Scars of Time Chapter Three: (Don't Fear) The Reaper
Summary: In which you and Logan meet the X-Men.
Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Mutant!Reader
Category: Fluff, Angst
Content Warnings: Canon-typical violence, arguing, use of Y/N
Word Count: 5.3k
Song… (Don't Fear) The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult
Mars speaks… hey… it’s been a while😅 picked this song cause i couldn’t think of anything else that would fit this lmao
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2000
The road stretched endlessly ahead, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through the wilderness. Logan gripped the wheel of his truck, eyes focused on the horizon, while you sat beside him, your hand resting lightly on his thigh. It had been three years since that night in the bar, and in that time, your lives had become a shared journey through the vast, ever-changing landscape of North America.
In those three years, you'd weathered countless miles together, each town a fleeting chapter in your story. From the initial sparks of connection, your relationship had deepened into something profound and steady. You’d grown accustomed to the life of constant movement, of nights spent in dingy motels and mornings starting with the scent of gasoline and cigars. Each stop had its own rhythm, its own set of challenges and triumphs, but through it all, you and Logan had found a rhythm of your own.
You'd learned to navigate his world of violence and seclusion with a blend of tenderness and resilience. The nights after his fights were always a mix of adrenaline and intimacy, where the rough edges of his life softened in the glow of your presence. You’d watched him slowly let down the walls he’d built around himself, revealing glimpses of vulnerability that were rare and precious.
Despite the unsteady nature of your life, there was a comforting familiarity in your days together. The way he would glance at you from the driver's seat, the way his laughter would break through the silence of the truck's cab—these were the moments that anchored you, making the chaos of your travels feel almost like home.
But as you settled into this routine, you couldn’t help but feel a lingering restlessness. The sense of always being on the run, the uncertainty of where you’d end up next, gnawed at you. You had found something enduring with Logan, a love that made the dark moments lighter, but there was an unspoken longing for a place where you could both put down roots, a place where the endless road could finally come to an end.
“Where are we headed next?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you.
Logan glanced at you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Got a gig lined up in Laughlin City. Figured I’d make a little cash.”
You sighed, knowing exactly what that meant. “Another fight?”
Logan’s smirk faded, replaced by a look of mild irritation. “It’s easy money, Y/N.”
You turned to face him, concern etched in your features. “Logan, you don’t need to do this. We don’t need the money that bad.”
“I don’t get hurt,” he countered, his tone defensive. “You know that.”
“I know,” you admitted, your voice softening. “But it’s not about that. I don’t like seeing you in that ring, taking hits just for a few bucks. It… it feels wrong. And I—”
“Y/N, I’m fine,” Logan interrupted, though his tone lacked its usual gruffness. “I can handle it.”
You reached out and placed your hand over his, squeezing gently. “I know you can. But I love you, Logan. And it scares me, watching you fight like that. Even if you don’t get hurt, I don’t want you to keep doing it.”
Logan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening. He didn’t respond, but the tension in his jaw told you he was listening.
The crowd roared, their shouts echoing off the grimy walls of the underground arena, but for you, the noise faded into a distant hum. Your eyes were fixed on Logan in the ring, the harsh lights casting deep shadows across his face. The man he was fighting was relentless, landing blow after brutal blow, and every strike seemed to land with a sickening thud. Each punch, each slam, was like a knife twisting in your heart. You clenched your fists, your knuckles turning white, as you watched Logan take hit after hit, his normally stoic expression faltering with each brutal impact. The sight of him, battered and bloodied, made it hard to breathe, your worry intensifying with every second he remained in the ring.
As Logan endured the relentless assault, your silent pleas became a quiet mantra in the chaos of the arena. Your eyes never left him, and in the midst of the pounding fists and frenzied crowd, you found yourself whispering, “Come on, Logan. Fight back. You can do it.” Despite the roar of the spectators, your voice, though soft, cut through the din, reaching him clearly thanks to his heightened senses.
Logan’s head snapped in your direction, catching the unwavering support in your eyes. A spark ignited in him, and he straightened, shaking off the disorientation from the pounding he’d endured. With a fierce growl, he shifted gears, his movements swift and precise. The change was instantaneous; where he had been a punching bag, he now became a whirlwind of fury. With a series of powerful strikes and calculated blows, Logan took control, swiftly and decisively turning the tide of the fight. The crowd’s cheers grew louder as the man crumpled under Logan’s relentless assault, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding.
After the fight, the crowd had mostly dispersed, leaving the area around the cage quiet and littered with the aftermath of the night’s events. Logan emerged from the cage, his chest glistening with sweat and a satisfied, albeit weary, expression on his face. He made his way over to where you were waiting, arms crossed, your eyes tracking his every move with a mix of concern and annoyance.
You approached him as he reached you, handing him his clothes with a sigh. “Here you go,” you said, your voice carrying a hint of frustration. “You know I hate seeing you like this.”
Logan took the clothes from you, pulling his shirt over his head and slipping into the jacket. He met your gaze with a look of regret. “I know, Y/N. I’m sorry.”
You gave him a soft but resigned smile. “I love you.”
He managed a small smile in return, though the guilt in his eyes was evident. “I love you too, darlin'. Now come on, I need a beer.”
You both walked across the dimly lit room to the bar. Logan’s heavy steps were matched by your lighter ones, the silence between you filled with unspoken understanding.
As the two of you sat down on the bar stools, Logan spoke, "I'll have a beer and…"
“I’ll just have some water, please,” you added.
Logan pulled out some cash as he took a drag of his cigar. The bartender quickly brought over your drinks before turning to get Logan’s change. As the TV played the news, you couldn’t help but glance over at the only other person sitting at the bar, a girl.
“Ellis Island… opening its doors again… Preparations are nearly completed for the upcoming United Nations World Summit… The leaders of over 200 nations will discuss issues ranging from… to the mutant phenomenon…”
The last few words spoken by the news reporter caught both your and Logan’s attention. You noticed the girl perk up at those words before turning her head toward you as if she thought you were onto her for some reason. You squinted your eyes as you made eye contact with her.
The sound of footsteps approaching and a tap on Logan’s shoulder caused the two of you to turn around.
“You owe me some money,” the man from Logan’s last fight said. His friend tried to get him to walk away, but he quickly brushed him off.
“No man takes a beating like that without a mark to show for it.”
He shrugged his friend off again and leaned in to whisper in Logan’s ear.
“I know what you are.”
Logan turned his head. “You lost your money. You keep this up, you’ll lose something else.”
The man began to walk away but quickly turned back around with a knife.
“Look out!” the girl shouted.
“Logan!”
Logan turned and pinned the guy. His claws extended on both sides of the man’s neck, the middle claw slowly inching toward his throat.
“Get out of my bar, freak,” the bartender said, cocking his shotgun at the back of Logan's head. In one swift motion, Logan sliced through the shotgun, sending gunpowder and debris flying everywhere.
He growled, glancing between the bartender, the man, and the girl.
“Logan, let’s go,” you said sternly. His claws retracted as he looked into your eyes. You nodded toward the exit before moving to leave. You made eye contact with the girl one last time as Logan followed you out. The weight of their gazes lingered on the two of you as you left the barn-like building.
The truck’s engine rumbled softly as it idled, parked in the dimly lit lot beside the bar. The cool night air seeped through the slightly open windows, mingling with the lingering tension from the night’s events. Logan climbed into the driver’s seat, his movements a bit jerky as he tried to shake off the adrenaline still coursing through him.
You followed him into the truck, the door shutting behind you with a heavy thud. You glanced at him, noting the way his fingers clenched the steering wheel as if trying to ground himself. He glanced over, a hint of defensiveness in his eyes.
“What the hell was that back there?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the frustration bubbling under the surface. “You didn’t need to escalate things like that.”
Logan scoffed, and he shot you a look of irritation. “I escalated things? He was the one who pulled a knife on me, Y/N. I was just defending myself.”
You took a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. “I get that he had a knife, but you didn’t need to go to the extreme. You could’ve handled it differently.”
Logan's expression shifted, the frustration in his eyes mingling with something softer. “What do you want me to do? Let him stab me? I was protecting us.”
You moved closer, placing your hands gently over his. “It’s not just about the fight. It’s about how it affects you. I don’t like seeing you like this—having to fight and getting into these kinds of situations.”
Logan's shoulders slumped slightly, and he looked down at his hands, where the claws had retracted. You could see the residual tension in his grip, a reminder of the struggle that had just occurred.
“Let me help,” you said softly, your voice soothing as you began to heal the lingering pain in his hands, your hands emitting a soft glow. The warmth of your touch seemed to bring a sense of calm, even if the emotional strain was still there.
Logan closed his eyes for a moment, the discomfort easing as your healing ability worked its magic. When he finally met your gaze again, his eyes held a mix of appreciation and regret. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just… sometimes I feel like I need to prove something, to show that I’m still in control.”
You shook your head, a gentle smile on your lips despite the frustration still simmering. “You don’t need to prove anything to me, Logan. I just want you safe. You mean too much to me to see you getting hurt like this.”
Logan’s gaze softened, and he gave you a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more careful.”
You nodded, giving his hands a final reassuring squeeze before pulling back. “That’s all I ask.”
With a sigh, Logan turned the key in the ignition, and the truck’s engine roared to life. As he drove away from the bar, the silence between you was filled with a quiet understanding, the night’s events slowly giving way to the comforting routine of being together.
Logan slowed the truck, his sharp eyes narrowing at the sound of a thudding noise coming from the trailer behind. The faint echo reverberated through the night, unsettling the quiet rhythm of the drive.
“Stay here,” he muttered, his voice low and commanding, the unspoken edge of protectiveness familiar to you by now.
You nodded, not arguing, even though you hated being left in the dark. His hand briefly brushed yours as he reached for the door handle, a silent reassurance before he stepped out, disappearing into the shadows. Alone in the truck, you strained to listen. Muffled voices reached you, Logan's gruff tone unmistakable.
Moments later, the truck door swung open, and Logan climbed back inside, his movements abrupt. The slam of the door jolted the quiet atmosphere, making you raise an eyebrow at him.
“No, you didn’t,” he growled, his face set in a tight scowl.
You shot him a look, silently asking for an explanation. Logan sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair. His frustration hung heavy in the air.
“Just some kid tryin’ to hitch a ride,” he muttered, but you caught the tension in his voice, a hint of something deeper.
You exchanged a glance with him, silently asking really? Before you could press him further, the truck lurched to a stop again. Logan avoided your gaze for a second before the passenger door opened, and a familiar face climbed in—the girl from the bar.
You shifted in your seat, sliding closer to Logan to make room for her. He grumbled under his breath, but didn’t protest. His arm brushed yours, a subtle reminder of the space you two shared—close and protective, even in moments like these.
With a soft smile, you reached into the glove box, pulling out a granola bar. “Figured you might be hungry,” you said, handing it to her.
The girl looked surprised at the kindness, her guarded expression faltering. “Thanks,” she mumbled, quickly taking off her gloves and devouring the snack.
“I’m Rogue,” she said after a moment, her voice tentative but grateful.
“Y/N,” you replied, your tone friendly. “Nice to meet you.”
You offered her a reassuring smile, sensing the weight she carried behind her eyes. She glanced over at Logan, then at you, as if trying to piece together your relationship. When she noticed Logan's dog tags around his neck, her curiosity won out.
“Were you in the army?” she asked, her voice soft but direct. “Don’t those mean you were in the army?”
Logan’s face hardened instantly, and without a word, he tucked the tags back under his shirt. You reached over and lightly touched his arm, grounding him. He didn’t say anything, but the tension in his shoulders eased at your touch. You had that effect on him—an unspoken comfort.
Rogue looked around the truck, her eyes sweeping over the worn seats, the cluttered dashboard, the makeshift home you'd both created on the road. "Wow," she murmured, her voice filled with a mix of wonder and disbelief.
“What?” you and Logan asked in unison, making her pause.
“Suddenly, my life doesn’t look so bad,” she said bluntly, though there was no malice in her tone, just raw honesty.
You scoffed lightly at her words, but it was more amused than offended. “Hey, if you prefer the road…”
“No, no!” Rogue quickly shook her head, her cheeks flushing slightly. “It looks great. Cozy, even.”
You noticed her rubbing her hands together, trying to warm them. Without a second thought, you turned the heater on and gestured towards the vents. “Here, put your hands by the heater,” you suggested warmly, moving to help her.
She recoiled instantly, her body language suddenly tense. “It’s nothing personal,” she explained hurriedly, slipping her gloves back on. “It’s just… when people touch my skin, something happens.”
You furrowed your brow in concern, your curiosity piqued. “What kind of something?” you asked softly.
“I don’t know,” Rogue admitted, her voice quieter now. “They just get hurt.”
There was a heavy silence, only broken by Logan's low voice. “Fair enough,” he grunted, taking a drag from his cigar as he gripped the wheel.
“When they come out, does it hurt?” Rogue asked, her gaze shifting to Logan’s hands.
“Every time,” Logan responded gruffly, but his hand reflexively tightened under yours. You glanced at Logan, noticing his usual stoic expression falter for just a second. You placed your hand gently on his thigh, offering comfort. He didn’t flinch—your touch was something that always calmed him. Even after all this time, you knew the pain he felt from his claws coming out lingered, not just physically, but deep in his mind. You squeezed his thigh gently, silently reminding him he wasn’t alone in this.
“So… what kind of name is Rogue?” Logan asked after a beat, clearly trying to shift the conversation.
Rogue smiled faintly, catching on. “I don’t know. What kind of name is Wolverine?”
You let out a soft laugh before speaking up. “His name is Logan,” you teased, giving Logan a playful nudge. He rolled his eyes but the corners of his mouth twitched slightly, betraying his amusement.
Rogue’s curiosity didn’t stop there. “Marie,” she said, introducing herself. “Are you like us? Why don’t you have a code name?”
You shrugged, glancing out the window as the road stretched endlessly ahead. “Yeah, I can heal people,” you said, a bit casually. “But I guess I’ve never really had a reason to come up with one.”
Rogue seemed to take a liking to you, her smile warmer now. “You should think of one. Something cool.”
“I’ll let ya know when I do,” you smiled back at her, then turned to Logan, who was watching the exchange silently. There was something unspoken between the three of you now—a connection. Maybe not a family, but something close enough to survive the road ahead.
“You know, you should wear your seatbelt,” Rogue said, breaking the tense silence that had settled in the truck.
Logan glanced sideways at her, the edge in his voice unmistakable. “Hey, look, kid, I don’t need advice on auto safety–”
Before he could finish, the truck lurched violently as it crashed headlong into a fallen tree, the impact cutting him off mid-sentence. The force sent Logan hurtling through the windshield, shattering glass in every direction. Your heart pounded as you braced against the dashboard, barely processing the chaos.
By the time you gathered your senses, you could already see Logan slowly standing up outside, a deep gouge in his face knitting itself back together as his healing factor kicked in.
“You guys alright?” His voice, gruff but steady, called out.
You nodded, shaken but unhurt, though your eyes immediately darted to Rogue. She was clearly panicking, her hands gripping the seat tightly. “I’m stuck!” she shouted, her voice rising with fear.
Logan’s attention snapped to something behind you. His nose twitched, and his expression darkened, eyes narrowing as he sniffed the air. That familiar, unnerving look crossed his face—the one that always signalled danger.
“Lo?” you asked cautiously, fear creeping into your voice as his claws suddenly unsheathed with a menacing snikt.
Before you could react, a massive figure lunged out of the darkness, crashing into Logan with bone-crushing force and throwing him into a nearby tree. The sickening sound of the impact echoed in the night.
“Logan!” You screamed, heart racing. Instinctively, you scrambled to get out of the truck, but your attention shifted to the trailer, where flames were already licking at the edges. Rogue needed help, and fast.
You turned back to her, torn between rushing to Logan’s side or getting Rogue to safety. The loud, bone-rattling sound of Logan’s body slamming onto the roof of the truck made your decision for you. You forced yourself to trust that Logan would be okay—he always was.
The fire roared louder, and the truck groaned under the heat, its metal frame straining. You leaned over toward Rogue, your voice trying to sound calm despite the chaos. “It’s gonna be okay, I’ve got you.”
Panic flared in Rogue’s eyes, but she nodded, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The fire cast eerie shadows, growing brighter as the situation worsened. You kept trying to reassure her, working quickly to free her from the seatbelt.
Suddenly, the sound of gunfire erupted, and you spotted two figures in the distance. A beam of energy shot toward the towering man attacking Logan, sending him flying back. Your heart pounded harder—whoever they were, they were helping.
Just as you managed to loosen Rogue’s seatbelt, the truck door was ripped open. A man stood there, his face set with determination. Without a word, he shot a beam of red light from his eyes, severing the seatbelt in one clean hit. His presence was commanding, and there was no time to question it.
“Come on!” he shouted, pulling you and Rogue free just as the truck exploded behind you. The force of the blast sent heat and debris in every direction, but you were already clear, tumbling into the dirt with Rogue at your side.
The hum of the jet’s engines filled the cabin, but it did little to calm your nerves. Logan lay on a stretcher nearby, still unconscious, his usual tough exterior softened by sleep. His face was unmarred now, thanks to his healing factor, but you could sense the tension still lingering in the air. You sat beside him, your hand resting on his arm, grounding yourself in the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Across from you, Rogue sat stiffly in her seat, her wide eyes darting between the unfamiliar figures in the cockpit. The man behind the controls—Cyclops—glanced back occasionally, his visor hiding any readable expression. The woman beside him, with striking white hair and an air of quiet calm, gave you a reassuring smile before turning her attention back to the flight.
You could feel the tension building in your chest. The silence was heavy, and finally, you couldn't hold back any longer. “Where are you taking us?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended. Your protective instincts were on high alert.
Storm turned her chair slightly to face you, her tone gentle but firm. “We’re taking you to a safe place—the X-Mansion. You’ll be protected there.”
You frowned, glancing down at Logan before meeting her eyes again. “Protected from what? Who are you people?”
Cyclops turned slightly in his seat, his posture rigid. “We’re mutants, like you and Logan. We’re part of the X-Men—a group that helps others like us.”
Your grip on Logan’s arm tightened slightly, a defensive reaction to the unknown. “And how do you know so much about us?” you asked, your voice edged with suspicion. You hadn’t trusted anyone in years, especially not people who seemed to know more than they were letting on.
Storm met your gaze, her expression softening with understanding. “We’ve been monitoring unusual activity involving mutants in the area. Logan’s powers—his healing factor, his claws—aren’t exactly subtle, and neither are yours. We knew you’d eventually need help.”
Your stomach twisted uneasily at the thought of being watched. “So, what—you’ve just been spying on us?”
Cyclops shook his head, his tone steady but firm. “It’s not like that. We monitor for mutant activity because we’ve seen what happens when people like us get caught by the wrong hands. We’re trying to prevent that from happening to you.”
Your eyes narrowed, scepticism flaring. “You mean like the people who attacked us?”
“Exactly,” Storm said softly. “There are people out there—organisations—that hunt mutants. They want to control us, or worse, eliminate us. We’ve seen it happen.”
The words hit harder than you expected, the reality of what she was saying sinking in. You and Logan had been on the run for so long, always keeping a low profile, always expecting the next fight. But somehow, they had still found you.
Rogue, sensing the tension in the air, shifted in her seat. “So… this mansion,” she asked tentatively, “what is it, like a school?”
Storm nodded, her expression softening as she addressed Rogue. “Yes, it’s a school where mutants learn to control their powers. But it’s also a home, a place where you don’t have to hide who you are.”
Rogue’s eyes lit up slightly at the idea. “That sounds… kind of nice,” she murmured, clearly intrigued by the thought of not having to be afraid of her own abilities.
You, on the other hand, remained wary. “And what about Logan?” you pressed, your gaze flicking back to him. “What happens to him?”
Cyclops turned in his seat to face you fully. “Logan will be safe. Professor Xavier—he’s the one who runs the school—can help him. He’s helped a lot of us.”
“Help him how?” you asked, brow furrowing. You had spent years watching Logan battle with the fragments of his memory, struggling to piece together the life he could barely remember. The idea of someone messing with his mind didn’t sit right with you.
“Xavier’s a telepath,” Storm explained, her voice gentle. “He can help Logan recover memories, if that’s what he wants.”
Your stomach twisted again at the thought of someone digging through Logan’s head, dredging up things that might be better left forgotten. “And what if he doesn’t want to remember?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost pleading.
“That’s his choice,” Cyclops said simply. “We’re not forcing him into anything. But at least he’ll have the chance to decide.”
You glanced down at Logan, his usually sharp, focused expression softened in sleep. The thought of him having answers, of finally putting the pieces together, was tempting, but the risks felt too high.
Rogue’s voice broke through your thoughts. “So… there’s more of us? At the mansion?”
Storm smiled, her eyes warm. “Yes. There are students and teachers—others like you who are learning to control their abilities.”
Rogue looked over at you, her expression hopeful, and you offered her a small nod, though your own uncertainty still weighed heavily on you. “Maybe it’s not so bad after all,” she said quietly, more to herself than anyone.
You weren’t so sure. Trust didn’t come easily, especially after so many years of running, hiding, and fighting to survive. But as the jet sped through the sky, you couldn’t help but wonder—maybe, just maybe, this place could offer something different. Something better.
Your hand squeezed Logan’s gently, your thumb brushing over his knuckles as the X-Mansion came into view through the jet’s window.
You sat in Charles Xavier’s office, the weight of the past few hours pressing down on your chest. The polished wood desk, the rows of ancient books, and the stillness of the room seemed surreal, a stark contrast to the chaos you had barely escaped. Your thoughts wandered to Logan, who was being monitored in the basement by Jean Grey. You hated being apart from him after everything that had happened.
The door creaked open, and instinctively, your head shot up. Logan stepped into the room, looking a bit out of place in black sweatpants and an oversized X-Men sweater, half-zipped and worn without a shirt. His eyes immediately scanned the room, searching for you, and when they found you, the tension in his shoulders eased.
You stood up from your chair and crossed the room to meet him halfway. The second you were within reach, Logan pulled you into a firm embrace, his arms wrapping around you tightly as if confirming you were real, safe. His grip was strong, a little desperate, and you could feel the exhaustion radiating from him.
“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, but thick with concern.
You pressed your face against his chest, the familiar warmth of him grounding you. “I’m fine,” you whispered. “What about you?”
Logan pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His eyes searched yours, lingering for a moment longer than usual, as if ensuring you were truly unharmed. “I’m alright,” he said softly, but his expression tightened. “Where’s the girl?” he asked, referring to Rogue.
“Rogue? She’s here, safe,” Charles answered calmly from behind his desk.
Logan’s attention snapped to Charles, his brows furrowing. “Really?”
Before you could say anything else, the door opened again. Two people entered—one a tall man with a visor, the other a striking woman with white hair. Their expressions were calm, but serious, a contrast to the light banter you often shared with Logan.
Charles wheeled forward slightly, gesturing to them. “Ah, Logan, I’d like you to meet Ororo Munroe, also known as Storm, and Scott Summers, also called Cyclops.”
You smiled at them in recognition, offering a small, polite hello. They nodded back, their gazes assessing but not unfriendly.
Another figure walked in behind them, a woman with red hair and a composed presence.
“And I believe you’ve already met Dr. Jean Grey,” Charles added with a faint smile.
Logan gave a nod but remained guarded, his eyes following Jean as she moved to stand next to Charles.
“You’re in my school for the gifted,” Charles continued. “For mutants. You’ll be safe here from Magneto.”
Logan crossed his arms over his chest, his scepticism apparent. “What’s a Magneto?” The question came out almost simultaneously from both you and Logan, and you shared a small look.
Charles didn't seem fazed by the interruption. “He’s a very powerful mutant who believes a war is brewing between mutants and the rest of humanity.”
Logan rolled his eyes. “Sounds like a real stand-up guy.”
Charles pressed on, his voice measured. “I’ve been following his activities for some time. The man who attacked you is one of his associates—someone known as Sabretooth.”
Logan’s brow shot up at that, and a short, disbelieving laugh escaped him. “Sabretooth?” His tone dripped with sarcasm as he turned toward Storm, pointing at her with a click of his tongue, “Storm.”
He shifted his gaze to Charles, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What do they call you? Wheels?”
A brief silence hung in the air as Logan’s remark settled. You shot him a look, trying to rein in the humour bubbling up, but his teasing was a small relief after the stress of the day.
Charles, unflappable, merely smiled. But Logan wasn’t done. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. With a quick glance at you, he grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the door. “Come on, let’s get outta here.”
Before you could even react, Scott stepped into Logan’s path, blocking the exit. Logan immediately dropped your hand and squared off with Scott, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him closer.
“Cyclops, right? You wanna get out of my way?” Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous.
“Logan, stop,” you urged, stepping forward and reaching for his arm. “Just hear him out, okay?”
Logan’s jaw tightened, his muscles coiling as if he was ready for a fight, but he stayed still. You could feel the tension between him and Scott, thick in the air.
Before things could escalate, Charles spoke again, his voice calm but firm. “Logan,” he said quietly, his tone cutting through the room. “It’s been almost 15 years, hasn’t it? Living from day to day, moving from place to place, with no memory of who or what you are.”
Logan’s grip on Scott loosened, his expression shifting. “Shut up,” he muttered, his voice wavering ever so slightly.
Charles didn’t stop. “Give me a chance,” he said gently. “I may be able to help you find some answers.”
Logan looked over at you, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “How do you know?” he asked, his voice low but edged with vulnerability.
Instead of answering aloud, Charles’ voice echoed in Logan’s mind. You could see the brief flash of shock on his face as he realised what had just happened.
Logan blinked, the hard edges of his expression softening into a mix of curiosity and disbelief. “What is this place?” he asked, a faint, bemused grin tugging at his lips.
Charles smiled kindly. “Come,” he said, gesturing to both of you. “I’ll show you two around.”
Mars speaks... (again) guess who finally updated!! Any and all feedback is always appreciated🫶
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