Handler
For as long as Logan could remember, he has always had a handler.
The first was his superior officers, strict but reasonable. They watched over him, trained him, fed and clothed him. They told him where to shoot and who to kill. They called him Lucky James.
Sweat dripped down Logan’s face. The claws that were peaking out from between his knuckles retracted and he let out a quiet whimper.
The second was Victor. Together they fought, in war after war, and gradually he took the leash, pulling the collar tighter. Victor was cruel. With a heavy hand and harsh words he was always there to remind Logan of his place. Victor called him Useless Runt.
”Listen here, you useless runt” Victor snarled.
Like all feral feline subspecies, Victor Creed was a very tall, intimidating man. He had long, thick, messy, blond hair that was pulled back into a ponytail, a long torso and large sharp canines that poked out from his upper lip. His nails were sharp and caked in dirt.
He wrapped his hand around Logan’s neck, lifted him up, slammed him against the wall and squeezed. Logan’s healing factor kept him in a state of near suffocation, which seemed to bring Victor satisfaction as he watched Logan squirm under his grip, feet desperately trying to find purchase on the walls smooth surface.
He leaned in close with a snarl, his breath ghosting Logan’s cheek, with his other hand he grabbed Logan’s chin and forced him to meet his eyes “listen close, you retarded weasel, when I tell you to do something, YOU FUCKING DO IT!” Logan let out a pained whimper, the scream magnified tenfold by his sensitive hearing. With a look of absolute disgust, Victor dropped Logan to the floor then pinned him down with his superior strength looking very much like a sabertooth tiger pinning it’s prey.
With one hand, Victor took Logan’s second ID tag - the one that read ‘Wolverine’ - and held it up for Logan to see, shaking it a little for emphasis “Took you under my paw. Trained you. Educated you on what it means to be a feral.” He hissed, yowled and bared his teeth “gave you a name - freed you from the slave name the humans gave you - and what do you do? WHAT DO YOU DO?! YOU SPIT IN MY FUCKING FACE!”
Victor let go of the tag, then wrapped both hands around Logan’s throat, squeezing as hard as he could. Logan didn’t fight back, he knew better than that. Fighting back only prolonged the pain. Being compliant at least guaranteed that his death would be quick.
It was only when he heard a snap, and Logan’s body went completely limp, that he finally let go. Breathing heavily, Victor waited a few moments for Logan’s healing factor to kick in enough to restore his hearing, before saying “you’re fucking pathetic, you know that? Nothing more than a goddamn sissy.”
Logan felt Victor getting off of his body, and then heard the door slam shut. His broken neck fixes itself, and the purple bruises that mar his throat heal, but the pain lingers. It always does.
With a gasp, Logan’s eyes snapped open.
The small, cramped, space within his nest brought no comfort. Sweat dripping down his face he let out a shaky exhale, took Pup by the scruff and crawled out of his nest. On all fours he nimbly trotted over to the door and took hold of the door handle, turning it slowly as to minimize the noise it would make when unlocking and then bolted out of the room, gently closing the door behind him.
Once outside Logan let out a shaky breath and with his back pressed against the door, squeezed his eyes shut, bit his lip and lowered himself to the floor. Knees to his chest he held pup tight and hid his face in its fake fur. He sat like this for several minutes, rocking back and forth.
He needed a drink. Anything would do.
Legs trembling and uncertain, Logan made his way to the kitchen and opened the fridge. The case of Heineken Silver beckoned him, and for a long moment he considered grabbing the entire case, but stopped just as his shaking fingers brushed against it.
”Promise me, Logan” Althea said, her tone brooked no room for argument. She took his hands in hers and squeezed “no more hard liquor. No more binge drinking. No more drinking when your head’s all fucked up. Don’t shut us out Logan, we’re here for you. Do you promise, Baby?”
Logan was silent for a long moment. He looked at Althea and then at Wade and said “I promise.”
He decided on a snack instead.
Althea would be so proud.
Logan was an extremely no nonsense and proactive man. Most of his meals and snacks were pre prepared and stored in various containers and reusable ziplock bags. Snacks were always a mix of yogurt, some type of fruit and a raw meat. He alternated between honey, cinnamon or chia seeds as a topping and sometimes he’d use all three.
Logan grabbed some pre cut apple slices covered in skyr yogurt, honey, hemp hearts, raisins and cubes of raw meat, then shut the door with a grunt. He sat on the living room couch, pup beside him and absentmindedly ate, using his trembling hand to scoop out the messy snack, feeling somewhat outside himself as he did so.
Weapon X then took the leash and tightened the collar until he could barely breathe. They hurt him, experimented on him, owned him and violated him. He was no longer James Logan Howlette the man. He was a mere experiment, mindless and alone. To them, he was Experiment X then he became Weapon X.
With a sknit he extended a claw and skewered an apple slice.
“Remember, Logan. We don’t eat with our claws, or our hands. We use cutlery. Let’s try again” Charles lightly scolded.
Then the leash passed to Charles Xavier. His touch was gentle and he was so patient. He took the feral thing that was Logan, domesticated him and taught him how to properly behave. He showered Logan with love and showed him that he was more than just a mindless animal. He was Logan and he was a person.
But sometimes Charles would pull the leash, just ever so slightly, and tighten the collar whenever Logan forgot himself and became too feral or strayed too far from his path; ate improperly or too much. Never tight enough to hurt - but tight enough to remind him that he was a shield and his rightful place was at the X-men’s side, protecting them from harm.
On occasion, some of the X-Men would pull the leash too. Jean and Scott would sometimes make quips about his eating habits or the strange sounds he’d make. He knew they weren’t being purposely cruel. It’s just…how they were. Regardless, it made him feel like shit.
But he couldn’t tell them that. So he pushed down his feelings and let them fester.
Logan stared at his food covered hand for a long moment, then began to lick it clean.
Then Charles and the X-men died.
For 24 years he wandered alone and without a handler. He was aimless, feral and didn’t have a clue what to do with himself. He has always had a handler and the moment he had chosen to be selfish; had chosen his feelings and wants over the needs and wants of his handler, had resulted in the death and destruction of everyone and everything he held dear.
So, he did what he does best - he obeyed. The humans called him: monster, killer, and blight he followed Charles’ rules to the latter and never once fought back. Not even when they hurt him verbally and emotionally. Not even when they shot him, stabbed him, and burned him.
Charles would’ve been so proud.
Now, for the first time, his leash is held equally by two people.
Wade is kind. He tells Logan that his violence can be good, and his feral nature is beautiful. That he is an equal and can be himself without worrying about being hit or rejected; that it is ok to want things and to say no. Wade calls him Peanut.
Althea is lovely. She accepts Logan for who he is and shares her wisdom. She listens, supports and comforts, but isn’t afraid to discipline. But…her discipline doesn’t make him bleed or cower and when she is angry she doesn’t scream or draw blood. She is gentle and kind. She tells Logan that it is ok to make mistakes, that he is worthy of love and that punishment doesn’t need to be traumatic. She calls him Baby.
They never pull the leash. Sometimes, they don’t even hold it. They simply wait patiently for him to follow and gently lead him in the right direction. Around them, he feels he can finally discover who he really is. Around them, he feels safe and wanted. And he doesn’t know how to deal with that.
They give him unconditional love and acceptance, while still setting clear boundaries. They send him to the bedroom to cool off when he loses his temper or has a meltdown. Sometimes Althea wack’s his ankles with her cane. But, they never hit. They never kill him. They never scream. Its all so strange.
They even allowed him to play at being civilian. Let him try his hand at being a bouncer, only forcing him to quit after his collapse eight months earlier. They praised him as he got his current job with S.H.I.E.L.D as a freelance tracker; acting as a glorified bloodhound tracking down bad guys and finding missing people.
His entire life he’d been used as an instrument of death, but now…
Logan glanced at the clock, 7:00 AM. Wade and Althea would be getting up soon. As if on autopilot, Logan took Pup with his clean hand, brought it into the kitchen and set it on the counter - still within reach but far enough out of the way so it wouldn’t get dirty. He cleaned the ziplock bag, then his hands.
Logan gathered ingredients for a quiche and a salad. The stove was pre heated, and the ham and green onion were quickly chopped and set aside.
”Lucky James does it again!” Logan killed five people today. His superior officer claps him on the back and goes to celebrate with the rest of his squadron.
Logan cracked the eggs into a bowl and added milk, salt and pepper, whisking them together.
”FUCKING KILL HIM, YOU FUCKING USELESS PIECE OF SHIT!” Victor screams as Logan hesitates, his hand shaking as he takes aim at a child soldier. He fires.
Sprinkled one cup of cheese, ham and green onion into the pie crust then added the eggs.
”Excellent work, Weapon X” says the man in glasses. The helmet and the battery packs feel heavy, and his bare skin feels cold as he stands in the snow, looming over the bear he was forced to kill.
Then sprinkled an additional 1/2 cup of cheese on top.
Logan howled at the moon, as his pack tore chunks from the caribous corpse. He lets them eat first, then he eats the scraps. He’s so hungry.
He placed the quiche into the oven, and set the timer for 40 minutes.
”Remember, Logan. We aim to save and protect. Not kill.” Charles admonishes, his tone similar to the one an adult uses when speaking to a child. Three days later Charles would send him on a ‘special’ mission, and his claws would be soaked with the blood of another once more.
While the quiche baked, he started the salad. The rhythmic cutting sounds the knife made as it hit the cutting board helped to soothe his frazzled nerves. Logan loved cooking. He loved that it gave him a way to make the people around him happy in a way that didn’t involve hurting others.
The timer went off and his ears twitched. Logan could hear the sound of Althea and Wade’s breathing changing and the tell-tale rustle of blankets. They were waking up.
Water for him, tea for Althea and hot chocolate for Wade, with a slice of quiche and a side of salad. Custom plates and cups in their favourite spot at the table. Then he sat down, Pup in his lap, and waited for them to wake.
A few minutes later they walked out of the bedroom. Ever the observant one, Wade could instantly tell something was off. He turned to Althea, who was right behind him and still rubbing the sleep from her eyes and lead her over to her seat.
The timing was horrendous but they understood that when it was time to talk, it was time to talk. Logan had set the mood: relaxed environment, no judgment and don’t make a big deal out of anything; He was emotionally detached, but not fully dissociative, which was good.
Althea dug in, and discreetly gave a small smile. The smell of alcohol was absent. Logan had listened and remembered what she had told him months ago. She was so proud.
“I remembered something. It was bad” Logan said, his tone flat and emotionless. He picked up his slice of quiche with his hands and bit into it.
Wade took a step back and allowed Althea to take the reins. He turned his head toward her and said “Your cup is at 9 O’clock and the cutlery is at 3. Salad’s on the right side of the plate.”
“Oh?” Althea gestured with her fork for Logan to continue.
“Victor…” Logan paused. It was hard to get the words out but he pressed forward, ignoring that voice inside his head that claimed that neither Althea or Wade would care.
“Got angry with me. Cus’ I didn’t listen” he paused once more, took a bite and swallowed. “snapped my neck” then looked away, unable to meet Wade’s eyes “He’d hit me a lot.”
Saying it out loud made him feel as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. Scared that people would look at him with disgust, Logan kept what Victor had done to him a painful secret and buried it deep down inside where it had haunted him for eighty long painful years.
“Didn’t listen? Uh, I’m having a hard time believing that. You’re the best listener in the world, Lolo” Wade said, careful to keep his tone measured.
Logan shook his head no.
“Victor..” Althea spat the name out like it was poison “what kind of -“ he lip curled back in disgust, as if even saying the word sounded wrong “man was he?”
“A feral mutant like me. Feline subspecies.” He took another bite and swallowed “didn’t even know there were other mutants like me until I met him. Thought I was the only one.
Upon seeing Althea’s confusion, Wade clarified “There’s all kinds of feral’s” He ticked off his fingers as he spoke “canids, avid’s, feline’s, ursine’s, weasel’s - like Logan - and even extinct animals, too. They’ve all got different body types and abilities. Hank told me all about it.”
Althea muttered to herself “you listened? It’s a fucking miracle.”
Before Wade could reply, Logan said “S’not just the bodies, s’also the smells. Victor’s scent was a sharp tang, n’Laura’s is a floral musk. S’how we found each other.”
“Hunh. That’s really interesting, Peanut” They knew what he was doing. He was trying to shift the subject, but Althea wasn’t going to let that happen. After all, the more one avoids something, the worse it becomes.
“Good for you for leaving that abusive piece of shit.”
Logan shook his head “I didn’t leave him. Victor died of a stroke. He was unnaturally tall n’something was wrong with his heart. It sounded strange. One moment he was yelling at our superior officer, the next he was on the floor of the mess hall.”
Logan remembers how he smiled through tears after he heard the news of Victor’s passing and the terror that followed. Who was going to pick up the leash?
Althea placed down her cutlery and turned her head in Logan’s direction “you said his heartbeat was weird? What’d it sound like?”
Logan thought for a long moment then clapped his hands: ‘clap clap clap, clap, clap clap, clap,’ then clapped five times as fast as he could. “Why?”
Althea nodded “sounds like Atrial Fibrillation. Lotta very tall people get it cus their hearts have to work extra hard.” She could feel them staring at her. She let out a sigh and said “I wasn’t always blind, you know. Ever since I was a young thing, I wanted to be a doctor, just like Edith Irby Jones.” She let out a wistful sigh, then her mood seemed to sour a little.
"But god had other plans for me.” She picked up her fork and absentmindedly pushed the food around her plate with it “I was in university when shit started going south. First my night vision went, then things started getting blurry. The tunnel vision kicked in and by the time I was 37 I was completely blind and my dreams went to shit.”
The air was heavy and the room was silent, as Wade and Logan grappled with the new information. Sounding surprisingly happy, Althea calmly added “But, sometimes what you want, isn’t what you need - “
Wade interrupted “that’s right Al, fuck those dreams. Way to be toxically positive.”
Althea’s medical background explained a lot. How she knew the best ways to get bloodstains out of pretty much anything, her suspicious knowledge of prescription drugs and what could and couldn’t be snorted or sprinkled in food or drinks.
How she knew what amount of cocaine she could safely ingest while on her blood pressure medication or what drugs could be mixed together and what should be avoided, it was all so obvious. Wade felt like a fucking idiot.
“Boy, if you don’t shut your goddamn mouth…” she took a calming breath and then exhaled “my point is, is if I hadn’t become blind, I wouldn’t be who I am today and I wouldn’t have my boys.”
“You have children?” Logan and Wade asked at the same time.
She did a double take. Holy shit, they were so fucking stupid. Althea leaned back in her chair and said with a mischievous smile “two. The eldest is a wild child, but very well behaved. He’s got a temper though, doesn’t talk much and is riddled with anxiety and self hatred. The youngest is a hyperactive, highly observant gremlin that has so much love within himself, but it’s often drowned out by his insecurity and depression. But you’d never know that, cus he hides his pain behind a wall of humour so thick you could bounce a ball off of it.”
There was silence. Exasperated, Althea threw her hands up and loudly said “Jesus Christ, you two are the smartest idiots I’ve ever met. I’m talkin’ about you two!”
“Awwww ma!” Food forgotten, Wade pulled Althea into a hug. Still smiling and giddy as can be, he then said “I owe Ellie twenty dollars. Goddamn it.”
Wait…
What?!
Her child? Logan’s brow furrowed. This had never happened before. This was not how it was supposed to go. When people picked up his leash, they always held it tight - not letting go until their death or until someone stronger took it from them.
But Althea, she didn’t just drop her leash, she unclipped it from his collar and threw it away.
What the fuck was happening?
He didn’t understand. This was all so confusing. Not even Charles-
It was all so scary.
It was all so different.
He was so thankful.
Althea melted as Logan joined the hug. He laid his head down on her other shoulder, mirroring Wade, and wrapped his arms around them both.
For as long as Logan could remember, he has always had a handler. Now he has a mother.