to school to him, but he didn't know this was why.

“Jubilee stayin’?” he tested. Logan was hurt that he didn't hear anything about it from her. The grown-ups he understood getting together and agreeing to wait to tell him in person, but Jubilee? She'd be graduating that spring. Also she was a tattletale.

“Don't sound so mad. This is new to everyone.” Nice words, but didn't stop the way he was feeling. “Who else… Rogue and Gambit have been discussing moving to Louisiana. Oh, but I suppose I should get used to saying Anna Marie and Remy now.”

Now that made his stomach sink. It wasn't exactly across the world, but it was too far for his taste. 

“Bobby said something about an accounting job?” Kurt continued.

“Does he know we don’t gotta worry about bills? Or is ol’ Chuck finally cuttin’ us off?” 

Kurt laughed. “I think it's to have something to do.”

Logan shrugged. “Speakin’ of the old folks. Warren?”

“Back to aviation.” He'd been heartbroken at the loss of wings, one of the mutants who suffered more openly. At least he'd been able to commiserate with other fliers, like Ororo. “Which brings us to the last surviving member of the original X-Men.”

“Scotty.”

They both took a drink in unison.

“It's not easy to quit at something you've done all your life.” said Kurt. “And small team combat tactics are… not the most transferable skill. Especially if he's not going to the military.”

“He couldn't handle it, anyway.” Logan snarked. 

Yeah, Scott. He was a special case. The X-Men had become the biggest thing in most of their lives, but training how to lead them specifically since you were a teenager was another story.

“I think it'll be good for him.” Logan concluded aloud. “Let him live a little. Has he had a midlife crisis yet? He could try one of those.”

“I won't tell him you said that.” Kurt offered.

“No, do it.” he was making his way fast through his current mug, while Kurt was only halfway through his glass.

“What about you? You plannin’ anything? Back to the robes, maybe?”

The lithe man swiveled around in his seat, back to the bar, and rested on his elbows. “I think I would like to do charity work. I haven't decided what kind yet.” He rolled his head in Logan's direction. “If you don't have plans of your own, you are more than welcome to join me.”

Logan would be lying if he said that didn't sound nice. Some company to trek the globe with, hopefully less violence along the way. But that was never his fate, was it? 

He found himself asking if it could be. If things could turn around now, if he wasn't cursed to a life of never-ending bloodshed. Then again, he'd already proven that you could take away his powers all you want, you couldn't take away what made him him. Not with a snap of the fingers, anyway.

“I'll come visit ya.” he said.

“You'd better. If you don't, I'll have to track you down myself.” Kurt half-joked. He'd done it before.

Logan downed the rest of his beer. 

“You don't need to be nervous.” said Kurt. 

“Who said I was?” he grumbled, brain unable to grasp at a better comeback.

“Mein guten Freund, it is not the house that makes the family. We will not become strangers. I won't allow it.”

“Yeah?” he said, blinking away the fog that kept sneaking up on him, making hard to read the bottle labels just a few feet ahead of him. “You promise that, Elf?”

“If my calls are not answered, I will drag us back together myself.” Kurt said with a steely resolve.

“M'kay.” Logan chased the last few drops that clung to the bottom of his glass and let it hit the bar with a clunk. “If ya say so.”

Kurt waived the bartender down and paid both their tabs.

“Hey.” Logan griped, offended. 

“Do me a favor and stand up if you're going to argue with me.” he said as wrote down the tip on the receipt.

Logan got to his feet and watched his vision spin nauseatingly. 

“Oh. Oops.” he muttered.

Kurt laughed and looped his arm under his shoulders. Logan gratefully accepted the help, and let himself be slowly led back to the best home he'd ever known.

-

“That's the last of your stitches. You’re free to go and get maimed again at your own leisure.” 

Hank sighed and rubber gloves snapped behind Logan, then scissors hit a tray with a metallic clang. 

“And I feel I must remind you, yet again, that this could have been done at any hospital in the world. Or small clinic, for that matter.”

“Am I taking too much of your precious time?” Logan asked from the exam table where he sat.

“I'm not going to be here to patch you up forever, Logan.” Hank walked around the table and threw his gloves away. He was turning salt-and-pepper, sure, but he wasn’t that old yet.

“Furball, if you manage to die before I do-”

“I told you to stop calling me that.” he cut him off, not putting up with Logan's antics today.

“If you didn’t like it, then why'd you grow your beard out?” He sat back, putting his weight on his arms.

Sheepishly, Hank adjusted his glasses. “Well, I never liked taking the time to shave, even with substantially less hair to manage…” he cleared his throat. “That's beside the point.”

Logan smirked and grabbed his shirt from where he'd dumped it onto the edge of the table.

“Hold on, not yet.” Hank stopped him.

Logan looked back up at the man. His brows were knit tight and his eyes watched him like a hawk. 

“What's the deal? You said I was free to go.”

His eyes flit down for a fraction of a second. “We need to discuss your scars.”

Logan's shoulders sagged at the underwhelming reveal and he rolled his eyes. “I told you, I don't mind ‘em.”

Then he realized that Hank wasn't actually doing anything with the tools off to the side he was picking up and putting down, merely inspecting them. “That's… not what I meant.” 

The man looked over to him, regret sagging down his face. “I didn't want to bring it up, and I can assume you don’t want to talk about it. However, I don't think I could forgive myself for letting you leave again without saying something.”

Logan's eyes darted down to his left arm. He'd indulged in an old nervous habit of gliding cuts up and down the length of it. Normally, he preferred popping his claws in and out, but obviously that wasn't an option. He didn't think it was a big deal, the pain grounded him and kept him present in the moment. Necessary, when he was being relied on to stay keyed into his senses near constantly. 

It was light scratches with a knife, nothing more. The marks were disappearing already. But when he'd come with them last time, Kitty saw and freaked out about him hurting himself. He didn't get it, since getting himself hurt was the number one thing he did, and no one seemed to mind it when he had his healing factor. These were barely even deep enough to distract him in the first place. Regardless, it upset the Kitten, so he lied and said it was an unfortunate scrape from a fence.

He'd given his friends enough reasons to get on his case when he showed up, so he switched down to his hips below the waistline. More fat there than his arms meant he could go deeper, and then pull his jeans up over them to hide it.

And then he noticed that’s where Hank's eyes were being pulled down to. 

Logan looked down and muttered shit as he realized he forgot to hitch his pants up all the way over them, leaving irritated red marks poking up over his waistband.

He hopped to his feet, shifted his pants up, and shuffled back into his shirt. “I'm not doin’ any damage with ‘em. It's fine.”

A somewhat condescending disappointment fell over Hank like someone poured water on his head. 

“Logan, please.” he insisted, scolding. “I'm not going to lecture you. There's no point in that, and I'm not trying to shame you. But if I need to recommend you to a professional-”

Logan was getting more uncomfortable than he knew how to handle. He didn't like this kind of attention.

“I don't care, and neither do you.” Logan snapped, which didn't go so far as to surprise Hank, but it definitely had the intended effect of making him stop talking. “All you want is a clear conscience so that if I walk outta here and do something a lot worse, you can say you tried to do something about it.”

“That's not fair.”

Logan walked over to where he left his flannel and jacket on a chair and hung them over his arm, while Hank watched from his station with narrowed eyes. 

“Mission accomplished. You did all you could. Sleep easy.” Logan pat him on the back as he made to leave.

But Hank stuck a thick arm out across his chest to stop him, addressing him with a penetrating glare. 

“You can't keep going on like this, Logan.”

-

The rocky sand scraped against Logan's face as he twisted inward against the pain. 

That's what he got for turning his back on someone. Sloppy, really.

Knife wound to the lower back, left side, bullet wound near the shoulder blade, right side. Bullet hit him at an odd angle, didn't get anything vital. Stabbing didn't feel like it hit anything too important, either.

Logan rolled onto his stomach and felt around the meat behind his armpit. Exit wound from the shot, good. 

Bleeding out off the side of the road in the Sonoran desert, not so much, but far from the worst odds he'd faced. 

He could reach the stab wound on his back to apply pressure with the arm on that side (though it was an awkward angle). That left the gunshot wound open.

Logan had been helping. Trying to help. Teenage kid, former mutant, was kidnapped by a gang. Mom wanted to find the person that did it. Uncle and a friend were coming with to help investigate, headed outside of town on a lead. 

They stopped and got out so the friend could take a private call. Logan joined them for fresh air and a drink of water. When Logan turned to get back in the car, he got a knife in the back. It was stupid, idiotic, moronic, dumbest move two ways to Tuesday. He should have known better. 

Unfortunately, the knife came out when he whirled around to take him down. Logan used the man as a shield to get close to the other, who'd come packing heat. The loving uncle graciously took a misfired shot for him, but when Logan dropped him on the ground to take a strike, the next shot found its mark.

Logan was able to disarm him on the lunge, but a stray fire in the struggle grazed his thigh. That gave the two opportunity to get the car and peel off, leaving him stranded. He tried uselessly to run after them, but hit the ground trying.

So there he was. On the ground. In the desert.

Logan sighed and wedged his knees up under his torso to get himself upright without using his arms. Painful, but he didn't want to use his free arm and strain muscle that just got tore through by bullet. Conveniently, this was also when he remembered the gash on the side of his right leg. Not deep, but another place bleeding.

He retrieved his dropped water bottle and limped along the road, starting the long haul back. This time of night, this far out into the desert, he was on his own. 

Once the sun rose, the water didn't last long. It was the fucking desert and he was losing blood, no surprises there. He had no idea how far he'd gotten, since he was moving at a hindered pace, but it was a decent distance all things considered. The sun was high in the sky by the time he couldn't stay upright any longer. 

He collapsed to the ground hard. His skin was burning and the hot air rising off the asphalt wasn't helping. His mouth was bone dry. He did everything he could to get back on his feet, to crawl, to do anything to keep moving, but he'd crossed the bridge from where his old friend sheer willpower could help. His muscles simply would not respond any longer. His brain told them to move and they didn't listen.

Staying awake became harder and harder. Absently, Logan came to grips with the fact that he might die there. He was too disoriented, blackness swimming in his vision, to find himself able to feel much about it. 

There was planning he’d put into eventualities like this. He texted the lead of a possible address the kid could be at to the mother, in case he didn't make it there himself. In the tiny pocket in the front of his jeans, there was a folded up paper with a phone number. Every time he went out on dangerous missions, he picked someone he trusted; either whoever was closest by, or could help the most on whatever problem he was working. Their first name and his would be written on the paper as well. In this case, it was Jubilee, who'd been making a life out of helping depowered teens across the country and had landed in the southwest recently.

He hoped the message got to her.

Logan felt like he could pick out every choice he'd made in his life that led him to that point. Yet, he couldn't find it in himself to be regretful. He'd turned his track around and tried his best to do what was right. He'd take that. He'd take it without complaint.

Someone would tell his friends, right? They had to. 

Images flashed in his head. The X-Men wondering when they'd get a call from him next, waiting for the next time he'd stop by without warning. Because he never told them, never made plans, just dropped in when he could. He barely saw anyone in person since they told him the school was closing. That couldn't have been a year ago already, could it?

How long would he even have to be missing for anyone to realize? How many months? A year? More than that? Would they go looking at all? 

They'd never know what happened. He'd die right there alone on the side of the road and no one would know. By the time anyone would think to find him, it would be too late. They'd have to spend the rest of their lives with that question hanging over them, no closure, just grief. 

Or maybe no one would ever notice. Maybe they'd think fondly of him in passing, wonder what he was up to, and go on with their lives. He would be okay with that, he could go out with that.

But no, he could never do the disrespect of thinking of them in that light. He knew they loved him. It hurt. 

At least they were strong enough to deal with it. He was lucky to have known them.

… He did his best.

There was bumping beneath him. Every jostle sent a new crack of fiery pain through his skull to the back of his eyeballs. No matter how hard he squeezed them shut, it wasn't enough to keep the light out.

All at once Logan became aware of someone shouting at him, alternating between English and Spanish. A woman, panicked.

“Please, please…!” she begged. “Logan! Wake up! Wake up!”

She was crying. Sobbing. Hands moved between his chest and face, shaking him, smacking him. 

He opened his eyes, forced a moan out of his cracked, dry throat. It was the kid's mother, long hair falling around her face as she hung over him. A hand flew to her mouth at his response, head falling back in relief. Passing streetlight from the car window behind her caught in the tears falling down over her cupped hand. She thanked god profusely and let her head drop to his chest for a second. 

Logan was lying in the backseat, shaken by another bump in the road as they passed through a tunnel. Strobes of orange light in the darkness flashed over them. The driver asked what was happening, the mother pushed herself back up and told them Logan was conscious.

“We're going to the hospital.” she said to him. “Stay awake, please.”

Logan worked his tongue in his mouth to get it moving. “Nnn... kid.” he struggled out. “Your kid… he…?”

“He's okay.” she laughed through her tears, choking back another sob, and cupped a hand to his face. “We found him. He's safe. Thank you.” her voice fell to a whisper. “Thank you.”

Satisfied, Logan's eyes closed on their own. Her pleading fell away to the background. 

Life faded in and away in a blur. At one point he was being carried out of a car to the emergency room, then he was in a bed being carted through a hall, then he was making a pathetic attempt at resisting a needle in his arm.

When consciousness stuck, he was in a hospital room with the mother and her son. They had waited for him to wake up. Nice people.

He told them he'd be okay, that they didn't have to worry. Promised them he'd call up his own family and go home. 

The last part was a lie. He hadn't had a home for over a year now, he'd been floating from one place to another. But they didn't need to know that; they had enough to worry about, they deserved to go home thinking the guy they saved got to live happily ever after.

Times like those were the ones where he would have crawled back to the school, tail between his legs, and crashed for a week or two. He wasn't sure what the next move was anymore. 

Might be time to take some advice for once and slow down. 

-

Logan took the bus to New York from Phoenix, stopping at hotels and for sightseeing along the way. He could have flown, but since the next emergency hadn't shown itself yet, he wasn't in any sort of rush. The rough bus rides weren't too nice on his injuries, though.

He booked a hotel to stay at for a bit in New York, but had no plan further than that. He would be content to keep roaming, but that always attracted more trouble than staying put. Logan was a magnet for it, no matter what he did. 

He considered fucking off into the middle of nowhere and buying a small farm or something. There wasn't much room these days with mega corporations making monopolies, though.  Maybe he could pick something niche and go sell at farmer’s markets or something? Sure, that could be fun.

NYC was the same as he left it. He was more aware than usual of how many people passed behind him, though. Call it the consequence of getting literally stabbed in the back.

Logan checked into the hotel and ditched his things, which wasn't much. Anything important he had that couldn't stay at the school he had either put in storage or left with friends. The only thing he kept on him were what he could fit in a bag or wear on his back. 

Speaking of his back, he flopped face first on the bed to give it some relief from the pain. He wondered if it was recovering from the severe dehydration that made it more acute, or if his pain tolerance was wearing away over time. 

After a night of about 4 hours total of restless sleep, the ache was no better. The cut up muscles around the knife wound and the gash in his leg made walking a bit of an ordeal, but Logan thought he might die of boredom if he spent the day in bed. He decided to hit two birds (and possibly more) with one stone and limp on off to the liquor store. 

He treated himself to a meal and a nice bottle of whiskey to take with him on an aimless stroll around the city, if one could call it that. More accurately, it was a hop from one bench to another. Logan may have been directly violating the doctor’s orders on multiple accounts, but he wasn't actively trying to walk another couple miles yet. He had his fill of that in Arizona.

He meant to chip away at his whiskey until he got a break from the pain, but when the crushing weight of his future lessened alongside it, the bottle got a lot lighter too. 

Logan didn't care about the space he got from strangers on the sidewalk when he failed to move forward in a straight line. They could go on home and forget about it. Logan needed a break after everything he'd been through, and if anyone wanted to judge him for that, it was their problem.

He polished off the last of the bottle at some point, he wasn't keeping track of how long he’d been out. 

By that time, he didn't know where he'd wound up. Street names were familiar, but he couldn't place them together in his head. On top of it, he found himself unable to remember his hotel name. Not that it would help much, because no matter how many times he entered his phone password, it told him he was wrong. Logan knew he was screwed but was too drunk to particularly care. That was a problem for later. His problem for now was keeping himself moving every time he started losing his balance so badly he needed a hand on a wall to stay standing. 

He kept himself on his feet as long as he could, and he was never one to throw in the towel, but sometimes all you could do was lose a battle with as much grace as you could. Which, in this case, was thinking to put his arms out to break his fall.

-

Antiseptic, sick, beeping, white.

Something on his face. Something in his arm. A muzzle? A needle?

They were going to cut him open again.

The room was bright and made his eyes scream. Logan yanked his arms around, but they weren't restrained. He tried to swing out in front of him, pull himself up, yell, do anything, but he was weak. Sick. Nothing moved the way he told it to. His vision was blurry, patches of black squirming across.

There was a sharp pain in his arm. With immense difficulty, his fingers found a tube and scratched at it. He wanted it out.Now.

Somebody was telling him to stop. Logan sniffed, but he didn't smell anyone, only medical stench. A trick? A speaker? Why? How? Where?

As he searched for an explanation, the room slowly came into definition around him. Nobody was holding him down, or hurting him, or injecting him. It was quiet. Only one figure, standing next to him…

… Jubilee.

“You good now?” she asked, palms toward him in a placating pose. 

His shoulders didn't make it off the bed, but he collapsed nonetheless. Logan saw he was back in a hospital room and got hit with déjà vu. There was an oxygen mask on his face, and despite the fact that it was supplying air, he felt suffocated by it.

“...off.” Talking felt like a herculean effort, even at that minute whisper-volume, but he was panicking.

“I don't think I'm supposed to-”

“O-... Off.” he growled with one final push, freaking out more and more with each passing second.

Seeing his hyperventilating, Jubilee scrambled over and slipped the mask up off his face. He took deep breaths at last.

It couldn't have been a dream. This was a different room, but he had no clue how he got there. There must have been some sort of complication with his injuries.

With the fight out of him, Jubilee grabbed his arm and hugged it. Her eyes were red. Logan wanted to ask what was going on, but a groan was all that left his aching throat.

“Oh, thank god.” she whimpered out, wiping at her cheeks. She was dressed the most casually he'd ever seen her outside of pajamas, in a plain t-shirt, jeans, and hoodie. Logan didn't think she owned clothes that tame. No colorful makeup, either.

He lifted his other hand to comfort her, but it only made it an inch before she took it and forced it back down.  

“I want to yell at you for being stupid.” her voice shook. “But first I'm going to be glad you're alive.”

Logan wanted to be scared or sad for her, but he was too hazy and confused to do anything but feel bad. 

Jubilee brought her chair closer, then crossed her arms over his stomach and buried her face there. She rose and fell with his breathing. A wet sniffle filtered through her sleeves. 

With great effort, Logan heaved his hand over to her back and let it lie there. He wanted to ask what the hell was going on, since the last thing he remembered doing was taking a peaceful stroll through the city, but the act of keeping himself awake was taking all the power he had. The pounding in his head didn't help either.

He thought he might have drifted off at some point like that, because when Jubilee sat up, he felt himself jolt. Her face was swollen, and she took a tissue to blow her nose. Several deep breaths, and she was on her feet. 

“I need to go tell a nurse you're awake. I'm going to step out, okay?” She shook her arms out as she spoke with forced energy, resetting herself.

He called out to stop her, but it was a cracked, pitiable sound. Jubilee's newfound resolve turned to worry in a blink.

“What is it?” 

“Ah…” he sighed, swallowed, and tried again. Maybe he should be worried, too. “Water.”

She lowered her defenses. “I'll be right back.” 

Jubilee left and came back with a straw, then poured him a paper cup from the bathroom tap and set it on a small side table. It was raised to fit over the hospital bed, which she wheeled around in front him. After raising the back of his bed so he was sitting higher and confirming that he could reach the straw on his own, she departed.

Logan sucked the whole thing down and lay back. With no one else around, he couldn't find the willpower to stay awake. It was one of those naps that were like blinking; he closed his eyes and opened them again, the only awareness that time had passed being the fact he had a bit more energy and considerably less pain in his head.

Jubilee's voice echoed in from the hall, along with several others. Logan couldn't pick them all out at that volume, but Hank’s deep bass and Kurt's accent were easily distinguished. Anna Marie's loud, forceful drawl came through soon after. 

Kurt's head poked in and saw him stirring. He ducked back out, likely to tell the others. 

“Rise and shine, mein lieber Freund.” The man greeted. He was smiling as if nothing was wrong, but Logan could see the sadness in his eyes and the creases of his brow.

A whole caravan followed him in. Anna Marie and Hank, as expected, as well as Jubilee, Ororo, Kitty, and Scott. All but Kurt and Anna Marie were the X-Men closest to him who had stayed local. It wasn't hard to imagine the siblings flying in on short notice if something had happened to him, but even then, that was damn short notice.

But then there was Scott. Logan had no idea why he would show up if it wasn't an actual emergency. 

“‘S a party?” Logan croaked out. 

“Don't joke about this.” Scott snapped in a low voice. His arms were crossed, his face deadly serious. There were bags under his eyes and he needed a shave.

Actually, the more Logan surveyed the group, no one looked great. Even the more well-dressed members like Ororo and Hank were in comfortable clothing. Anna Marie's eyeliner was smudged and fading. A couple people had food with them, looking like they just came from the cafeteria.

“We had to convince even more not to come.” said Ororo, sounding sleepy. “Charles was here, but he's getting older, so we had him wait at the hotel until you woke up. There are many people who care about you, Logan.”

Logan didn't think Xavier was that old, but these were a bunch of worrywarts if ever he saw them. 

He tried to recall the last time he saw any of them in person; He spent a week with Kurt in Madagascar, Ororo in France, and he video called with people plenty. Had he not seen anyone since then? He hadn't even talked to Scott since Charles’ retirement party when the school closed. 

He wondered if they were nervous or excited. He couldn't hear their hearts or smell their fear, so he didn't know. The emotions on their faces were a mixed bag, ranging from happy to worried to exhausted. 

Logan didn't notice Kitty sneak his cup out from under his face, but she'd gone and refilled it. 

“Thanks.” he said, and was glad to find his arms more agreeable when he scooted the cup closer. “Weren't…” even though he felt like he was more or less thinking straight again, for whatever reason getting words out was still tricky. Like running with your legs underwater. He shook his head in an attempt to get that part of his brain running again.

“Take your time.” said Kitty from beside him. Her hands were warm. That wasn't right. Logan ran hot, her hands should be cool on him.

“Nurse?” Logan said. “Nurse was… a nurse was ‘sposed t’ come.”

“He did.” said Hank, grave in his concern. “You were talking to him, albeit in one-word answers. You don't remember?”

No, he didn't remember. He thought he slept through Jubilee's absence. 

“Maybe we should come back later.” Anna Marie suggested to her companions. “The doctor said not to rush anything. We should be thankin’ our lucky stars he woke up this soon.”

“You're right.” said Ororo. “Our excitement does not supercede his health-”

“No.” Logan squirmed, failing to get himself further upright. He didn't care for being talked about like he wasn't there. “I can… I'm jus’ wakin’ up. I hear you.”

“Are you sure? It's no trouble.” said Kurt.

“No. I-... I got questions.” talking was getting easier the more he did it. “The hell're all you doin’ here? I don't need it.”

There were collective eye rolls and noises of exasperation through nearly the entire room.

“Fine?!” burst Jubilee, manic in her anger. “ Fine’?! You’re in the hospital! We thou-”

“Jubilee, enough.” Ororo put her foot down, a fearsome occurrence. “Now is not the time.”

“Kid, I didn't choose t’ get stabbed.” he slurred dismissively. 

Jubilee's hands flew to the sides of her head. “You were stabbed?!”

She wasn't the only one this was news to, as a wave of alarm and several exclamations of what? circulated the room.

“Oh.” Logan said in response, mildly confused. He didn't think the other wound was that serious in comparison. “It was the bullet?”

Jubilee was physically knocked back. “You were SHOT?!!!”

“When were you shot?” asked Kurt from his side, who had leapt to his feet, as Anna Marie combed her fingers through her hair anxiously behind him. 

Next to her, Hank had taken his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose. Most of Kitty's face was in her hands on his other side, with her eyes staring blankly ahead. Ororo, hands on her hips, had closed her eyes and pursed her lips in a last-ditch attempt to maintain composure. Scott, sulking in the back, didn't emote much. 

Unperturbed by his former teammates’ colorful responses, Logan pressed on. “If that's not it, the hell am I here for?”

The upset in the room was replaced by a long, uncomfortable silence. They all looked to one another, waiting to see who would answer. With a reaction like that, even Logan was getting tense.

“Hey.” he barked at them, much less threatening than intended given his current position. “Spit it out.”

Scott finally spoke up from the corner he leaned on, begrudging and serious. He stared ahead at the floor like he wanted it dead.

“You have alcohol poisoning.”

Logan laughed aloud. Scott wasn't one for jokes in situations like these, but if he was loosening up at last, all the better for him.

“This isn't funny.” Scott stormed, kicking himself off the wall and standing upright. “You almost died, Logan!”

Logan squinted at him, searching for a tell. He was acting angry, but his eyes were betraying him. Worried, bloodshot.

“... That's ridiculous, I didn't-”

“Seriously? Are you going to sit there and tell me you weren't drinking?” Scott lashed back. 

“Scott-” Anna Marie interrupted, and Ororo strode over and put a cautioning hand on his chest. Logan couldn't see the look she gave him, but it swiftly put him in his place.

Logan stole a glance at Kurt. He wasn't smiling.

“He doesn't even know why he's in the hospital, Scott.” said Hank. “He just woke up, for goodness’ sake. Channel your concern into something other than anger for the recently-comatose.”

Logan jerked his head Hank's way, not believing his ears. “Comatose?”

Hank gave Scott a pointed look, and all his liveliness was replaced with remorse. 

“Alright.” Logan put his hands up feebly, a motion that stopped at the wrist. He wasn't receiving any other potentially life-shaking news like this. “What the fuck is going on.”

Eyes went to Jubilee. She was sitting back down next to Kitty, pinching at the fabric of her hoodie sleeves anxiously.

“I just- I got a call. Saying they found my number on a note in your pocket. They didn't know who you were, you didn't have any ID. They said you'd been here a day already. I came right away and told everyone.”

Tattletale.

“Who is ‘everyone'?” Logan interrupted. 

“The whole groupchat.”

Logan sighed. He had no idea who all was in there anymore.

“She didn't tell them about the-” Kitty cut in to supplement. “about why. Only that you were in trouble at the hospital.”

Logan bit at the skin on his lower lip and held back his anger. Jubilee was probably panicking seeing her old man passed out, he knew he shouldn’t hold it against her.

“I didn't have that much.” Logan argued. Kitty shot him a penetrating glare. “It was only a bottle. I must've still been dehydrated.”

“Dehydrated from what…?” Hank sighed to himself out of view.

“A bottle of what, Logan?” Kitty pressed him, increasingly fed up. 

“Whiskey, the usual.”

She slapped a hand against her face. Jubilee had a look of frank disbelief, mouth ever so slightly agape.

“At once?” Kitty said through gritted teeth, hand still plastered against the side of her face.

“Yeah?”

Jubilee burst, frustrated and at her wit's end with his nonchalance. “They found you passed out on the sidewalk in broad daylight, Logan! The store you ate it in front of had to call an ambulance.”

Logan didn't say anything. What was there to say? 

“You've been a coma for days." Jubilee was tearing up again, scrunching her face up to fight it. With every word, it was clear she was holding herself back from raising her jittery voice at him. “The doctor told us to expect at least a week. We- they said it helped to talk. We've been in here every day, all night long. Talking to you, reading to you. Holding your hand. Praying you weren't about to go out like this.”

Logan didn't dare adjust his head, he didn't want to see the faces anyone else was making at him. He heard a horrible clogged sniff from Anna Marie on his other side. 

He closed his eyes. 

Ororo broke the silence with a placating tone that said she knew she was playing with fire. “They gave us the information for a rehab-”

“Leave.”

“What?” Kitty sounded heartbroken. 

“Just-” Logan took a breath to calm down. “Just for a second. I need- just for a minute.”

There was a long, horrible pause.

“I'm sorry.” said Ororo. “That wasn't the right time.”

Logan didn't answer.

Chairs scooted and footsteps signaled their exit. He didn't open his eyes while they left. He didn't open his eyes after they left, either.

Logan decided not to think about anything at all. He would sit there, eyes closed, and think about nothing. He wouldn't get mad, and he would let his heart go back to normal, and he wouldn't think about anything. 

He breathed, and that's all he did. He breathed. He kept breathing.