Chapter 3
Go back, Logan. You cannot stay here. The voice was gentle but firm, Logan was sure he knew the person speaking, but he couldn’t place them. He floated in an endless black abyss, cradled by the nothingness. He could see no one around him, but he could sense multiple presences.
Not yet. Please, just a little while longer. He begged back, desperate. There was a gentle brush against his forehead, and Logan felt tears build in his eyes.
Even if we could keep you here, we wouldn’t. You belong to a life beyond what we can offer, where your true worth far surpasses anything we could hold within our grasp. Go home, dear one.
Logan felt like he was falling and he opened his eyes, gasping. There was cold water already in his airway, and Logan surged up out of the bathtub, coughing and vomiting up the fluid that had sat stagnant in his lungs as he drifted away. His heart pounded hard in his chest, having kickstarted back up, healing factor dragging him back. Logan draped himself over the edge of the tub, coughing and slowly catching his breath. He shivered and smiled tiredly, body stiff and cold from the water, but the pain was lessened to almost nothing, only a slight ache in his bones. Drowning himself probably wasn’t the healthiest way to deal with his chronic pain, but sometimes Logan’s body needed a hard reset. He glanced at the clock on his wall; only twenty-two minutes since he’d turned on the water. That was probably around fifteen minutes he was out. If he wanted to, he could go back under and get some more rest. He didn’t have a class to teach for several more hours.
Logan knew he wouldn’t. It was dangerous to do this, not because he could stay dead; he never did. It was risky because a sudden mission could come in, or someone could be looking for Logan. Logan made sure he wasn’t needed before he drowned himself and tried to pick calm days when there was less likely to be a mission. One time, there had been a mission, and the alarm on his comm had gone off, but it was a tone Logan was so aware of in his mind that it immediately dragged him back from the abyss.
He shivered, but it was enough for now. It was enough. It had to be enough. It was never enough.
His head spun, and for a moment, he just stayed there, bent over the edge, his chest heaving with the effort of pulling air back into his lungs.
The room was still. His reflection stared back at him in the mirror, dripping, pale, haunted. His eyes, dark and sunken, told the story his team would never hear. He didn’t know how long he sat there in the cold bathroom, but the water had long since stopped feeling like relief and more like a reminder of how inescapable his reality was.
Logan let out a bitter laugh, low and humorless. Death meant nothing to him. There was no true escape, not for him.
He stood slowly, shivering and grabbed a towel and dried himself off, moving with mechanical efficiency. He dressed in clean clothes, the old ones dirty from his run in the forest; each movement was stiff but with the purpose of keeping his hands busy and his mind clear.
Logan didn’t bother looking at the mirror again as he stepped out of the bathroom. There was no need. He already knew what would be waiting for him in the glass, the same haunted eyes, the same shadowed face, a reflection of the beast lurking beneath his skin. Facing it wouldn’t change anything. The monster, and the pain of his body, were always there, etched into his very being, a constant presence that no amount of running, fighting, or drowning could ever escape. Staring at it would only be admitting what he already knew: the real battle was never outside; it was always within.
He headed for the door, pausing only briefly before opening it. The mansion was still bustling with life, the distant sounds of laughter and conversation drifting through the hallways. Logan’s hand lingered on the doorknob for a moment longer than necessary, the cold metal grounding him as he took a deep breath and stepped back into the world.
Logan could feel the weight of everything he carried, but for now, he would push it down. It was how he survived. For them, for the team, for the people he cared about, even if he wasn’t sure he deserved them.
He drew in another deep breath, his lungs still aching, but his body finally found a small measure of relief. Logan stepped out into the hallway, sunlight streaming through the large windows, casting bright streaks of light across the floor. He was hungry again.
Scott sat alone in the empty kitchen, the quiet settling in after everyone had grabbed their lunches and scattered. He stared at his untouched plate, not feeling much like eating. Logan’s words from half an hour ago still echoed in his mind. Human shield? Did Logan really believe that’s how the team saw him?
At first, the idea seemed ridiculous. Scott didn’t think of Logan that way; at least, he never consciously did. But the more he turned it over in his head, the more he could see the truth in it. Logan was always the first one sent in, the one Scott relied on to charge headfirst into danger. Logan was the litmus test for how tough their enemies were. And why? Because Logan would survive. If he got hurt, he’d heal. If he fell, he’d get back up.
Scott felt a weight settle in his chest. He hadn’t meant for it to be that way, but now, looking back, he could see how Logan might feel like nothing more than a weapon in their arsenal. Scott rubbed a hand over his face, frustration and guilt swirling inside him. He’d always thought of Logan as tough, resilient, the kind of person who could handle anything. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Logan could handle everything, so they’d let him. Scott had let him.
And now it had all come to a head.
Replaying this morning’s debriefing, Scott couldn’t help but flinch at the memory. When asked if anyone had been hurt, he’d answered automatically: No. At the time, it had felt like the truth. By the end of the mission, no one was bleeding or visibly broken. But that wasn’t the whole truth, and deep down, Scott knew it.
His mind flashed back to the mission. There was a moment, brief but seared into his memory, where he glanced over and saw Logan down on one knee, blood flowing freely from a deep wound in his chest. Logan had pressed a hand against the injury, breathing heavily as his healing factor did its work. Scott had moved to cover him without hesitation, keeping the enemies at bay while Logan recovered. But that was it. Once Logan was back on his feet, Scott hadn’t asked if he was alright. He hadn’t checked in afterward, hadn’t even considered whether Logan needed medical attention once they returned.
Because it was Logan, right? The Wolverine. He always got back up, always kept going. No one had thought twice about it. Sure, the man had a healing factor and couldn’t feel pain, but surely being brushed off like he always was had to be mentally taxing. Maybe he had justified it to himself by thinking Logan’s healing factor made him invincible. Maybe it had been easier to focus on the tactical side of things, where sending Logan in first made sense. But it didn’t change the fact that, intentionally or not, Logan had been treated like a tool, not a teammate.
Just as Scott was starting to get consumed by his thoughts, the very person occupying his mind strolled in, freshly showered, wearing clean clothes, and with damp hair. Logan didn’t say anything; he just raised an eyebrow at Scott as he rummaged through the fridge. Scott briefly tensed, half-expecting Logan to pull out more raw eggs. The thought alone made his stomach twist, but to his relief, Logan emerged empty-handed, frustration creasing his face.
Logan leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, casting a sideways glance at Scott. This was Scott’s chance, his perfect opportunity to apologize, to let Logan know he’d do better as team leader, to show him that he wasn’t just a tool but a valued part of the team.
“Out of eggs?” Scott blurted out instead. Coward.
Logan grunted a wordless acknowledgment before pushing himself away from the counter and heading toward the pantry. Scott followed, watching as Logan opened the deep freezer and began digging through it.
“Look, Logan, I… I just wanted to-”
“Ha!” Logan exclaimed triumphantly, pulling out a frozen trout from the depths of the freezer. Before Scott could get another word out, Logan bit through the frozen fish’s head with a loud, crunching sound that made Scott wince.
“Jesus, Logan! That’s disgusting!” Scott grimaced, covering his mouth as he watched Logan casually chew through the frozen fish scales, bones, and all. The sound echoed in the large pantry, sharp and unsettling. Scott backed away as Logan, unfazed, walked by him, still happily crunching through the frozen fish.
“You need to relax, Cyke,” Logan mumbled, or at least that’s what Scott was pretty sure he said; it was hard to tell around a mouthful of fish.
“You’re going to crack a tooth!” Scott shot back, his voice tinged with both disbelief and exasperation.
Logan just smirked, his toothy grin that somehow seemed even more disturbing with bits of fish sticking out, and shrugged. “Ain’t like I can’t grow it back,” he said after swallowing. “Besides, I’ve got a special tooth designed for this kind of stuff.”
Scott blinked, confused. “Special tooth?” he asked, his mind trying to process the bizarre statement.
Logan nodded, leaning back against the counter, clearly enjoying the baffled expression on Scott’s face. “Yeah. My back molars, top on both sides, are rotated ninety degrees inward. Makes it easier to break through tough stuff, like this fish. It’s one of the reasons my codename’s Wolverine. It’s a common Mustelidae trait.”
Scott stared at Logan, completely taken aback. Of all the things he’d expected to learn about Logan today, this wasn’t one of them. He’d always assumed Logan’s codename was just a nod to his demeanor, short, growly, with a set of claws to match. The fact that Logan shared an actual trait with the animal was both surprising and, for some reason, made him rethink everything he thought he knew about the man.
For a moment, Scott just stood there, processing. “Huh. I never thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head with a faint smile. “I just figured it was the claws and the attitude.”
Logan chuckled. “Well, those too,” he said, finishing the last of the trout with another loud crunch before tossing the fins into the trash.
Scott leaned against the counter, watching Logan finish his meal with a mixture of fascination and mild disgust. He still couldn’t get the image of Logan crunching through that frozen fish out of his head, but something else stuck with him, the ‘special tooth.’ The idea that Logan had actual physical traits similar to a wolverine hadn’t fully clicked until now.
“Do you have any other traits like that? Besides your, uh, special tooth?” Scott asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
Logan paused for a moment, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He raised an eyebrow as if considering whether to indulge Scott’s question. After a beat, he shrugged. “Yeah, a few. Not just wolverines, mind you. I share most of my. . . differences with wolverines, but I’ve got a few traits similar to wolves as well. I’m more of a beast than Beast it.” Logan said it with a chuckle, but something about his eyes made Scott feel uneasy.
Scott watched him for a moment. It was strange how a conversation about something as odd as Logan’s ‘special tooth’ had shifted the dynamic. Logan was more than his gruff exterior, and for once, Scott felt like he was seeing past the layers the man kept so carefully guarded. He couldn’t help but think about all the assumptions they’d made about him, how easy it was to forget that Logan was just as complex as anyone else, maybe more so.
Logan wiped his hands on a towel, his gaze flicking back to Scott with a knowing look. “Something on your mind, Slim?”
Scott hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, actually,” he admitted. “What you said earlier… about being a human shield. It’s been bothering me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Logan muttered, brushing it off. “I was tired, didn’t mean anything by it.”
But Scott wasn’t going to let it slide that easily. “No, I should worry about it. You’re right. I haven’t, we haven’t been treating you like part of the team. I didn’t even think about how we rely on you to take the hits, to charge in first every time.” He paused, the weight of his words hitting him as he spoke. “That’s not fair to you.”
“It’s fine,” Logan replied, his voice gruff, closing off the conversation with a shrug.
“It’s not fine, Logan! We-”
“Scott. Stop.”
Scott froze. It wasn’t just the fact that Logan had used his real name instead of one of his usual mocking nicknames. It was how he’d said it; deep, raw, his voice cracking like something barely held together. For a second, it sounded as though Logan was fighting back the start of something more, something vulnerable.
Scott shut his mouth so fast he bit his tongue. Logan stood there, staring at the floor, his shoulders tense, his posture defensive in a way that was rare for him. Scott could see the battle raging inside Logan’s mind, the tension in his stance more telling than anything.
“I don’t need an apology,” Logan said quietly, his voice rough, almost resigned. “I don’t want an apology. We all have a place on this team, and mine. . . is to be the spearhead.”
Scott opened his mouth again, ready to argue. “You’re not a tool, Logan-”
Logan cut him off, this time with a low, rumbling growl, a sound that seeped across to Scott and vibrated deep in his chest and forced him to stop mid-sentence. When Logan finally lifted his gaze, Scott’s breath caught in his throat. While Logan’s cheeks were dry, his eyes shone wetly. Scott realized, in that moment, he had pushed too far. In trying to make amends, he had crossed a line he hadn’t seen.
He had overstepped.
Logan turned to leave, giving Scott one last look, before he walked out of the room, leaving Scott alone in silence.