Chapter 2
Logan stayed in the tree for several hours, curled up among its branches as he let the soft sounds and smells of nature sooth his headache. As lunch started to approach, he knew he needed to make an appearance for the mid-day meal or someone would soon come traipsing loudly through the woods calling for him. On most occasions it was Rogue or Jubilee, or even Kitty on a blue moon; a strategic plan since the team knew Logan had trouble denying the youngsters. Besides, Logan didn’t want anyone else to find his small glade, his tiny sanctuary, so it was best to head back now to stop his team from discovering it.
With a deft leap from the tree, Logan rolled into a landing on all fours and took off. He didn’t often get the chance to run on all fours, he rarely did it in battle, only dropping down if more speed and agility was necessary. Logan never ran on all fours outside of battle, he knew the team saw it as strange and animalistic. If they caught him doing it, Logan knew exactly what they’d think.
Feral.
Even Hank didn’t have to deal with the side eyes Logan got. Hank may look more like a beast, but he was often kind and gentle that most people saw past his appearance and saw the man underneath. Logan had the exact opposite problem. Logan may look like a man, but underneath he was a monster. A wild animal that everyone could subconsciously detect, their prey brains activated by Logan’s mere presence.
Out here, though? In the woods? Logan could let go and run. It not only helped him feel less disgusting in his skin, but the evenly distributed weight helped ease any pain in his hips and knees. The adrenaline rush also helped with any small aches, and Logan couldn’t help but laugh as he bound through the trees, using the sturdy trunks as springboards. The distant sound of the kids gathering for lunch reached his ears, and Logan could picture the chaos in the kitchen as students and teachers grabbed food before dispersing. Most of the kids found places to eat around the campus, grouping up in their cliques. The X-men usually gathered in the dinning room, although it wasn’t uncommon for them to also scatter once they’d all checked in. Even if you weren’t eating, it was an unwritten rule that all X-men currently on the grounds had to stop in. Skipping would have the team out searching for you, worried something had happened. Logan had only ever broken that rule once, and he’d spent the next several hours apologizing for the fear he’d stirred up.
Logan slowed from a run to a walk and came to a stop just before the edge of the forest, standing up and brushing the leaves and twigs out of his hair. After a quick shake to rid himself of any lingering dirt, he headed toward the back door. Rogue was sitting on the back patio stairs, waiting for him. She smiled when she saw him and the knot in Logan’s chest untangled slightly. Whenever he had any doubt about his place in the team, at least he knew that he mattered to one person. Logan never said it, neither did Rogue, but they were family, even more so than the team was. Marie was the closest thing to a kid Logan would allow himself to have.
A low content rumble started in Logan’s chest, but he kept the sound quiet so Rogue could not hear. Best not to let the sound escape, it wouldn’t do to frighten her with something too inhuman.
“Hey, kid, I didn’t miss lunch, did I?” Logan asked, his voice gruff but there was a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He knew full well he hadn’t missed it, and Rogue knew that too. They both played along with the pretense, a little unspoken ritual between them; a way to ease into conversation without acknowledging the things that went unsaid.
Rogue tilted her head, a knowing smile already forming as she stood up from her spot on the stairs. "You know you didn’t, Logan," she replied, teasing. "But nice try."
There was laughter and screams as the younger kids scattered out of the kitchen, food clutched in their hands as they ran from one of the older students. Jubilee was right behind them as they gave chase after the younger ones, a game of some kind it seemed. Inside Logan could hear the team chatting and there was, oddly, the smell of smoke.
He turned his head slightly to look at Rogue. "You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on in there?" he asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He wasn’t one for small talk, but with Rogue, it came easier.
She shrugged. "Oh, you know. The usual chaos. Jubilee nearly set the microwave on fire again. Kitty's trying to convince Ororo to take the students on a camping trip next weekend. And Scott. . . " She paused, raising an eyebrow. "Let’s just say he wasn’t too thrilled about you runnin’ off during a meetin’ again."
Logan snorted, shaking his head. "Figures. Guy never misses a chance to give me a hard time."
"That’s just 'cause he cares," Rogue said, the playful tone fading from her voice. She looked at him then, her expression serious. "We all do, Logan. You know that, right?"
Somehow, she’d sensed the shift in his mood, as though she could feel the tension he carried just beneath the surface. She could always read him better than anyone, better even than Jean with her telepathy. It was uncanny how she just knew, like she could pick up on the small cracks he tried so hard to cover.
Logan forced a smile, hoping to mask whatever was stirring inside him. "I know, kid," he replied, the words coming out with more ease than he felt. He kept his tone light, casual, the same way he always did when people got too close.
The lie tasted bitter, like ash on his tongue.
Rogue eyed him suspiciously before sighing and following Logan into the chaos of the kitchen. The room was loud and it grated against his nerves, the sounds and smells jarring after the quiet calm of the woods. Students were gathered around the long table, laughing, joking, and shouting across the room. Ororo was standing near the counter, helping serve food while keeping a watchful eye on the younger kids. Bobby and Kitty were engaged in some kind of playful argument, while Kurt teleported in and out of sight, grabbing snacks from various parts of the kitchen with mischievous glee. The kids started to pile out, Rogue grabbing her food and bumping her hip into Logan’s as she left as well, following her friends. Jean and Scott were standing together over by the counter, chatting. Ororo smiled at the last straggling students before she went to get her own food. Hank was seated at the table, food in one hand and a book in the other, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. Charles was playfully chiding Kurt down off the counter where the man was crouching as he ate.
Logan made his way toward the fridge, but before he could reach it, Jean let out a sharp, scolding noise. He stopped and turned to look at her, already anticipating the lecture. Jean stood there, one hand resting firmly on her hip while the other was draped lazily over Scott’s shoulder.
"Logan," she said in a tone that brokered no argument, "you are not touching anything in this kitchen until you wash your hands."
Logan glanced down at his hands, cracked with dried mud, dirt packed under his nails. He let out a resigned sigh. She wasn’t wrong. Grumbling under his breath, he made his way to the sink and quickly scrubbed his hands, casting an annoyed glance at Jean as he did so.
"Honestly, Logan," Jean teased as she watched him. "I don’t know what you do out there, but you always come back looking like you’ve been rolling around in the dirt."
Logan shot her a look over his shoulder. "Might be exactly what I’ve been doin'," he said, his voice low and playful. He dried his hands and made his way back to the fridge, grabbing two raw eggs from inside. He shoved one into his mouth, cheeks bulging before he bit down with a satisfied crunch. Scott, who had been watching the whole scene unfold, wrinkled his nose in clear disgust.
"Forget about the woods," Scott said, frowning. "It’s what you’re doing now that concerns me. Logan, you’re going to give yourself salmonella."
Logan swallowed the egg and the shell with a smirk. "Come on, Cyke," he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement. "You know damn well I ain’t gonna get salmonella."
Scott opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say anything, Logan tossed back the second egg with ease, biting down as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The crunch echoed faintly through the room, and Scott could only shake his head in disbelief.
Truth was, Logan always had trouble eating the processed stuff they stocked in the kitchen. At best it tasted like cardboard and at worst it tasted like chemicals. Even canned food tasted like the metal it came in. He much preferred raw, unprocessed meals. It wasn’t uncommon for him to disappear into the woods to hunt, and he’d eaten things that would make the others’ stomachs turn. Hell, he’d even scavenged carrion before; sure, it wasn’t gourmet, but it wasn’t anything a cold beer and a good cigar couldn’t wash out.
Jean chuckled, bringing Logan back out of his head. "One of these days, you’re going surprise us all and actually sit down to a proper meal."
"Don’t hold your breath, Jeannie," Logan replied, closing the fridge. He leaned against the counter; arms crossed over his chest as he watched the others.
“Logan,” Scott began, his voice taking on that measured, authoritative tone that immediately made Logan bristle. He could feel the tension creeping into his muscles, his body instinctively reacting to what he knew was coming. It was the same tone Scott used when he was about to deliver one of his many lectures on team responsibility or proper protocol, things that Logan had heard a thousand times before.
Logan paused, his jaw tightening slightly as he turned to face Scott. His arms over his chest, his expression unreadable, though a simmering irritation flickered behind his eyes.
"We need to talk about the mission debriefing earlier today," Scott continued, his gaze steady behind his glasses as he held Logan’s. "It’s not okay for you to just leave midway through. You know these debriefings are important, and you can’t just walk out when you feel like it."
The kitchen had fallen into an uncomfortable silence, the usual clatter of plates and chatter evaporating as the tension between Logan and Scott thickened the air. Every eye in the room had slowly shifted toward the two men, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.
Logan clenched his teeth, a low growl starting in the back of his throat, but he swallowed it before normal human ears could hear it. Though he was pretty sure Hank could hear it. He wasn’t in the mood for this, not now, not while he still felt the throbbing pain of yesterday’s wounds and the dull ache in all of his joints.
"Look, Cyke," Logan said, his voice rough as he leaned slightly forward, his posture more animalistic than he probably realized. "I don’t need to sit around listenin’ to a bunch of talk about what went right or wrong. I was there, I know what happened."
Scott didn’t flinch, but Logan could see the familiar frustration building in the other man. "That’s not the point, Logan. The debriefing’s not just about you. It’s so the team can learn what worked and what didn’t, so we can all do better next time. You leaving in the middle of it-"
"I don’t need you tellin’ me what I already know," Logan interrupted. He balled his hands into fists, though he kept them at his sides, forcing himself to stay in control. "I do my job, and I do it damn well. If I wanna leave halfway through a meeting, then I will. What you call a ‘debriefing’ is just a lot of shit to me."
Scott held his ground, but Logan could see the cracks of irritation in his usually stoic demeanor. "It’s not about whether you think it’s important or not. It’s about being a part of a team. We all rely on each other out there, and that means everyone has to be on the same page. You can’t just. . . just check out whenever you feel like it."
Logan's eyes narrowed, his gaze hardening as he leaned in just a little more. "Team, huh? Some team, ‘cause half the time I’m out there, I’m coverin’ for people who can’t handle the heat. Don’t talk to me about what it means to be part of a team when I’m the one who’s the goddamn human shield."
There was a bitter edge to his voice now. Logan didn’t mind fighting, didn’t mind bleeding, it was what he was made for. But being treated like a weapon, like a tool the team could use when things got too hard, that gnawed at him. He wasn’t just a blunt instrument to be thrown into the fire and forgotten about until the smoke cleared.
Jean jerked in surprise at his words, her usual calm demeanor slipping for a moment as the weight of Logan's words landed. She glanced at Scott, whose mouth had dropped open, his features now tense and uncharacteristically still. The argument had shifted into something raw and personal that couldn’t just be reasoned with or debated away. For once, Scott wasn’t firing back, and the room felt as though it had lost its oxygen.
It was in that silence that Charles moved, his wheelchair gliding forward as he positioned himself between the two men. "Logan," Charles said softly, his voice gentle but firm, "no one sees you as a human shield."
Logan’s jaw twitched, and he flicked his gaze toward Charles, the anger in his eyes faltering. For a split second, he looked like he was ready to argue, to push back with the same fire that had fueled his words before. But then something shifted, hisown words caught up to him, the weight of what he’d almost said, of what he had almost let slip.
With a slow, deep breath, Logan’s shoulders sagged, and he unclenched his fists, letting the tension drain from his body. The anger in his chest softened into something else, something more vulnerable, more fragile than he was comfortable admitting. He rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling a long breath as if he could let go of the frustration just by releasing the air from his lungs.
"Shit, Chuck," Logan muttered, his voice quieter now, worn down by the exhaustion of the fight. "I’m sorry, I know that. I didn’t mean-" He stopped, the words catching in his throat. Logan ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. "I’m just tired," he finally said.
“Look, yesterday was tough and I didn’t get much sleep last night. I. . . I didn’t mean to take it out on you guys.” Logan glanced at Scott and gave the man a small nod, the closest he’d get to a full apology right now.
Scott nodded back, his expression shifting from anger to concern. "I get it, Logan. We’ve all had rough nights. You don’t need to explain."
Hank stood up from his seat, approaching Logan, his doctor mindset kicking in.
“Do you normally have trouble sleeping?”
"No more than any other person here," he muttered, the words gruff but honest. And it was true. The entire mansion had its share of restless nights, no one was immune.
Everyone, from the most seasoned team members to the youngest students seemed to carry their own burden of sleeplessness. The X-men were haunted by nightmares that replayed the horrors they'd seen, or missions earlier that had left them too wired to relax. Jean and Scott, Ororo, even Kurt, they all had their fair share of nights where sleep felt impossible, their minds too full of strategy, loss, or the weight of responsibility.
But it wasn’t just the team. The kids suffered too. A lot of them came from broken or abusive homes, places where nightmares had started long before they ever came to the school. It was the kind of trauma that didn't just disappear with a warm bed and a safe place to stay. You could give them all the comfort in the world, but their pasts followed them into the dark, into dreams that twisted and turned until they had no choice but to wake up hearts pounding, wide-eyed in the middle of the night.
In truth, there wasn’t a single night at the mansion where someone wasn’t up after hours. The lights in the halls were dim, but they were always on for someone wandering the corridors in search of peace they couldn’t find in their own rooms. A glass of water, a late-night snack, or simply the quiet company of someone else who couldn’t sleep, it was an unspoken reality at Xavier’s. The house was rarely ever fully asleep.
Hank nodded thoughtfully, his sharp blue eyes softening as he absorbed Logan’s words. He, too, knew about the mansion’s undercurrent of insomnia. He’d walked the halls himself on more than one occasion, passing a student or a teammate whose eyes were bleary from restless nights.
"You’re right," Hank said, his voice low. "This place has more than its share of sleepless souls."
Logan gave Hank a humorless smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes, before turning to leave. "I’m okay, doc," he said, his voice a little softer now, though still rough around the edges. "Just gonna head up and get some rest."
He could feel the weight of their eyes on him as he turned his back, the concern lingering in the air like a thick fog.
Logan turned on the shower in the bathroom connected to his room. He turned it to the coldest temperature it would go, and with slow mechanical movements, he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the freezing stream. The shock of the cold water made him gasp, but he ignored it. He sank down to the bottom of the tub, curling up on his side, pulling his knees tightly to his chest and buried his face in his arms. The water began to spread the numbness on his skin, but the pain inside increased. It was the kind Logan knew no pain medicine could touch; it was too late into the cycle of agony. He should have left lunch at the first twinges, instead he’d stayed and ended up nearly spewing the truth out to the team.
His breath hitched as he kicked the lever with his heel, closing the drain. The water started to rise around him, pooling in the bottom of the tub and slowly climbing higher. The coldness crept over his legs, his torso, until it began to lap against his chest. Still, he didn’t move. The sensation dulled the sharpness of everything: his mind, his body, the lingering memories that clawed at him. But it wasn’t enough.
As the freezing water filled the tub, Logan squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, his body shivering uncontrollably now. The water reached his neck, then his chin, before finally submerging his head. His ears filled with the muffled sound of the water, and the world outside became distant and muted.
Beneath the surface, the cold was all-consuming, wrapping around him like an icy prison. Logan’s breath was caught in his chest, every instinct screaming at him to surface, to breathe, but he didn’t. Instead, he let the water close over him completely, its frigid embrace almost peaceful in its intensity. For a few brief moments, the icy numbness drowned out everything else.
Then, under the water, Logan took a deep breath in.