Chapter 8
Scott didn’t want to do this. He hated the idea of breaking the fragile trust he and Logan had spent years carefully building, but he wasn’t sure what other choice he had left. Logan had been gone for a month now and it was one of the longest months of Scott’s life. It wasn’t unusual for Logan to disappear for a while. He had his habits, his need for solitude, Scott had learned that the hard way over the years. When Logan first joined the team, Scott had hated the unpredictability of it. The long stretches of time where Logan would just vanish with no word, no warning. It had taken years for Logan to start leaving notes, quick, blunt messages pinned to the refrigerator, saying things like Gone hunting. Back in three days, and even longer for Logan to reach the point where he would actually tell someone where he was going and when he expected to be back.
It had been a slow process, painfully slow, but Scott had eventually learned to trust that Logan would come back.
Until now. Now he wasn’t sure if the man would ever come back.
At first, Scott had assumed Logan’s disappearance was in anger about the argument. One of the biggest they’d ever had. Maybe Logan just needed space to cool off. Honestly, Scott had needed some space too. They had fought before, heated, sharp-edged arguments that left bruises on their already tenuous relationship, but this one had felt different. Scott had moved too quickly in his plans, organizing the battle with clinical precision but this time placing Logan at the back of the formation instead of at the front where he always was. It had been a calculated choice; one Scott had agonized over for days before the emergency mission was called. Logan was always out front but this time Scott had him as backup, he’d thought it would be safer. Let someone else take the heat for a bit, show Logan they didn’t see him as a human shield. That was his first mistake.
But Logan had seen it differently.
Scott remembered the way Logan’s eyes had narrowed the moment he’d heard the plan. The way the man had looked at Scott with a flash of betrayal and hurt before he masked it behind anger.
Then Logan had torn open the plane’s door.
Scott had lunged toward him instinctively, his hand outstretched, but Logan was already gone, free-falling toward the rocky ground below. For a few terrible seconds, Scott had been frozen. His mouth had gone dry, his stomach had plummeted, and the sound of the wind rushing through the open door filled his ears like a deafening roar. He’d barely had the presence of mind to grab Jean before she jumped after Logan, her eyes wide and terrified.
It was worse when Logan hit the ground.
For one agonizing, terrifying second, Logan hadn’t moved.
Scott remembered the sickening sensation of standing at the open hatch, staring down in disbelief as Logan’s body accelerated toward the rocky soil below. His brain had screamed that Logan would survive; he always did. But his heart hadn’t listened.
Scott’s breath had seized in his throat as Logan hit the ground in a brutal impact. The sound of it, the sharp wet crack, had cut through the roar of the engines and the howling wind, turning Scott’s stomach to ice. Blood had splattered in wide arcs around Logan’s body as he tumbled across the uneven ground. His body rolled once, twice, and then stilled.
Completely still.
Jean’s telepathic screams had ripped through Scott’s mind, raw and jagged with panic. Her psychic presence had crashed against his mental walls, frantic and terrified. Scott’s knees had nearly buckled under the weight of her fear. Her grief had flooded through their bond like a physical thing, hot and suffocating, and for one horrible moment, he’d thought he was going to be sick.
He hadn’t been able to breathe. His mind had been blank.
He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead-
The mantra had taken over his mind, blotting out any rational thought. Scott’s knees had then given out beneath him. His grip on Jean’s arm loosened. He’d seen Jean’s face, wide eyes and pale, but it had felt distant. Faded. Like he was standing outside his own body, watching the scene unfold from far away. His mind had already spiraled ahead, cataloging the aftermath, the body retrieval, the funeral, the empty space Logan would leave behind.
Scott’s mouth had opened but no sound came out. His hands had shook. His chest had closed in. He hadn’t been able to breathe. He was falling. Falling-
And then Logan had moved.
He had stood, unsteady, but he was up. He’d waved Kurt away and began the mission as planned, switching places with Jean.
Logan was alive, but it had been with sudden sinking clarity that Scott realized one day Logan wasn’t going to get up.
And Scott would have to be the one to live with it.
Hot anger had surged beneath Scott’s ribs, hands curled into fists; jaw locked. He had been able to still feel the cold sweat sticking to his neck, the phantom echo of Jean’s terrified screams in his head. His heart had been hammering in the hollow of his chest. Logan had just dropped out of the fucking plane without warning, without a parachute, without any goddamn backup, and now he was storming into the Purifier’s camp.
Like Logan, when faced with any uncomfortable emotion, Scott turned it into anger. They were very much alike in that aspect, both wired to lash out when vulnerable, both more comfortable with rage than fear or grief.
So, after the mission, still burning with adrenaline and the raw sting of fear, Scott had sent Logan home. That was his second mistake of the day.
Hours later, after the team had cleaned up and the adrenaline had faded to exhaustion, Scott’s anger had cooled. Beneath it had been a raw, hollow feeling that he hadn’t want to name. Guilt. Concern. He’d wanted to apologize, to tell Logan that they could go over the mission another day, when the rush of it had gone completely and they weren’t both standing on the edge of their nerves. When Scott wasn’t still wound up so tight that every muscle in his body ached with the tension of it. He had just wanted to clear the air, to stop the fragile ground they’d managed to build beneath them from cracking apart entirely.
Only Logan hadn’t been there. Logan hadn’t been anywhere.
Logan’s comm had been on the floor by his dresser, having been dropped there. It had been laying at an odd angle and Scott had stared at it for a long moment before crossing the room and crouching down to pick it up. His hands had been shaking. The cold weight of the comm in his palm had sent a sharp spike of alarm through him. Logan never left without his comm. Even when he was angry or hurt, even when he wanted to disappear for a while, he always kept it with him. Just in case.
Scott’s mind had raced, jumping to the worst-case scenarios. Logan had been taken. Or attacked. Or worse.
“I’m setting off the emergency alert,” Scott had said, already reaching for his comm. His hand had hovered over the button, the one only used when the school was infiltrated or when a teammate was in life-threatening danger.
Jean’s hand had closed gently over his wrist.
“Scott.” Her voice had been steady, calm, even as her eyes had mirrored his alarm.
“He’s gone, Jean,” Scott’s voice had cracked as he’d fought back tears. “Something must have happened to him.”
“Or he left,” Jean’s reply had been soft.
“Logan wouldn’t-”
“You don’t know that.” She had brushed the edges of his mind, the softest touch, trying to keep him grounded. “Think rationally."
Scott’s hand had hovered over the button for another second, then two as he’d fought the instinct to press it. To pull everyone in, to raise the alarm, to search every inch of the grounds for Logan.
“I don’t like this,” Scott had murmured.
“I know.” Jean’s hand had lingered on his wrist for a moment longer before she’d released it. “But we need more information before we set off that kind of alarm.”
Scott had nodded stiffly, but the cold knot in his chest hadn’t eased.
Kurt. Kurt had been acting off since he’d gotten back from dropping Logan off at the mansion. There had been something strange about him, a subtle shift in his usually demeanor. And if Scott thought back, hadn’t Kurt left a few minutes after returning to the mission, only to return again later? During the ride back to the mansion, Kurt had avoided eye contact the entire time. That wasn’t normal. Kurt was one of the most attentive members of the team, when he was in the room, he was in the room. But then, his eyes had been distant, his mind clearly elsewhere.
Scott and Jean had gone straight to him after that. Kurt had been in his room, pacing as he rubbed his fingers over his rosary beads.
“Kurt,” Scott had said. “Where’s Logan?”
Kurt’s gaze had flicked away, his tail stilling. He’d fiddled with the rosary beads before setting them on the table with deliberate slowness.
“I don’t know,” Kurt had replied, but the slight hitch in his voice made Scott’s stomach drop.
“Nightcrawler.” Some of the team went exclusively by their aliases, others only did so during missions and training. Kurt was one of the ones who liked to go by his name. Using his alias had been Scott going into mission mode.
Jean had shot him a quick look, but Scott’s restraint had been hanging by a thread. His heart had been thundering in his ears, skin prickling with the aftermath of cold fear and dread.
“Kurt,” Scott had pleaded. “Where is he?”
Kurt’s expression had softened with something that might have been pity. “He’s safe,” he’d said, carefully.
“That’s not what I asked,” Scott had snapped.
“I know.” Kurt’s gaze had been steady, the familiar calmness had settled over his features.
Scott had felt sick. “Where?”
Kurt had sighed, shoulders dropping slightly.
“Logan cashed in a favor,” Kurt had said finally. His voice had been quiet but certain. “He asked me to take him somewhere. Somewhere private.”
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you. I promised him,” Kurt’s voice had been remorseful, but steady. “He asked me not to tell anyone.”
“That’s not good enough!” Scott’s voice had cracked and Kurt and Jean had both stepped forward to offer comfort.
“Scott,” Kurt had spoken gently, voice calm but unyielding. “He’s safe.”
Scott’s chest had tightened painfully. He’d wanted to push, wanted to demand. But Kurt had already made up his mind, and Logan had made his choice.
Jean had brushed against his mind again, but Scott had barely registered it. His head had been already spinning with possibilities. Logan was gone. Logan was out there somewhere, alone, and Scott had no idea where to start looking.
Which brought him back to now.
Scott, Jean, Kurt, and Ororo stood in front of Logan’s door, the quiet hum of the mansion around them feeling heavier than usual. The hallway’s familiar stillness was almost suffocating, pressing down on them as they stood there, unsure of what to do next.
Scott didn’t want to do this. He hated every second of it. Invading Logan’s privacy felt wrong, like crossing a line they couldn’t uncross. Logan was private, intensely so, and Scott knew that stepping over this boundary would have consequences. If Logan came back and found out they’d gone into his room, that they’d rifled through his things, he wouldn’t take it well. Scott could practically hear the growl already forming in Logan’s throat. The sharp flash of anger in his eyes. The accusation.
But it had been a month.
A month was the limit they’d agreed on, the amount of time they were willing to give Logan before they started looking for him. At the time, Scott had thought it was generous. Logan had disappeared for weeks before, but never this long. Never without warning. Never without at least a vague sense of when he’d be back.
Scott had agreed to the month-long deadline reluctantly. He’d wanted to go after Logan immediately. Every day Logan was gone had sat in Scott’s chest like a lead weight. But Kurt had insisted Logan was safe. Kurt had been so sure. And Scott, after a lot of arguing, had eventually relented.
But now the month was up. And Logan was still gone.
Kurt had made good on his word. Two days ago, Kurt had teleported them to the forest Logan had been dropped off at. A stretch of wilderness so remote Scott was pretty sure it didn’t even have a name. They’d searched the area for hours, combing through trees and brush, calling Logan’s name until their voices were hoarse. Logan was long gone.
Kurt had barely spoken in the two days since. Scott knew Kurt felt guilty. He might not have known Logan was going to disappear entirely, but he had helped him leave. He’d been part of it. And now Logan was gone, and none of them knew where he was or if he was safe.
So now they were standing here, in front of Logan’s door, trying to figure out what to do next.
Scott stood closest to the door, his hand hovering just shy of the handle. The wood under his palm was worn smooth from years of use. Scott knew Logan’s room was surprisingly neat inside, simple and sparce, but carefully maintained. Logan didn’t hoard things. He had a few personal items, a weathered leather jacket, an old hunting knife, a collection of yellowed paperback books, but beyond that, his space was practically spartan. The only thing Logan seemed to truly value was his privacy.
Scott’s hand hovered there, unable to close the gap between his skin and the cool metal of the handle.
“We need to look,” Jean said softly, her voice barely more than a breath.
Scott’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look at her. He could feel her presence in his mind, just beneath the surface, a quiet hum of warmth and concern. She wasn’t pushing, but he knew what she was thinking. Jean was worried.
“If we do this,” Scott said slowly, “there’s no going back.”
Jean stepped closer, until Scott could feel the faint heat of her arm against his. “We’ve already crossed that line,” she whispered. Scott closed his eyes for a brief moment. He hated that she was right.
“Maybe he left something,” Ororo said from behind them. Her voice was calm, steady, the same way it always was in the middle of a storm. She was standing slightly apart from the others, arms crossed loosely over her chest, her gaze sharp and thoughtful. “If Logan’s in trouble, this might be our only chance to help him.”
Scott exhaled through his nose. His hand flexed near the door handle.
Kurt was the only one who hadn’t spoken. He stood a little behind Ororo, his golden eyes low, his tail curled close to his side. His hands were clasped in front of him. He hadn’t moved since they’d arrived.
Scott turned toward him. “Kurt,” he said carefully. “You know Logan better than any of us. Would he want us to do this?”
Kurt’s eyes lifted slowly. He hesitated and Scott felt his stomach tighten.
“No,” Kurt said at last. His voice was quiet. “He wouldn’t want you to.”
Scott’s chest clenched. “Then why aren’t you stopping us?”
Kurt’s mouth pressed into a thin line. His tail twitched. His gaze drifted toward the door and for a moment, Scott thought Kurt wasn’t going to answer.
Finally, Kurt’s shoulders sagged. “Because Logan needs you.”
That was it, then. He’d known all along. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself. Logan was gone.
And now it was up to Scott to bring him back.
Scott’s hand closed around the door handle and pushed the door open. The room was just as it was last time he’d seen it. Logan usually didn’t have a problem with any of the adults going into his room when he wasn’t there, but he was protective of his stuff. And now they were going to break any trust Logan had in them by going through it.
Jean moved around Scott, her steps swift but controlled, her expression tightening with quiet focus. Scott stood frozen in the doorway, his mind caught between the weight of hesitation and the pressing need to do something, anything, to find answers. He watched as Jean made her way toward the small walk-in closet, brushing past him without a word. Her shoulders were set with that sharp determination she always carried during missions, but Scott knew her well enough to sense the tension beneath it.
Ororo was already at the dresser, her slender fingers skimming over the surface of the wood before she pulled open the first drawer. She sifted through its contents with methodical precision, her eyes sharp and calculating, the way they always were when the team was handling delicate fieldwork.
Kurt moved toward the bathroom, disappearing inside without a sound. Scott could hear the faint noise of him opening the medicine cabinet, the soft rustling of bottles and toiletries as he searched for any clue about where Logan might have gone.
Scott sighed and forced himself to move. His feet felt heavy as he crossed the room toward Logan’s bed. Scott crouched beside the bed, peering beneath it. A single, battered box sat pushed back against the far wall. Scott reached for it and pulled it out, the worn cardboard edges rough beneath his fingertips. He settled the box in his lap and opened it carefully.
Inside was an old leather jacket, cracked and weathered from years of use. Scott’s brow furrowed as he brushed his fingers over the worn sleeves. The leather was soft, pliant from years of wear, and the faint scent of tobacco still clung to it. Beneath the jacket were several folded shirts, old flannel, threadbare T-shirts that were faded almost to gray. Scott lifted one of them, feeling the thinness of the fabric, the fraying edges of the sleeves. Clothes that were long past usefulness, but Logan had kept them anyways.
Scott’s chest tightened. Logan didn’t keep much. If he’d held onto these, it was because they meant something.
He replaced the contents of the box carefully, sliding it back under the bed, and straightened. His eyes drifted toward the mattress. He hesitated for a moment, then pulled the edge of it up. His face flushed immediately at the sight of two worn magazines tucked between the mattress and the bedframe.
Playboy and Playgirl.
Scott coughed and looked away, face burning, then carefully slid the mattress back into place. Not exactly a shocking discovery, well maybe the playgirl was a bit of a shock, but it wasn’t exactly what he was looking for either. He shook his head, forcing himself to refocus.
Moving toward the nightstand, Scott pulled open the top drawer. At first, his gaze skimmed over the contents without registering them, a couple of loose receipts, a small switchblade, a battered metal lighter, and a dog-eared paperback novel with the cover worn thin from use. But beneath it all, resting against the polished wood, was something else.
Scott frowned. It looked like a mouth guard. The kind boxers or football players wore, molded to the shape of the mouth, designed to protect the teeth from impact. But this one was different.
Scott picked it up, surprised at the weight. It was heavier than it had any right to be, solid metal, smooth and dark with a faint sheen beneath the room’s soft lighting. He turned it over in his hands, feeling the cold bite of the material against his fingers. It wasn’t the weight or the design that unsettled him the most, though. It was the hooks.
There were two pieces, top and bottom, welded together with precision. The hooks were long and sharp, curving inward from both the top and bottom. They weren’t decorative, or even just uncomfortable. They were designed to dig in. The angles were brutal, calculated to pierce soft tissue and sink deep into the gums if someone actually wore this thing. Scott winced just imagining it. The hooks would bite down on the wearer’s mouth, locking into place, the sharp ends piercing flesh and holding fast.
He pressed his thumb to one of the hooks, testing the sharpness. It was almost surgical, the kind of sharpness that could easily break skin with the slightest pressure. Why would Logan have something like this?
It wasn’t for protection; Logan didn’t need a mouth guard. Even if his teeth were knocked out, they’d grow back. His healing factor would fix any damage long before it could become a problem. No, this was something else. Something darker.
Scott turned it over again, his heart dropping. It was a gag.
“Scott?” Jean’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, quiet and sharp with tension. His feelings must have bled over their bond and she was drawn in by his anxiety.
Scott didn’t look up. His eyes were locked on the mouth guard. His grip tightened as the implications of it settled in his chest like a weight.
“This. . .” his voice trailed off, low and cold.
Jean was at his side in an instant. Her eyes narrowed as she examined the object in his hands, her brow furrowing.
“What is it?” Ororo asked as she stepped up next to them, Kurt looking over their shoulders.
Scott held it up, his jaw tightening as the hooks caught the light.
“It’s a muzzle,” Scott said grimly.
Kurt’s brow furrowed. “A muzzle?”
“Think about it,” Scott said, his tone hard. “The hooks. The way it’s designed to clamp down. If someone was wearing this, the hooks would pierce their gums, hold them in place. They wouldn’t be able to open their mouth without tearing themselves apart.”
Jean’s face paled. She took the guard from Scott with shaking hands and turned it over carefully, studying the hooks and the sharp edges. Her eyes darkened as she connected the same dots Scott had.
“Why would Logan need something like this?” she whispered.
Scott’s mouth twisted into a grim line. He remembered the first night Logan had stayed in the mansion. They’d all heard his whimpers and cries, but he wasn’t the only one to suffer from nightmares and it was a common curtesy to leave others alone unless they asked for help. It wasn’t until Logan was screaming for help that they’d all rushed to his room. Only to find Rogue healing herself and Logan seizing as her powers sapped his away.
Scott’s gaze sharpened. “It’s to stop himself from screaming.”
Jean’s head snapped toward him. “What?”
“His first night here. The nightmares. It drew Maria in, and she got hurt. Have any of you heard Logan have a nightmare since? Because I haven’t. He must have had this made soon after so he wouldn’t make noise in his sleep. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, so he made sure he stayed quiet.”
Scott saw it in his mind, Logan grabbing the torturous metal device from his bedside drawer, tilting his head back slightly, baring his teeth as he positioned the mouth guard.
Then the hooks.
Scott’s stomach turned.
He pictured Logan pressing the guard into place, the hooks curving inward, catching soft flesh. Piercing the gumline. The sharp little crunch of tissue giving way. Jean flinched next to him, dropping the mouth guard in horror and disgust. It bounced onto the covers of the bed and sat there, gleaming in the light of the room. Scott sent her a soft mental apology, not realizing he’d accidentally been broadcasting the imagined scenario over their bond.
Ororo picked up the mouth guard, looking down at it in sorrow. “Logan found a way to scream without sound.”
Kurt’s breath hitched, soft and sharp in the quiet. A faint sniffle escaped him, betraying his heartbreaking emotions. His golden eyes shimmered faintly in the light and within the blink of an eye, Kurt vanished in a burst of sulfur and smoke. The faint scent lingering in the air.
Scott stared at the empty space where his friend had been. He wasn’t sure where Kurt had gone. Maybe he’d teleported somewhere private, a quiet spot in the chapel or the roof where he could breathe without eyes on him, maybe whisper a prayer with shaking hands and closed eyes. Or maybe he’d gone back out into the wilderness, retracing old steps, hoping that Logan might have doubled back. That there might still be a trail, a sign, a shadow of him.
Scott didn’t know. He didn’t know where Kurt had gone, or if Logan was ever coming back. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do next.
He felt untethered, like someone had cut the line that anchored him to everything he understood. The certainty he’d once worn like armor had cracked, and now there was just this gnawing sense of helplessness hollowing him out.