Speed Bump
There was a light knock at the door. Logan didn't answer, so the handle clicked open.
Instead of footsteps, there was a small mechanical whir. Logan opened his eyes.
“Hello, Logan.” said Charles with a gentle smile. Rather than his tailored suit, he wore a comfortable sweater that he somehow managed to make look distinguished.
Failing an answer, he approached Logan's bed and stopped at arm's length. The door was shut behind him.
“You gave us quite the scare.” he said, lighthearted. Letting Logan know that he was not there to scold him.
“So I hear.” Logan grumbled as he watched closely. Charles was going to try to get him to talk about it, that was an inevitability, he just hoped it wasn't right now. “They send you in as the canary?”
Charles smiled wider and briefly looked down, as close to a laugh as Logan had ever gotten from him. “Perhaps. But I've been waiting quite awhile for you to wake up too, you know.”
Logan rolled his head back across the pillow. “I'm not your X-Man anymore, Chuck. It's not your job to check up on me.”
When Logan's sight wandered back over to the man, he seemed actually a little hurt by the statement.
“No.” he agreed and intertwined his fingers across his lap, elbows on his armrests. “But you are an old friend.”
That got Logan feeling guilty.
“I know, even after all this time, you don't know how to accept the kindness of others through your pride.” he raised his eyebrows. “You might even think you're sparing them some heartache.”
"Skipping the pleasantries, then, huh?" Logan wondered if this little lesson Charles wanted to give him really couldn't wait until he was out of the hospital. Nope, he had to go and get right into it. Logan wanted Hank to come back and tell him off like he did to Scott.
"You never appreciated me belaboring the point. I figured I'd spare you this time."
“You're doing a lotta guesswork for someone who can't read minds anymore, Cueball.”
“I don't need to read your mind. If I don't know you well enough to say so by now, then what have we been doing with our time?” he said in a sly tone. Logan gave him a one-sided smile.
Charles tilted his head inward. “It's more cruel to your friends to reject them and force them to worry than it is to simply let them help you.” he reached out and grasped the bed’s siderail to make sure he had Logan's attention, staring at him imploringly all the while, and spoke with great emphasis. “Don't push them away, Logan.”
They held eye contact for a long second, Charles refusing to back down and Logan too worn out to formulate a proper response. With that, Charles let go of the siderail and reversed the chair to back off.
He called for the others to come back in, which Logan did not appreciate. They filtered back, mostly hanging around by the door, joined by-?
Ah shit, the doctor.
“Hello, Mr. Logan. I'm Dr. Garner.” she greeted with friendly professionalism. He couldn't help but snort at the honorific and wonder what the hell Jubilee told them his first name was. “I came to discuss treatment. How are you feeling?”
“Bad.” he said honestly.
“Sorry to hear that.”
She walked around next to the bed and pulled out a stool to sit in front of the computer.
“Not going to let me walk out of here?” he joked.
She smiled at that. “Not yet, sorry. We need to hold you a while longer for observation, and then make a plan for your release. A coma isn't something you can walk off, unfortunately.”
The doctor spoke so sweetly to him. Slow, in a way that he might otherwise find a bit condescending if it weren't for the circumstances and the genuine quality to her tone.
“We need the whole circus here for this?” he asked, gesturing at the friends who were resituating themselves around the room like it was their business as much as his. Kurt waved.
“Of course, but we do need to plan living arrangements first. We advise that you stay with another responsible adult for the first part of your recovery. I need to go through your treatment plan with whoever will be helping you present.”
“I told them you lived alone.” said Jubilee. “I mean, fair assumption, right?”
Logan shrugged.
The doctor started typing something out. “And where do you live at the moment? House, apartment, group home, et cetera?”
“No, I don't-” Logan rapidly carded through several ways to explain his situation. “I travel a lot.”
She stopped typing. “Should I put down ‘no permanent residence’?”
“Yeah, fine.”
“No, hang on-” Kitty interjected, turning Logan's attention back to the other side of the room, where she wasn't the only one surprised by this. “Logan, where are you staying?”
Logan huffed in frustration. This is why he wanted to talk alone.
“I'm at a hotel.” his mind wandered off and tried to recall how long he booked the room for. He may have missed his checkout time by several days. “Only got back into town- well, I guess I don't know how long ago anymore. Recently.”
“Okay, and before that?” she pressed.
“Hotel in Phoenix.”
The doctor had stopped typing and was waiting patiently for them to work it out.
“This isn't-” Charles spoke calmly to Kitty, but Anna Marie jumped in.
“It's been a year, Logan. You aren't tryin’ to tell me you've been homeless this whole time?” it was like she took personal offense to this.
“Not homeless.” he defended himself. “...Technically.”
“Oh, ‘technically.’” muttered Scott sarcastically to himself.
Logan ignored him. “I'm always runnin’ around, you know that.”
“You could've come stayed with me and Remy any time!” she was angry, raising her voice. Kurt put a hand on her shoulder. “Why didn't you say something?”
Logan sighed. “You got the wrong idea here. I didn't need a place. I've been too busy.”
“For a year?”
“For a hell of a lot longer than a year, darlin’.”
“Why don't we settle down.” Kurt interrupted as Anna Marie made a sound to argue back again.
“Must I remind you all, yet again, that Logan is not in any state to be arguing with us?” Hank stepped in.
“Thank you.” said the other doctor, relieved someone cut it off.
“I'll decide when I'm in an arguin’ state.” Logan butted in, earning a disappointed look from Charles.
“We do need to confirm that someone will be with you following discharge.” The poor doctor reiterated.
“We need a few minutes to discuss our options.” Charles said diplomatically.
-
Logan had shockingly little agency in his decision. Almost everyone expressed a desire to step up, but there were concerns about whether their living situations or schedules would allow for them to be there if he “needed help” with anything.
He didn't need help with anything. Some time to rest and he'd be back on his feet, he was sure of it. It wasn't helping his case that the doctor had hit them with some scary words. Potential liver disease, brain damage, that sort of thing. Not to mention he’d been stabbed.
“Care” was relatively simple. For the first stint of his resting period, Logan was to take everything slow, especially getting around, because they didn't know what rehabilitation help he might need yet after being out for, apparently, six days. The person he stayed with would need to give him a hand and be there to watch out for any medical emergencies. Given his pre-existing injuries, the doctor said he should have been on bedrest to begin with anyway.
Anna Marie was enthusiastic about him moving down south with her and Remy. Logan was fine with that, but the argument that won out was that Logan didn't know anyone else around there besides the two of them, so they were effectively isolating them from support if something were to happen with his health. Logan reminded them he liked isolation, but all pretense of considering his opinion had been dropped. The consensus became that he should stay in New York, where there were plenty of allies around.
Logan hated it. He hated people making choices for him. Telling him what to do, where to go, what the next few months of his life were going to look like. It was like any trust they ever had in him was gone with a snap of the fingers.
Though to be fair, they were worried he had brain damage. Not the best state for decision-making, he supposed.
It became a process of elimination for the New York crew who were present. Ororo and Kurt both traveled frequently for their humanitarian work, so that was a no-go. Charles himself was disabled, so if Logan needed a hand with mobility he'd have to ask Erik, and Logan would truly rather drown himself than have to do that. Jubilee shared an apartment with a friend, and Kitty had just moved in with her girlfriend, so neither of them were in a position where they could ask to share the space with a grouchy old man. Hank still resided at the school, so he had neither time nor means.
That left one.
“Absolutely not.” said Scott.
“Fuck no.” said Logan in unison.
“We're running out of options.” said Ororo.
“I can ask somebody else around here.” said Logan.
“Okay, who?”
He paused to think. “Somebody.”
“I'm not equipped to be anyone's caretaker. Let alone Logan.” said Scott. “The second he decides he's had enough of me, he'll take off somewhere. And we're talking about me and him, so that could be like, ten minutes.”
Logan objected to the framing of him as some wild animal that would run away as soon as the door was open, but he couldn't deny the allegation either. As it stood, he had been in the process of deciding whether or not he could slip out of the hospital when nobody was looking.
“But you have no big time commitments, ja? And a place to yourself.” said Kurt. “If you aren't working anyway, what's the harm?”
No job, huh. Logan didn't think he'd see the day.
“Damage to my sanity.” Flat as a board. “And it's a one-bedroom apartment. There isn't space for two of us.”
“Call me as sadistic as you want,” Logan chimed in, feeling exceptionally neglected, “but I'm not asking Scotty of all people to play nurse for me. I'm not that heartless.”
Charles was the next to speak up, directing his words to Scott. “You said you wanted to help him. This would be as good an opportunity as any.”
Logan's head whipped over to Scott faster than he thought he was capable of moving. Scott's jaw tightened in obvious displeasure at the callout. He staunchly refused to acknowledge Logan.
“It could be good for you-” Anna Marie started.
“This isn't about me.” Scott cut the thought down.
Scott was facing the others, but he must have known Logan was trained on him, the way he kept as rigid as a statue. Logan was starving to know what had happened behind the scenes.
“Maybe not, but I agree with her, Scott.” said Charles.
The man didn't budge an inch physically, but Logan could see in his eyes that his mentor's words were having the largest effect.
Logan snuck a glance at Jubilee, who was sitting cross-legged on a chair across the room from him, to see if she was as entertained as he was becoming. She gave him a shrug and popped a peanut M&M like popcorn.
Logan looked at Scott and lifted a finger in the Professor's direction. “You know that guy’s not your boss anymore, right? You don't have to do what he says.”
“Some coma patients find it difficult to speak after waking up.” Hank said as he flipped a page of the book he'd retreated to. “I wonder what that's like.”
“‘That guy’ has known Scott longer than any of us.” Ororo said with pointed eye contact to Logan.
“Exactly. I think Scotty should choose for himself for once.” Logan encouraged.
Scott put his hands in his pockets, pursed his lips in contemplation, and looked down at his shoes while he thought it over for a bit.
“Alright.” he said abruptly, having come to his decision. “He can stay.”
“What? No. Hey.” Logan was in absolute shock. Scott would not look at him. “Hey. Scott. Come on.”
We were supposed to be allies in this, goddammit.
But that was that. The doctor was summoned, the irrelevant parties left, and he and Scott got a rundown on what to do when they got home.
-
Logan wasn't allowed to leave the hospital right away, he had to stay three more days for observation. They warned him he might have lingering withdrawal symptoms, such as moodiness. Logan and Scott both got a hearty laugh out of that one.
His friends’ quiet exhaustion seemed to really settle in after everything. Logan didn't want to know how many of them had stayed up the long hours waiting for him. They were happy to go get some rest, and he was glad for some alone time, with the exception of the nurses who came to check in on him on rotation. He was given his phone back, but the sheer number of unread messages was too much mental work for him, so he didn't touch them.
He wasn't sure how much he slept each night, but it was never more than an hour or two at a time. The periods were so short he barely had time for nightmares, instead waking up with vague, blurry scenes and an uneasy feeling. In between, he'd lay and stare at the too-bright TV with volume off and subtitles on, uncomfortable and aching and staticky, every moment spent waiting for rest and not finding it. Occasionally he found himself chatting with the nurses who had a minute, glad to have a distraction from his own life by hearing about theirs.
It wasn't easy being left alone with the thoughts he'd been avoiding for so long. About his life and his future.
Change wasn't an alien to him. On the contrary, he was much more used to the good things he had falling apart or being ripped away than sticking around long enough to appreciate. The X-Men were one of those rare good things, but every time it should have been the end for them, they bounced back as often as he did. It was special. It was worth protecting. At some point he started trusting them to make it, believing in them. Logan didn't do that.
In the end, they were lucky to have such a gracious, peaceful ending to their trials. It was because of that Logan had come to terms that he didn't have a place in it. He wasn't included in that epilogue. Logan was old. He had to let go and move on; there was no other choice. He outlived the happy endings, rolled back down his bloody trail right on past the houses built along the way.
He'd long since accepted that his life was one brutal fight after another. He persevered because he was fueled by the hope that someone, somewhere off in the world might live a better life, sleep a little sounder at night for it. That was his existence, and hat was the purpose he'd been left with in the wake of the loss of his abilities and his home. Stripped bare, it's all he had to keep going.
Logan didn't always love his life, but he loved being alive. He loved the next battle, the next meal, the next beer, the next country, the next friend, lover, family member. That's why he'd always keep fighting, long past the point of reason or sanity. He would have bit the dust a long time ago if he didn't.
Now he was being faced with the reality that his neverending cycle and half-backed heroism was over. He almost died twice, back to back. He needed to stop if he wanted to live. And he wanted to live. He did. But without without a function to serve, what did he have? What would he do?
Logan would stay up through the nights with those questions. He felt pointless. He was a dick, an absent friend, an uncommitted partner, a violent maniac, an unrepentant alcoholic. But he got away with it, everyone else put up with it, because at the end of the day he showed up and made himself good for something.
He wasn't good for a damn thing like this. That was gone, and he was weak. That was gone, and he was small.
Dawn would come and Logan found himself counting down the minutes until visiting hours. Daytime was kinder, if more stressful. He rarely had more than an hour of time to himself. The first day, he was met with an endless parade of guests.
Nathan Summers and Wade Wilson were first. Reportedly Wade had been by separately while he was out, but was barred from coming back until Logan was awake for suspiciously unspecified reasons. Nathan, by contrast, took Logan's hand firmly in his and tried to say with a prolonged smile what Wade didn't give him the space to say aloud. Logan, understanding him better than most, hugged him in return.
Steve Rodgers and Bucky Barnes were next, they brought him a nice bottle of bourbon that Jubilee instantly confiscated. They laughed with him, Jubilee, and Ororo and caught him up on world events that happened while he was out.
Then came the Parker kid, his aunt baked Logan a pie that was wrapped up in a cloth like it was the 50s. Charming and sweet. Logan didn't even know the spider told his aunt about him. Peter said some nice shit about Logan's character that he didn't think he'd earned, under a cushioning layer of jokes at his expense.
Every day went on like that, from open to close, a balm to soothe his raw nights. At one point, when it was only some of the X-Men congregated, he even drifted off to sleep for a bit.
On the last night, some time after his favorite chucklefucks left, he went in and looked at the overflow of messages he'd received.
The X-Men groupchat had a recent explosion of activity. Jubilee had, as she said, sent out a harried message saying that Logan was in a coma at the hospital, that it was bad, and they didn't know when he'd wake up. There had been an outpour of concern, asking what was going on. Charles had popped in and left a brief statement about how he'd made them all agree to respect Logan's privacy about it until he woke up. That itself raised suspicion, but was indisputable coming from the man himself.
Jubilee left one or two messages each day with updates. That he was stable but unresponsive, who was with him. One day she'd noted that his eyes had moved and he mumbled in his sleep while Kurt was reading him a book. Another day she posted a picture of Scott asleep by his bed with a laughing emoji.
Then, at last was the announcement that he was “awake, alert, and bitchy” to a round of a celebration. Logan was blown away by how many people were reacting to her texts. He knew for a fact some of the tangential members didn't even like him that much.
The questions of what had happened to him were resurfacing. Logan couldn't run from the fact that he was ashamed, he didn't want anyone knowing he'd almost drank himself to death. Truthfully, he didn't know how much of a role the incident in Arizona played in his health, so he decided to stick with that as a story for the time being. The real reason would spread slowly on its own anyway. He would get to experience the joy of people awkwardly dancing around the topic the next time he saw them in person.
Logan sent out a brief response.
Wolverine: Was a dumbass and got stabbed in a fight. Thought I was fine, passed out later. Better now.
Before he could even close the chat, there was a message from Bobby:
Iceman: UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE CENTURY
Wolverine: No one asked you
Kid Ω: lmao
There were texts from all sorts of non-X affliates, too. Natasha Romanoff, Yukio, Ben Grim, Kamala Kahn, the list went on and on and on. It was too much to take in. Naturally, it seemed that news of the Wolverine almost fucking dying had spread like wildfire.
Among his favorites were a multi-paragraph message from Steve Rodgers reflecting on their long history together, immediately followed by one from Emma Frost that simply said “I know you wouldn't dare die, but in case you needed reminding: stay alive, you boar.” He could only get through a fraction of the other texts before needing to put his phone away.
Logan came to the realization that he'd been letting himself drift away from his loved ones because he wasn't used to his loved ones surviving through the major changes in his life. He was trying to mourn something that wasn't gone yet. Maybe he'd lost everything else, but his people were still there.
This was rare. This never happened. He needed to hold on to this. He didn't want to hurt them.
He wasn't sure if it could replace having a purpose, but it was something. It was good enough to live for, for now.
-
Discharge day came and Logan was wheeled out by Scott. He did not like being in a wheelchair, he did not like having someone else push him, and he did not like that the person pushing him was Scott. He was positive that the man was taking the bumpiest path to the car possible.
Getting in and out of the chair was frustrating. They'd given him exercises to do in bed, but as it turned out, lying motionless for a week had its consequences. Logan was weak and wobbly and struggled pulling himself into the car. When they got to the apartment, Scott offered his elbow for support getting out, but he batted it away and tried to get over to the chair on his own. Scott initially waited for him with hands on his hips, but eventually lost patience and grabbed him under the arms to manhandle him over.
“I want to take a shower.” said Logan as soon as he was properly seated. He felt gross.
“Good luck with that.” said Scott.
The chair was shoved up over the curb, knocking Logan around. The apartment building they were approaching looked on the older side.
“You have an elevator, right?” Logan asked as he appraised the narrow door.
“... No.”
Logan craned his head around to look up at Scott. He was staring straight ahead, expressionless.
“How-”
“I was hoping to come up with something else before we got to the door.” The man admitted in a monotone voice.
Scott unlocked the front door and wheeled him through the entrance hall up to the staircase. The chair barely fit.
“Which floor-”
“Third.”
"..."
They both assessed the staircase in front of them. Logan supposed he was in for a climb.
He heaved himself up with his arms, but they weren't feeling especially up to the task, and trembled under him. As soon as he put weight on one of his legs, it bowed, forcing him back down.
“Stop, stop, stop, what are you doing?” Scott rushed to support him if he fell.
“Well, what the hell do you want me to do?” Logan bit back.
“Hold on.” he sighed.
Scott locked the brakes and came around to the front of the chair, then squatted down with his back to Logan.
“Hop on.” Scott said, not particularly enthusiastic.
“No, I-” Logan didn't want to have to owe Scott for this.
Scott looked back at him, as much as he could in his position. “What are you going to do, genius? Crawl up the stairs?”
“Sure. Looks like I need the exercise, anyway.”
Utter exhaustion painted Scott’s face. “You've been a real brat since you woke up, you know that? I'd think it was the mood changes they mentioned if I didn't have the misfortune of knowing you beforehand.”
Scott backed up between Logan's legs and hooked his arms under his knees. Logan relented, and inched forward until he could get his arms around his neck and be picked up into a piggy-back. He could feel a painful strain around where he'd been stabbed and shot, but he managed to get in position securely enough for Scott to pick him up.
“Lift with your legs.” said Logan.
“Oh my god. Shut up.”
Logan didn't know what kind of training Scott did since losing his powers, but if he had to guess based on how Scott thought, he'd probably been focusing on self defense. Whatever it was, he was able to get up three flights of stairs carrying several hundred pounds of Logan while only needing to stop for breath a couple times. Scott set him down on the top stair and took a minute to recover, then went back for the wheelchair, which he brought past Logan into the apartment first to get it out of the way.
“Okay.” Scott said, taking a deep breath. “Do you think you can get the rest of the way yourself?”
Logan shrugged. Scott bent down with a grunt and looped his arm under both of Logan's to help him up. It took a big push on Logan’s part to his legs to get them working, and even then he fell into Scott's solid body.
Then, Logan's vision spun and then blacked out, and in an instant he felt so dizzy he thought he might pass out. His heart rushed in his ears.
“Woah, woah-!” Scott exclaimed.
When Logan was able to blink the darkness away enough to see again, he was sitting on the carpeted hallway floor, propped against the wall. Scott was at his side, shaking his arm and saying his name.
“I'm- yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine.” Logan mumbled and tried to sit back up on his own.
“What was that?” Scott said in that tone he used that was authoritative to conceal panic. “I can call the hospital-”
Logan blinked a few more times through the sparks and looked to Scott, whose face was fierce.
“No, I just stood up too fast. Blood rushed outta my head, I blacked out.” Feeling almost drunk, he slapped his hand onto Scott’s face and cupped it to hold his gaze and show he was serious. “I'm fine.”
“Okay.” Scott breathed, then looked down to hide his face, but only for a second.
They tried again, more carefully this time. Scott guided him in small, patient steps inside the apartment. Logan's legs were as tired as if he'd run a marathon by the time he got to the bedroom.
The apartment was a humble place, given the virtually limitless budget they had courtesy of Charles. Reasonably sized for a New York apartment, but not really suited for more than one person to spend a lot of time in comfortably. More than anything, it felt like a transitional accommodation. It didn't seem like Scott’s speed at all, and Logan wouldn't have guessed it was his if not for the sight of his possessions neatly organized around the place.
On the queen-sized bed, Logan was pleasantly surprised to see his duffle bag, rescued from the hotel.
“Hey, look at that.” Logan said happily as Scott let him drop to the edge of the mattress. “You managed to get my stuff.”
“You had another day left until checkout.” said Scott. That was good news on its own, Logan supposed, since he couldn't remember how long he'd booked it for.
“Is this really all you had?” Scott asked.
“Yeah. And?”
Scott threw his hands up like Logan had said something crazy and walked off. When he came back, he had packages of gauze with him. Apparently Scott would be helping with his back, too.
“Leave the bandages off for now.” Logan protested as Scott tore them open. “I still wanna shower.”
“Take your shirt off.” he commanded. “And I don't know how you're planning on doing that right now. I’m not helping you.”
“I haven't showered in a week.” he argued.
“I think they wiped you down.” Scott put a knee on the bed to support his weight as he lowered himself down to take Logan's shirt off, since Logan was showing no sign of intending to do it on his own. Logan tried not to get upset at the thought of nurses cleaning him while he was unconscious.
His shirt was pulled over his head, and there was stinging on his back as medical tape was torn off, taking hair with it.
“Oh my god, Logan.” Scott balked.
“You've seen my back before, I know that hair ain't news to you.” said Logan with a raised eyebrow at Scott’s discomfort.
“That's not it.”
More sharp pain as the tape on his upper back was peeled away.
“Were you really walking around with this?” said Scott behind him. Light fingers brushed tender skin.
“They're fresh bruises, it's gotta look worse than it is.” Logan grunted.
“Yeah, no more walking for you. Lie on your side when we're done, too.”
Scott made quick work of patching him up. When he was done, he lingered before handing Logan his shirt back. There was a small laugh behind him.
“What's so funny back there?” asked Logan. It came out tired, the whole ordeal of the day having sapped him of his energy.
“It's usually you patching me up. When it's only the two of us, anyway.” The sound of packaging being crumpled up behind him. “It's weird.”
Scott came into view, carrying the trash and discarded bandages in a plastic bag to throw out. He had a minor smile that could have been either reminiscing or sad in nature, and his own weariness was showing in the creases around his hazel eyes.
He approached with Logan's shirt.
“Ah, just leave it off.” Logan waved him away and eased himself into a lying down position on his side, facing away from Scott.
“Okay. Get some rest.” Scott said, sounding amused.
“Like I needed you to tell me.” he grumbled.
There was a puff of air as Scott chuckled once to himself, then the bedroom light was off, leaving only the daylight filtering in.
Logan liked other people's beds more these days. He could smell their owners in the pillows and sheets without even having to try. Scott had no tolerance for Logan's attempts to smell him, so this was first time he'd caught his scent in…
...Three years.
He burrowed his face into the pillow. It was an old friend on its own, and so nostalgic it hurt. It reminded him of home.
In a matter of minutes, Logan fell asleep.