Scott knocked on door frames.
Hank was blue, grass was green, and Scott Summers had to knock on every door frame he walked through with his left hand’s index finger ever since Jean died.
Logan knew this. He was more gentle with Scott now, letting the little things go. It wasn’t a natural instinct, he had to work on it. But it had paid off, because he and Scott had been… good. They sat with each other at night in the library, teased each other in the mornings.
So Logan didn’t care about the little things.
The knocking on door frames, the sitting with his right leg always under him, the abruptly moving things or walking to go touch something, before resuming his position.
But it was Scott. Scott who was more hesitant now, Scott who paused before walking down the stairs, Scott who knocked on door frames.
If he was coming in the kitchen, he announced himself, tap-tap, coming into Logan’s room to either bully each other for half an hour or have an impromptu therapy session, tap-tap, following Charles as he rolled and talked, distant tap-taps as they went.
And it was fine. Scott was fine, Logan was fine. If a new person to the school tried to complain, Logan cuffed them (how easy he went depended on how harsh they were about it). In his mind, if you don’t have a problem with a mutation, fuckoff about a little habit. It was just Scott.
It almost cost them.
Stealth missions weren’t normally Logan’s thing. He jumped in, fucked shit up (or got his shit fucked up), and he was on his way. The only difference was how much pain he’d be in. This time, it was important. Some anti-mutation substance, similar to the Cure, was being made. Tested on mutant kids, and allegedly this close (Hank had his thumb and forefinger nearly together), to being finished. ‘Finished’ being, essentially poison.
So they were gonna fuck shit up, and release mutants.
Somethingsomething deja vu.
Scott sat in the back of the jet the whole time, jaw clenched as he stared at the front where Ororo flew the plane. Logan sat beside him while Kitty and Marie talked his ear off on the other side.
Scott held the loose material of Logan’s sleeve on the way there.
After a surprisingly easy break through a main bay door, they slid through the side door of the main holding warehouse. Logan first, Ororo second, Scott third-
Tap-tap.
The metal doorframe.
“Hit the deck!” Ororo yelled.
Scott froze.
Logan dove for Scott’s legs, and Ororo dropped just as bullets sprayed above their heads. He was too late. Scott cried out as a bullet lodged itself in his shoulder.
“Oh, shit,” Logan grunted, dragging Scott behind an empty shelf, pulling him against his chest.
“Cover us!” he screamed, praying to whateverthefuck that someone heard him.
Thunder cracked through the building, and a flash of light brought the smell of burning flesh. Logan pushed Scott onto the ground for a moment, focussing on Scott’s right side, trying to look at his shoulder.
Scott yelled when Logan attempted to shift him, shoving him off with one hand. Logan huffed out a sigh, easily tossing it off of him.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Scott was muttering under his breath, gritting his teeth against grunts of pain.
Logan shook his head absently, starting to put pressure on the place he could clearly see dark, sticky blood starting to soak through his suit. Not good. Not good, not good, not good.
“Don’t be sorry, Slim, quit your yappin’,” he scoffed, trying to hide his anxiousness. He needed to get him to Medical as soon as possible.
Scott winced at the pressure when Logan pushed down again.
“I am, though. Sorry,” his voice cracked, and his good hand came up to grip Logan’s forearm. Logan shook his head.
“Shush. Ororo and Hank are gonna be fine, and we’re all goin’ home together,” Logan soothed, swallowing hard.
Scott finally fully looked at him, red glasses glinting in the dim lighting. “S’my fault, I knocked on the door-“ he grunted, his hand moving up to grip on Logan’s bicep. He yelled out and gritted his teeth together, tossing his head back as Logan pressed harder.
He shook his head, watching blood pool out around his hand in horror, more blood than what was supposed to be out there.
“Scott, stoppit,” he snapped, almost blankly, distracted and terrified for a moment, watching the blood running everywhere but inside Scott’s body. Where he was pretty sure it was supposed to be.
He was used to blood. Blood was everywhere Logan was for a hundred years. Death followed blood, blood followed Logan.
Simple.
It was different now for some inexplicable reason. Blood from someone he cared about was the same amount of common. It had every other time, slipping in behind Logan before he could close the door, but not this time. It couldn’t. If Scott fuckingdied, if the person he cared about this time-
God, he wasn’t going to be a bitch about this, Scott needed help.
Logan tapped into the comms.
“Hank!”
His voice cracked a bit, and he coughed to cover it.
There was a loud static noise before Hank’s voice came clearly through, out of breath, but clear.
“Fuck- what? What’s wrong?” Hank demanded, low grunts and gusts of wind interrupting him.
There was more blood-
“Hank, Scott’s hurt, it’s bad!” Logan bellowed, watching Scott as he started to hyperventilate. Logan was worrying him, scaring him.
“Scott, stoppit,” he spoke quietly, trying not to let it pick up on comms as he repeated his previous demands. Logan’s free hand came up to bring hair away from Scott’s brow as he soothed. They were both sweating, Logan pushed a stray bead of sweat absently away from its path to Scott’s goggles.
“Sorry,” Scott whispered, breath slowing a bit to comply.
“That’s it, you’re ok,” Logan responded with a deep breath on his own part.
“I’m sending Kitty with first aid! She’s in the jet now, she’ll be there ASAP,” Hank yelled through the comms.
“Copy,” Logan answered quickly, pressing harder against Scott’s shoulder, desperately trying to stem the bleeding more.
“I’m sorry,” Scott half-hiccupped, fingers tensing and relaxing on Logan’s arm.
“If you don’t stop apologisin’ I’m tellin’ Hank youre the one who fucked up the karaoke machine,” he half-threatened Scott quietly, moving the hand not holding the bullet wound to hold the side of his jaw, forcing Scott to look at him.
A smile twitched across Scott’s lips. His head tipped into his hand. “‘Kay. Sorry,” he panted, letting out a low groan of pain against Logan’s palm.
“Shut the fuck up,” Logan responded, blinking away the burning sensation behind his eyes as he absently rubbed his thumb against Scott’s cheekbone.
“Mhm.” Scott agreed, pressing into the hand again.
Logan swallowed hard, and waited for Kitty.
Scott’s right arm was in a sling to keep him from fucking around. He’d lost a lot of blood, and Kitty had only managed to get in just before Scott passed out. She’d nearly cried when they got back to the mansion and Logan had awkwardly patted her on the shoulder, watching Hank carry Scott to Medical on a stretcher with Ororo’s help
Kitty had looked up at Logan with big teary hazel eyes, and apologised in that little voice teenagers did when they knew they’d seriously fucked up. Logan had shook his head, telling her not to worry about it. He didn’t escape without her tight hug.
But for now Scott was left in a Medical bed, and Logan was there too.
He was like a particularly clingy guard dog, sitting diligently by the bed, sleeping there most nights, and, surprisingly, following the rules. If he needed a smoke, he went outside to do it, and came back in with his clothes changed. He stayed there the whole twenty six hours that Scott was unconscious.
After that, Logan was sent to his own room at Hank’s insistence, and fully passed out on his bed, a surface that, finally, wasn’t a plastic chair. When he woke up a solid day later, it was nearly midday, and he could hear someone moving in the hallway. Logan listened intently, only hearing footsteps against the carpet. It wasn’t uncommon, there were rows of bedrooms on this floor.
He was about to doze off again, unconcerned, when his door opened slowly, and he blinked his eyes open blearily. As whoever it was walked in-
Tap-tap.
Logan sat up on his elbow and whipped around as quickly as he could, blinking away the sleep in his eyes.
Scott was there.
His hair was sticking up from passing out for a few days, he had his one hand in his pockets and he was dressed in sweatpants and a sweater that was a size too big, while a bandage peeked out of the neckline on the injured side that hung in a sling.
“Hi,” Scott greeted quietly.
Logan hauled himself off his bed, clearing the room faster than he should’ve been able to, and pulled Scott into a tight hug. Scott seemed shocked, hesitating when Logan pressed his face into his uninjured shoulder. He smelled like the Medical bay, laundry detergent, and something floral, probably shampoo.
“Don’t do that,” Logan muttered, slightly muffled by the material of Scott’s sweatshirt. He buried his fingers in the soft material, breathing in the smell as he closed his eyes.
“Do what?” Scott asked, slowly winding his good arm around Logan’s shoulder.
“Make me worry,” was the grunted response as Logan’s grip tightened slightly and he reopened his eyes.
For once in his life, Logan hadn’t fucked it up.
Scott pressed his face into Logan’s hair.
“Sorry.”
“I swear to god, Slim,” Logan muttered, looking up at him as he leaned away. It was a split second decision, Scott had just fixed this shit-eating grin on his face, his hair was fucked, he was looking slightly down to meet his eyes- and Logan kissed him.
He might have to go back on the whole ‘fucked it up’ thing, Scott didn’t kiss back, just stood rigidly in shock. The kiss lasted for all of two seconds, before Logan shoved his face back into the crook of Scott’s neck and shoulder.
Scott seemed frozen.
Fuck.
“Logan?” Scott asked hesitantly.
“What?” Logan responded gruffly, closing his eyes again.
He mentally took a look at his options. He probably couldn’t gaslight Scott into thinking he didn’t just kiss him. Well, maybe he could. Depending on what Scott said next. Running was fucking stupid. Scott was warm, and Logan had woken up about twenty seconds ago. Owning it was going to be embarrassing. Really, it was all dependent on whatever Slim said ne-
“Did you do that on purpose?”
Logan scoffed, taken off guard. What the fuck kind of question is that?
“No, Scotty, I kissed you and it was an accident.”
He was sort of digging his own grave, but that was a stupid fucking question, so it was getting a stupid fucking answer.
No, I lost my balance and my mouth fell onto your mouth. Whoops. What was he supposed to say to that?
“Oh,” Scott responded in a small voice. “Well-”
Logan looked back up at him, opening his eyes. They were both drenched in sunlight, making the red of Scott’s glasses even brighter. His lips were parted slightly, brow wrinkled. He was studying Logan with a confused look, seemingly about to say something.
“God, for someone so smart, you’re actin’ like a dumbass,” Logan huffed, and kissed him again.
Scott kissed back this time.