Chapter Text
The cold, metallic scent of blood filled the room, mixed with the acrid stench of sweat and chemicals. Logan hung suspended by chains bolted into the walls, his arms raised above his head, the metal cuffs biting deeply into his wrists, which were slick with blood. Each time he shifted it opened the wounds wider. Impossibly, his once-powerful body looked almost gaunt, now covered in filth. There was dried blood streaking down his face from a fresh open wound on his scalp. His hair, matted and soaked with sweat, clung to his forehead.
The lab was dimly lit, casting long shadows on the grimy, tiled floor beneath him. His legs dangled inches above the ground, his bare feet occasionally brushing the cold surface, offering no relief. His head throbbed with unbearable pain, a crushing headache that seemed to pulse behind his eyes. His vision blurred and flickered, unable to focus on the blurry figures moving around him. Their voices were distant, drowned out by the constant ringing in his ears.
Logan tried to move, but his muscles protested, and a fresh wave of pain shot through his body, every nerve screaming in agony. They had been experimenting on him for two days—injecting, cutting, testing. He could feel his healing factor dimly pulse through his body, desperately trying to heal him, but it had slowed under the constant abuse, leaving him trapped in a haze of suffering and exhaustion.
Suddenly, the sound of a door being blown off its hinges echoed through the lab. Logan’s ears barely registered it, but his instincts kicked in, his pulse quickening despite his body's limits. The figures in the lab began to move frantically, their attention drawn to the disturbance, but Logan’s body remained limp, too drained to react.
Through the fog of his pain, he caught flashes of movement—familiar bright figures darting through the shadows, the hum of energy radiating from them. The X-Men. His team.
Storm led the charge, her eyes fierce as lightning crackled around her. Scott Summers followed close behind, visor glowing red as he aimed controlled blasts at the remaining lab workers, knocking them unconscious with precision. Hank and Jean were at the rear, their faces set in grim determination. They moved swiftly, and efficiently, but the moment they saw Logan, they froze.
“Dear God…” Hank’s voice was barely a whisper, his voice cracking with disbelief.
Scott’s jaw clenched, anger simmering just below the surface as his eyes scanned Logan’s bloodied form, chained up like an animal. “We have to get him down. Now.”
Jean’s eyes filled with tears, her empathy overwhelming her as she reached out telepathically to try and soothe Logan’s shattered mind. But had to pull back when she was met with a torrent of pain, confusion, and fear.
Carefully, they approached, Jean taking out the few remaining lab techs who had been cowering in the corners, with her powers. The clank of metal echoed through the lab as Hank and Scott moved to the chains, their hands hesitating as they saw how deeply the metal pierced his skin.
“We have to be careful,” Storm said softly, her hands trembling as she hovered near Logan’s side. “He’s been through so much…”
Scott nodded, gently placing his hands on the chains to lessen the pull. “Logan… we’re getting you out of here.”
At the sound of Scott’s voice, Logan stirred weakly, his body twitching as the words barely registered. He winced, the movement sending another bolt of pain through his body. His muscles tensed as they tried to lift him, the chains tearing at his skin. He let out a low, guttural scream, his voice hoarse from days of constant screaming.
“Easy… easy,” Hank murmured, his voice soft but firm, as if trying to soothe a wounded animal.
Logan thrashed weakly, his mind a mess of panic and pain, but then—amidst the chaos—he caught the scents; leather, wood, jet fuel. Familiar. Comforting. The scents of his team, his family. Slowly, his body relaxed, though the pain still wracked him. His breathing steadied, and he fell, trembling, into Scott’s waiting arms.
Scott held him up carefully, his face twisted with concern. “We’ve got you, Logan.”
The others closed in, their expressions a mixture of anger and sorrow. They slowly, carefully lowered Logan to the floor, every movement sending fresh waves of agony through his battered form. Despite their best efforts, he winced and gasped, his body too sensitive to bear even their gentle touch.
“I’m so sorry,” Storm whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she kneeled next to him, her hands hovering over his wounds, not knowing where to begin.
Logan’s eyes fluttered open for a brief second, his gaze meeting hers. He tried to speak, but no words came, only a faint growl of acknowledgement. He was lying on his knees holding himself up with his shakey elbows, he couldn't put any weight on his wrists.
Storm watched as a bright puddle of blood slowly grew where his head was resting gently on the cold tile floor.
“Let’s get him out of here,” Storm said, her voice steady but with an undertone of fury.
After a moment's hesitation, Hank and Scott reached towards their friend and held him under his shoulders. Despite their soft touch, Logan let out a wine, " I know, Logan, I know." Hank whispered, "But we have to get you out of here. We have to get you home, okay?" Together, they tried to lift him again, but Logan's exhaustion held him down and fogged up his mind. His wine had become deeper and was becoming a growl. In a fit of panic, he pulled against the arms holding him down and balls his hands into fists. The moment he does it cracks the fresh scabs on his hands and wrists. With a gentle but firm grip, Scott holds the back of Logan's neck, "Hey, hey Logan it's okay. I don't know where you are right now, or what you're seeing but you're safe okay? You're with your team. We aren't going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you anymore okay?" He is breathing heavily, " Let's get out of here and go home. Jo is at the mansion and has been so worried about you Logan. Let's get you home to Jo okay? Come on." Hank and Scott feel him relax under their hold. With a quick nod to one another, they shift their weight and being to slowly and more careful than before pull him to his feet, taking most of his weight.
With Storm in front and Jean behind the team shuffle toward the exit. Logan’s breaths were shallow, but the familiar scents of his friends kept him calm, kept him grounded. His vision swam in and out, the pain blurring everything. Images flash through his mind of the mansion, his friends, and of Jo. Her short wavy hair bounces as she runs towards him. How her bright green eyes shimmer in the afternoon sun. How her lips are soft against his aching knuckles as she kisses each one. He clings to them and holds onto them for dear life.
The cool night air fills his lungs as they push through a set of double metal doors. It rushed into Logan's chest and for a second he felt all the pain and exhaustion evaporate. The Blackbird's engine softly hums in the distance. As his mind shifts back to the present Logan’s body sagged against the men holding him up, his last ounce of energy spent.
“Hold on, Logan,” Scott said, his voice firm but filled with unspoken sadness. “We’re getting you home.”
Logan didn’t respond—couldn’t respond—but for the first time in days, he felt a sliver of peace.
A sudden crash echoed through the hallway behind them, metal doors slamming shut with a deafening clang. The X-Men spun around, startled, their eyes locking on the figure standing in the doorway. William Stryker.
The old man stood tall, despite his fresh bruises and a black eye, his military uniform crisp and imposing. The lines of his face were etched with cruelty, and he clutched a small device in his hand, the yellow light blinking ominously. His voice cut through the tension like a blade.
“I’d suggest giving back my property before things get out of hand,” he shouted, his eyes cold and unwavering.
Scott’s breath caught in his throat. The bruises on Stryker’s face... he hoped to God those were Logan’s doing. He kept his stance firm, blocking Logan from view as he glared at Stryker, his fingers itching toward the visor on his eyes.
The X-Men stood frozen for a moment, tension building as Stryker’s cruel gaze swept over them. Hanks’s fists clenched at his sides, and Jean instinctively moved closer to Logan, her body radiating protective energy. Storm’s white eyes flickered with lightning, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.
Behind them, Logan stirred, the voice cutting through his dazed mind like an electric shock. His heart pounded in his chest as he recognized Stryker. Memories of pain, blood, and control surged to the surface, and despite his broken body, he instinctively tried to stand straighter. His muscles screamed in protest, but the years—no, decades—of torment had drilled one thing into him: disobedience to Stryker brought only more pain.
Logan’s chest heaved, panic setting in as his body fought against his mind’s need to obey. His breath quickened, eyes darting to the blinking device in Stryker’s hand. His throat felt tight, his blood roaring in his ears, and the throbbing headache intensified as the world started to close in. It was like being back in that cold metal cell, his body stretched to its limit, tortured for hours without end.
Scott sensed Logan’s fear. He shot a glance back, seeing the haunted look in Logan’s eyes, the way his entire body had tensed at the sound of Stryker’s voice. It was a look he hadn’t seen in Logan before, and it made his blood boil. No one should have that kind of power over someone—not over him.
“Logan,” Scott said softly, trying to reach him through the panic, his voice steady but urgent. “You’re safe now. He’s not in control anymore.”
But Logan’s eyes were unfocused, his mind trapped in the nightmare of the past. The sound of metal clinking and the scent of antiseptic flooded his senses, memories of the Weapon X project flashing before him. He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to remain upright, though his legs barely supported him. His mind screamed at him to obey, to fall back into line, to stop the pain before it got worse.
Jean could feel Logan’s PTSD surging, his mental defences crumbling under the weight of the trauma. She reached out telepathically, gently brushing against his mind, offering him a lifeline. Logan, stay with us. ''''We’ve got you.''''
Hank took a step forward, his growl filled with venom as he glared at Stryker. “He’s not your property.”
Stryker’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Oh, but he is. And if you don’t hand him over, things will get much worse for all of you.”
The blinking light on the device in his hand seemed to pulse faster, and for a split second, fear flickered in Jean’s eyes. They didn’t know what the device did, but it was clear it was some kind of control mechanism—something designed to keep Logan in line.
Scott's mind raced, trying to calculate their next move. They couldn’t let Stryker leave with Logan. Not again.
“Put the device down, Stryker,” Scott warned, his voice low and deadly, his fingers inching toward his visor. “Or you’ll regret it.”
Stryker’s smile only widened, his bruised face contorting with sadistic amusement. “You really think you can stop me, Summers? I’ve tamed that animal before. I’ll do it again.” With that, he tensed his hand into a fist, and a single 'click' echoed around the field. For a glorious, shining moment, nothing happened and then screams filled the air. Animalistic screams.
Logan collapsed to his knees, cradling his head. Blood was already starting to fall from where his nails were digging into his scalp. Out of reflex, he had extended his claws and they were only adding to the bloody scene. His team could only watch in horror as he growled and scratched from the pain. He screamed like an animal being skinned alive.
Swallowing the bile that threatened to rise in his throat, Scott looked back to Stryker. "What have you done to him? What does that thing do?" He points to the device still clutched in his hand. Styker only laughs, low and without humour. "No, no boy. It doesn't work like that. Give me what's mine and I'll stop all this pain."
He looks back to his friends. Storm and Hank are on either side of Logan, not touching by trying to say words of comfort. Jean is standing just beside her husband and from the look on her face, he knows she is trying to get into his mind and find a way out of this.
Another cry fills his ears, and he looks back to Logan. Hank has moved behind him and is now desperately holding his arms, stopping Logan from using his claws on his head. He is entire body is shaking.
Scott’s eyes flared with determination as he took a step forward, positioning himself between Logan and the man who had tormented him. “Logan isn’t going anywhere with you. Not today. Not ever.”