Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Logan seriously fucked up this time. He’d been dumb before but this is almost certainly the worst. At least recently. Running headlong into a fight without planning is kinda his MO at this point but this time it may well get him killed. Or worse.

They’d been hunting down a bad guy, nothing too crazy, just the latest in a long line of mutants throwing their weight around after the failure of the Mutant Registration Act and the imprisonment of Magneto. It’s like they were trying to get their whole fucking species killed. At any rate, Logan had fucked up. Intelligence reports believed that the latest big bad could turn team members against each other in battle and what does Logan do? His big head decides that that means the only way to take him down is solo. So he went off on his own. Not only did he go it alone, he also intentionally misled the others– Scott and Jean mostly– and for what? Shock factor when he got back, villain in tow? This pseudo-hero gig was getting to his head, and now he was paying the consequences.

Those consequences by name, being taken down almost instantly upon engagement, his own claws turning inward after cutting down some lackey and stabbing into himself instead, completely out of his control. Telepath he thought wildly for a moment before realizing no, this felt more like magneto, more like someone was physically grabbing his limbs and moving them, rather than an invasion of the mind. Either way, this guy managed to take him down without even touching him, and when he woke he was kneeling on the floor of a short cage in the center of a cave-looking room, shirtless, arms spread wide to opposite walls of said cage, some sort of metal cuff containing both his fists.

Instinctively, he’d tried to unsheath his claws to cut himself free but as soon as they hit the cuffs a loud clang reverberated up through his whole body, shaking his goddamn teeth with its force. Further inspection of the cuffs revealed that they showed no signs of damage. Adamantium. How had they done that? Nothing else could stop his claws like that, but it made no sense, how had they gotten ahold of that much, or shaped it that well? Logan could see keyholes in the side but no amount of pulling or straining seemed to loosen them at all. Where the fuck was he? After some undetermined amount of time spent pulling fruitlessly at his cuffs, his shoulders felt about ready to pop out of their sockets but he was no closer to escape.

So there he sat, contemplating how badly he’d fucked up, and how long he thought it’d be before Scott and Jean got wise to his shitty misdirect and asked the Professor to find him. A few days? More? He tried again and again to pull out of his bonds but to no avail- the cuffs were good. Despite there being no other chains or anything else holding him in place the cuffs offered no real way to move, and sitting down wasn’t an option either unless he wanted to pull both his arms off. And anyway, even if he could stand up he would’ve hit his head on the bars above him before making it to full height, and as it were there wasn’t much space above his head.

Logan took a breath, the air was stale and damp. Tried to think. Tried to ignore the claustrophobia setting in. Failed at both. Wound up pulling on the cuffs so hard he felt something in his wrist pop and he roared out loud with the pain and frustration of it all. Almost on cue, he’d probably been waiting for it, a man stepped through the door. He was tall, lanky, and pale, with slicked-back brown hair and a toothpaste-commercial smile. He was wrapped in an over-the-top red cloak and heeled black boots. Overall he was nothing impressive, but the ease with which he took Logan down earlier served well enough to make him wary.

“Ah, Wolverine, so nice of you to join me here” He spoke every word like a carnival barker, as if speaking to an audience of thousands, not just one.

Logan had only a moment to think that was weird before another lackey- not the one he’d killed before, thank god– followed into the room behind what’s-his-nuts holding, of all things, a camera. Logan’s brow furrowed, what the fuck was going on?

Sensing the unspoken question, Ditz-in-a-cape continued: “You may not know me, but I am The Puppeteer! And you, Wolverine, are a very special part of my next show.”

He stooped down, taking a knee so he could reach through the bars of the cage and grab a fistful of Logan’s hair, forcing his head back to look him in the eye. “You see I am in need of something, and you’re gonna tell me where it is” His voice still had that odd lilting to it, every word pitched out of him like he was expecting to have to speak over applause.

Logan growled, meeting this loser’s eyes. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, bub, but I sure as shit ain’t gonna help a guy who looks like he’s doing a shitty Dracula impression” He spat as well as he could at the Puppeteer’s feet and did his best to look intimidating through the bars of the cage.

The Puppeteer frowned and stood, hoping for a different reaction, or maybe just upset that Logan thought his cape looked like Dracula's. Honestly, Logan couldn’t care less. That is until he felt every muscle in his body seize up at once, tightening painfully as his head was forced to look up at the Puppeteer again, though the Puppeteer hadn’t touched him.

“I don’t think you understand, Wolvie” His voice, though still light and almost teasing, had lost some of that lilt. “I control you, right now, I hold every- single- one- of your little strings, and I plan to use them!” He punctuated some of his words with a twitch or a snap of his fingers, each one sending a movement through Logan against his will

“I could pop every blood vessel in your body, dis-articulate you entirely, sever every ligament, or even just make you stab yourself again. And I will until you tell me what I want. And your friends here,” he gestured to the camera, Logan’s head turning with the movement of his hand “Will get to watch”

Logan snarled, glad to still have use of his mouth for now. “You motherfucker, you’re livestreaming this?”

The Puppeteer laughed, his odd cadence was back “Oh no no no, not when you’ve done me the incredible favor of convincing them you’re off in the woods somewhere for the foreseeable future. No, I’ll wait till you tell me what I need to know, then on my way to destroy DC, I’ll drop them a lovely little anonymous recording of your humiliation and eventual surrender. To me! By the time they realize what you’ve told me it’ll be too late to stop me. Especially with my pet wolverine on a leash to defend me should they ever come knocking.” He patted the corner of Logan’s cage at the end of his dire pronouncement and Logan felt his stomach drop. He’d fucked up.

His thoughts raced as he heard the click of heeled boots and the swish of a cape circle his cage a few times. He couldn’t let this happen, couldn’t let himself be leashed like that, used against his friends as a living weapon. And so he couldn’t break, easy enough. Surely his friends would find him before too long he just needed to make it till then. But there was still the camera. If he was being honest, the camera scared him. Being tortured was one thing– he could heal and be just fine– but having the threat of his friends, the people he cared about, witness it? He could heal from torture, but he’d never be able to take back what Scott and Jean and anyone else saw if they watched it. So “don’t break” must become “don’t show the camera what hurts”. So be it.

His mind made up, Logan looked up, voluntarily this time, toward the camera and pasted on the crooked grin Scott always told him was insufferable and winked.

The Puppeteer stooped down in front of him again. “Now that's very heartwarming, very resilient of you Wolvie, so resilient in fact I’ll make you a deal. I won’t take control of your more expressive features, your vocal cords, your face, your eyes, what have you, while we do this. Every facial expression and cry of pain will be your own. In exchange, when I break you, you’ll be the one to kill your precious Scott and Jean”

Logan roared, lunging forward in his bonds as images of their blood on his hands rose unbidden in his mind “Don’t you touch them, don’t you DARE-”

“Ah ah ah,” the Puppeteer tutted, “If you’re going to be like that I reserve the right to shut you up if need be. And besides, I won't be the one touching them, you will.” He reached a hand through the bars and patted Logan on his frozen jaw “Now, tell me where the amplifier is.” He held eye contact for a moment, deadly serious, before shrugging at Logan’s lack of response, releasing his hold on Logan and standing. His footsteps circled again while Logan seethed, and as he did the shadows Logan cast on the floor shifted and he could only assume this madman was adjusting the lighting.

Unfortunately, Logan did know what he was talking about. “The Amplifier” was a name floating around some shiftier circles, rumored to be a relic that could increase a Mutant’s power tenfold. Of course, Logan just knew her as Rogue, and her power didn’t really work like that, but rumors had spiraled after the defeat of Magneto at the UN summit, and since no one knew the “relic” was a 17-year-old girl anyway, they’d let the people chase their tails. Now that decision was coming back to bite him.

The Puppeteer’s footsteps came to a stop on Logan’s left side, back far enough that Logan couldn’t see him. He waited a few more seconds before drawing a breath and saying as if speaking to thousands again, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you, the taming… of the Wolverine”

Logan figured he’d be getting a closeup right about now and put on his best impression of nonchalance, relaxation, and confidence from his uncomfortable position on the floor

The Puppeteer’s grating voice continued “Fear not, ladies and gentlemen, for the beast is quite contained. Those coverings on his hands are adamantium, capable of withstanding even these claws.” Logan felt his claws shoot out at that and had only a split second to grit his teeth against the vibrations as they met the cuffs with a clang. “And I assure you, dear watchers,” The Puppeteer began messing with Logan’s muscles again, pulling at his shoulders and arms so he twisted in his spot like he was seizing. “As much control as I have over our dear wolverine’s body,” The Puppeteer accentuates this line by dislocating one of Logan’s shoulders with a sharp pop and Logan grunted, shocked at the pain, before his head is wrenched back to point toward the camera yet again and he grit his teeth and glared, refused to let the pain show. “His facial expressions are quite real” and with that the Puppeteer released him, cackling madly and only encouraged when Logan’s shoulder relocated with another sharp snap and a grunt.

“Now, let's start with disarticulation.” which, Logan soon learned, meant the Puppeteer was going to undo all of his joints one by one. At first, the Puppeteer wouldn’t shut up, yammering on about world domination or something that Logan quickly lost track of while meticulously tapping and supernaturally dislocating each joint in his arms and even his hands through the cuffs.

Logan felt every single one, each sending a searing stripe of agony up his arms and throughout his body but he kept his mouth firmly shut against the noises he wanted to make. They couldn’t see this, it’d break them. And besides, his healing factor could almost keep up with the Puppeteer at the speed he’s going anyway, each joint only staying out of place for a few seconds before popping back with an equally painful but quickly over snap.

That relief was short-lived though, as the Puppeteer realized what Logan’s mutation was doing and a sinister grin spread across his face. “Ahhhh, I see I’ve found myself a game of whack-a-mole” and he laughed again as his cameraman brought the camera closer to Logan’s cage, and the Puppeteer made good on his comparison. Logan’s healing factor chased the Puppeteer’s mutant ability around his body for what felt like hours, Logan getting lost in a haze of agony he hadn’t felt in a long time. Even after they healed, his joints screamed in protest from their mistreatment, and no amount of shifting or readjusting could assuage the pain.

Logan’s awareness narrowed to a pinpoint– the next tap, the next pop, the next burst of agony– as all his willpower bent to keep himself still, his mouth shut, and his friends safe. Time lost meaning as his torture continued

And still, he did not yell. He did not cry, and the Puppeteer did not win.

Eventually, the Puppeteer’s glee seemed to fade and rage at either his inability to outrun Logan’s healing factor or to make him react, or maybe both took precedence. And soon instead of continuing his game on Logan’s skeleton he took a swipe at the cameraman and bellowed, “OUT. GET OUT”. He paced a bit as the lackey took the camera and fled before he turned back to Logan with fire in his eyes. “You won't talk? Fine. Just you and me then.” with a thrust of his hand, much less showy now with the lack of an audience, Logan’s entire body screamed.

White-hot lava poured through his very veins as Logan succumbed to the Puppeteer’s power. Every joint, every bone, every connection in his body screamed in pain, and after mere moments, Logan cried out. A short burst of noise morphed into a long, continuous yell as the Puppeteer pulled him apart.

And on, and on, and on again Logan screamed.

Eventually, it did stop, and the Puppeteer dropped his limp, dis-articulated form to be supported only by the cuffs again as it slowly began to heal itself. Logan’s voice died, throat raw and tasting blood as the pain began to fade and his chest heaved for air. Slowly he came back to lucidity, and through the haze saw the Puppeteer crouched yet again in front of him, observing. He distantly registered the smell of perspiration as the Puppeteer drew closer, his torturer was more affected by the strain than he let on

“I’ll warn you Wolverine: The camera may hold the key to your composure, but it also holds my mercy. Take your pick next time you think about denying our audience that sound.” And with that he stood, gesturing to the door. To Logan’s horror, the lackey with the camera walked through. As he set the tripod up, Logan rushed to reconfigure himself to a somewhat kneeling position, keeping weight off his shoulders, and just barely managed to make it to a pose that looked less defeated when the sidekick switched the camera on.

Logan kept his head down as the sidekick left, breathing deep the stale air of the cave, now sharp with the smell of sweat, and gathering what strength he had left before looking up and shooting another indomitable grin at the camera.

And so their routine began. At seemingly random intervals so that Logan would lose his sense of time, the Puppeteer would enter the room with a dramatic swish, asking if he was ready to talk yet, and inevitably wind up dramatically explaining the next form of torture to the camera. Logan wouldn’t react, and wouldn’t react, and wouldn’t react until the Puppeteer snapped. With the camera away Logan would give in, he yelled in protest and he growled threats but more importantly, he screamed. He cried. His voice broke and most horrifyingly, he begged. It turned his stomach as he did but when the pain got to be too much he begged.

He’d been released, kind of. The cuffs were off and he was out of the cage, but the Puppeteer still held his strings. Logan stood motionless, claws out, in the center of the room; dreading what was to come. The Puppeteer circled, the camera long gone, as his fingers twitched and sent Logan’s claws deep into his own stomach. Logan cried out, desperate to slouch, to fall to the ground, to put a hand to his wound, anything. Instead, his claws merely returned to ready position as the body that was not in his control healed, only to be struck again, and again, and again. Chest, arms, legs, stomach

Somewhere around the 30th strike, a broken sound bubbled out of Logan’s mouth. And the Puppeteer paused, gleeful once more. “What was that?” He drew close enough to hear Logan’s ragged breathing from newly healed lungs,

“Please” Logan repeated, shame curling in his stomach and burning his eyes.

The Puppeteer pulled Logan’s extended claws to threaten at the base of Logan’s throat. “Tell me where it is”

Logan paused, focused on the image of Rogue, happy for once, playing Foosball at the school with Bobby and the others. “I can't,” he said, voice hollow as he prepared for the next round.

“Hm, shame!” Was the only reply he got before his claws stabbed down into his sternum.

Quickly, the whole room came to smell like blood, and the floor of Logan’s cage was tacky with it

He did get fed, though not enough, and not very often. The Puppeteer would take control of his whole body, undo his cuffs, and essentially force-feed Logan with his own hands. Overall a terrible experience, and yet one that Logan wished would come around more often, as his malnutrition and his cramping stomach started to get unignorable.

He’d gone hungry before, long trips between towns, skirting places he knew he was unwelcome, unable to stop at the few roadside diners who all knew his face and his affliction. Or else long periods alone in the woods. Some abandoned cabin snowed in at an inopportune time. Either way, he was pretty sure hunger couldn’t kill him any more than anything else. Still, he found himself weak and shaky, constantly cold despite the feverish flush of his skin and the sweat.

He tried his best to never pass out fully. After torture, the body did demand rest but Logan negotiated it to settling for periods of wavering in and out of consciousness, head bowed, never truly unalert, still jumping at every little sound. When he faded too much he’d let out his claws, clinging to the pain of them hitting the cuffs, the pain he at least could control, letting it clear his mind as he waited.

There was nothing he could do sometimes, though, and on occasion, he did slip into unconsciousness when the Puppeteer released him. During those times he was met with images of Scott, Jean, Rogue, the Professor, Storm, Hank, and everyone else he knew at the manor. These images alternated wildly between encouragement and accusation. Half told him to hold on, that they’re on their way and that it's almost over, while the other half scoffed and spat, asked why he hadn’t escaped yet, why he cried, why he’s slowly cracking under the pressure.

Safe to say his dreams were no escape from reality.

Logan’s sense of time was fucked. His only realities were when there was a camera, and when there was not. The pain didn’t even fade enough anymore to differentiate the time by. His only tether, the only remaining sanity he held close was his memories of Scott and Jean. The three of them were close, obviously, and after a few months of tension, he’d given in and kissed Scott under the pale moonlight on the roof of the manor. They’d all be out, stargazing at Jean's insistence, though it had quickly devolved into Logan and Scott sniping back and forth before the words “Try me” had left Scott’s mouth one too many a time for his liking and he’d kissed the other person in that marriage already and damnit if Scott wasn’t just as damn irresistible as Jean.

He’d run that night in circles over and over again in his head. The kiss, the several that followed, the conversation heavy in “I want this, I want you” but lacking in labels or real emotions, and especially the night that ended with Logan more satisfied than he’d ever been.

Of course then not even 3 days later, before they’d had another chance to talk like that or fuck like that again, he’d fucked up and gone off chasing the Puppeteer on his own and wound up in this hellhole.

Logan was shaken out of his thoughts by the banging of the door. The Puppeteer stormed in and knocked over the camera on the tripod which shattered the lens. As he stomped forward up to Logan,

“What, out of sassy hand gestures to make to the camera?” Logan asked, not entirely sure the camera was disabled.

The Puppeteer stopped, snarling, more agitated than Logan had ever seen him, and brought his heel down on the camera itself before he kicked the broken pieces off into the corner. “You, Wolverine, have officially taken up too much of my life, you’re out of time. Tell me where the Amplifier is.”

Somewhere deep in Logan’s mind, alarm bells rang. “Out of time” should mean something to him but he couldn't seem to dredge up what that could be through the dread of what was to come. So he simply shook his head and braced himself for agony.

The Puppeteer didn’t even move. His hands, usually a good indicator of what’s going to happen, were almost lifeless and the Puppeteer’s eyes bore into his own as Logan’s body erupts. It started at his chest, a gash opened from nowhere and punctured a lung as it blazed across his ribcage. What little air he had left fled as the other lung deflated in his chest, punctured by the twisted mutant's ability.

Logan gasped for breath as the Puppeteer continued disabling parts of his body, dragging out the attacks and reveling in the choked-out sounds Logan was making. As Logan writhed, trying anything to escape he saw Scott. Or was it Jean? Standing before him. And It wasn’t a hallucination since he’d never seen one so real before and he’d been about to cry for joy, pain momentarily forgotten before the figure kicked him in the nose.

Logan’s head snapped backward, reeling as Jean, or maybe Scot, spoke. “Just give up already, this is pathetic and we’re clearly not coming to get you. Just tell him what he wants”

And so he did

Moments after the Puppeteer laid a finger on Logan’s face, causing his nose to gush blood and his head to snap backward, when he had just turned back to where he began, ready to start all over again, Logan gasped out

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you”

The Puppeteer reacted immediately, grabbing hold of every muscle neck-down, pulling Logan to look him in the eye

“She’s, just a girl… she’s just 17, she's been through enough…” Logan panted, mind hazy and body screaming, half delirious as he spoke

The Puppeteer gave him a quick shake, holding his muscles still tighter “The Amplifier’s a mutant?” Logan nodded. His mind retreated further as the Puppeteer shook him again. “Where is she damnit, tell me.”

“Her name, is Rogue, she’s at the manor…” Logan's voice was hoarse, weak from days of misuse.

“The manor, Xavier’s manor?” The Puppeteer demanded and at Logan’s last nod, he dropped him. Arms still locked in the cuffs, body limp and blood coating the floor.

The Puppeteer stood and brushed off his cloak. “It really is a shame you fought for so long, though I suppose a broken Wolverine fights just as well." He sauntered over to the door. “I’ll be back for you soon Wolverine, and do heal up in the meantime, I need my attack dog ready to take the manor.”

As his footsteps faded, Logan’s first coherent thought was that he hated himself.

Chapter Text

“Oh Wolvieeeeee” The Puppeteer’s voice grated on Logan’s ears, sending the rational part of his mind running. The door banged open revealing Logan’s torturer, sweeping in with all the grandeur he always did. “Aww, poor little wolverine still upset? You didn’t even pretend this time!”

He was right. With the destruction of the camera and Logan’s earlier surrender, he hadn’t had the strength to reassemble himself and he’d remained limp in his bonds after The Puppeteer had left previously.

The Puppeteer grabbed a fistful of Logan’s hair and peered down at him, looking somewhere between disgusted and proud. “Yes… yes, I think this will do nicely” He straightened and gestured toward the lackey who rushed forward and started undoing the locks on Logan’s cage and arms. “Now! We have a very big day ahead of us, what with going to capture the amplifier and all. Lucky I had all that practice playing with my guard dog before taking the mansion.”

Logan’s thoughts were still rather sluggish as the locks on his cuffs were undone, The Puppeteer’s power keeping him still. And yet, his mind caught on the words “The Amplifier”. Rogue. He means to capture Rogue. Anything and everything must be done to stop him. Logan hesitated, the last few hours (minutes? days?) had been his first without the pressure of a camera or the agony of The Puppeteer’s power in days (weeks? months?). Though guilt ate away at his gut for appreciating a reprieve bought with the safety of his friends, his next course of action gave him pause. Logan had one last card The Puppeteer didn’t know about, he could stop him from going after her, and after half a moment thinking of Rogue- smiling, happy, free- Logan began to laugh.

Logan laughed. The sound was broken and a tad bit terrifying, even to Logan’s own ears, but it gave The Puppeteer pause as he moved Logan’s chin up to look at him. His smile was for once uncertain as he said “Now now wolvie, don’t go fully mad on me it’s more fun if you’re sane.”

Logan’s laughter slowed and his voice creaked from misuse as he spoke. “No, I’m perfectly sane, I just forgot how wrong you are about this.” He snorted, shaking his head. He’ll sell this, he must sell this. “Funny, is all”

The Puppeteer’s eyes narrowed “Wrong about what.”

Logan’s smile wasn’t forced, he was genuinely happy to be bursting The Puppeteer’s bubble “There is no amplifier”

“Oh don’t you try that on me, that girl-”

“No Rogue is real all right, she’s just not an amplifier” Logan slipped into his broken laughter again at the confusion palpable on The Puppeteer’s face. “Magneto didn’t need an amplifier, he could’ve run the machine himself if he didn’t mind dying. No, Rogue steals people’s powers, and a weaker version of it at that. Still almost killed me with it by accident once though. Magneto had her take his ability so she could power the machine instead, she only lived ‘cause I broke the damn thing.” Logan grinned, The Puppeteer was slack-jawed. “Didn’t want to tell you earlier but if you know some you might as well know it all”

That was enough. It had to be enough. It had to be believable, it was the truth. Logan braced, hoped he was right, and felt a surge of relief alongside the very familiar terror as The Puppeteer sunk his power in deep, pulling Logan to his feet and straining his spent muscles so hard they nearly tore again. He didn’t speak.

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw the henchman turn mechanically and march out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoed over Logan’s continued mirth. Logan watched the conclusion come to rest in The Puppeteer’s mind. He believed him. The Puppeteer’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly and Logan reeled as The Puppeteer’s power flung him across the room.

All the air left his lungs as Logan’s back hit the wall behind him, legs screaming from the force used to throw himself like that. It was like the time a stray lightning bolt from Ororo hit him and he’d been flung across the room, not because of the force of the lightning, but because the shock to human muscles made them contract hard enough to make him briefly airborne. The Puppeteer truly had gotten better at controlling him with practice.

The Puppeteer stalked forward with an outstretched hand, tearing at muscle fibers and sending Logan to his knees, then his stomach.

“Get up Logan” His voice was deadly quiet. Logan sagged even more into the ground as The Puppeteer’s influence retreated, newly healed muscles spent and unable to move.

The Puppeteer kicked him squarely in the ribs and he cried out. “Oh that’s right, you’re not pretending anymore!” Some of his old cadence was back, seemingly delighted by Logan’s lack of control “Well guess what Wolvie, I’ve been keeping a damn good secret too”

Logan made some noise in the back of his throat as The Puppeteer took control again, forcing shaking limbs and aching bones into motion, sending the wolverine staggering to his feet.

“Please- Please don’t”

“Oh but I will never get enough of how you sound when you beg, and here’s where the secret comes in– Neither will your friends!” The Puppeteer was downright gleeful, forcing Logan over to the corner of the room, directing his eyes to a small black security camera mounted in the far corner of the room. Stage lights in sensitive eyes had protected it from being seen before but now a blinking red dot stared accusatorily back at Logan.

They had seen. They would know. He hadn’t done enough.

The Puppeteer released his hold and Logan collapsed, strength gone, in a heap in full view of the camera, which panned down slowly to get the shot. The Puppeteer walked over slowly, grabbing hold of Logan’s jaw with his power and meeting his eyes.

“You see? You're nothing without my influence”

He backed up, inspecting Logan as his henchman opened the door and removed the adamantium cuffs from the cage, locking them around Logan’s hands again but leaving him on the floor. A small luxury.

None of this succeeded in rousing Logan, even as The Puppeteer left, dropping the key to the cuffs just inside the door with an unheard taunt. Logan simply sat, propped against the wall now below the security camera, and stared.

His body knit together slowly, still-torn muscles taking their time in healing. His mind raged, the pressure of the eyes above him keeping his face blank, though he couldn’t seem to manage the cocky smile he’d clung to before. The camera never left. He’d never been safe. He hadn’t protected anyone. Hell, The Puppeteer would probably still use him to attack the school simply out of spite. He unsheathed his claws at that, pain sharpening his mind but doing nothing to remove images of blood on his hands. He hadn’t done enough. Gore coating him to the wrist. Hadn’t been strong enough. To the elbow. And even now, the literal key to his freedom was a mere ten paces in front of him and he couldn’t reach it. He could’ve held it in his teeth, freed his hands, killed The Puppeteer when he wasn’t ready for an attack, and gotten out of here for good. Instead, he sat there, unable to move, as The Puppeteer planned to use him to kill his friends. His family.

And the wolverine didn’t move, except to worry his claws in and out of his fists, barely flinching with each sharp clang and the vibration up aching arms.

Eventually, another sound managed to permeate the gloom. Shouting? Running? Many people, many footsteps, what the fuck was happening?

Reality crashed into him as the door banged open yet again, spilling Scott, Jean, and Ororo into the small, stale, cave-like room. Logan bluescreened, they couldn’t be here, they weren’t here, how on earth were they here?

“Logan! Holy shit are you okay?” Jean rushed over, giving him a fast once over and landing on the cuffs “What the hell is this?”

Logan stuttered, catching up as he took in the presence of his favorite people in the room that held so much pain. “Of course I’m fine-” He managed, voice rough and tired but even. “Adamantium cuffs are a bitch though, think he mighta left the key by the door”

After a few moments of scuffling the key was located and the cuffs were removed. Logan took a few selfish moments to flex his hands, let out his claws, and ignore the way the others watched before he hauled himself to his feet. Scott and Ororo were examining the rest of the room, poking curiously at the low cage and the pools of blood. Dimly Logan registered the lack of a ruined camera.

“What the hell is all this junk,” Scott asked, poking an upset stage light with his foot

“Dunno” Logan lied, the truth being covered easily in regret. He hadn’t been enough to hide from the camera, maybe if they did this quick they’d never see the footage. Never have to know. Lying twisted the loyalty in his stomach but equal parts shame and protectiveness won out. “Must be some kinda storage room or somewhere he held people before. Don’t know for sure, besides the cuffs I mostly got tossed in here and forgotten.”

Logan moved to grab his jacket before anyone could point out the obvious holes in his story. Where was the blood from? Why hadn’t he used the key to escape? Why did he waver each step for a moment? All things he prayed they would ignore in favor of the mission.

After another moment to settle his jacket on his shoulders, Logan turned to face the others. “Okay, so, this guy’s name is The Puppeteer, he’s arrogant but decently powerful, he can take control of people’s bodies and he’s had-” He stuttered, realizing he had no idea how much time had passed outside this room “uh, plenty of time to practice on me so he’s almost definitely going to try to use me to attack the rest of you.” He moved towards the door as he spoke, hoping if he kept moving they’d ignore his stumble

“I’ll try my best not to kill y’all, but really you just need to focus fire on him, knock him out before he’s got a chance to do much, I’m pretty sure he won’t be expecting an immediate attack at him, he’ll think y’all will target me instead” He turned as he reached the door, reading surprise, intrigue and worry across three faces.

“When you say he practiced on you…” Scott’s question was left unfinished, trailing off in the still air.

Logan scoffed, waving the question away “He’d barge in occasionally, wake me up, try to convince me to tell him stuff, he tried to use his powers to get me to do it. Threw me around a bit, nothing stuck. His muscle control has gotten surprisingly good, but only if he can focus. Your job is to make sure he doesn’t get a chance to.” All technically true, if missing some pretty major details.

Seemingly satisfied for now, they set off through hallways Logan’s never seen, following a mock-up map Scott had of the lair towards the control center. Logan’s heart rate climbed ever higher as they approached the Puppeteer.

Storm’s eyes went white as they approached the door, blasting it open with a gale of wind. She took point as they entered, hair flying out unnaturally, with Wolverine and Cyclops on either side and Jean behind her. The Puppeteer clapped delightedly as they entered, no sign of the henchman

“Oh what a fun surprise, I was just headed over to your place to see you!” His odd, lilting voice caught Logan’s mind, making it hard to focus. Storm didn’t seem impressed, and as thunder rumbled the Puppeteer held both his hands out “Now now sparky, wouldn't you like to know why? Why would I want to attack you at your school, the one safe place for mutants like me?” This caught Storm off-guard, and she lowered her hands just enough to listen. Logan tried to cry out a warning, to tell her to blast him when she’s got the chance but found instead that he couldn’t move.

“Ahh, I see I’ve got your attention now, don’t I. Well I’m sure my lovely pet Wolverine here would be happy to tell you.” And Logan, try as he might not to, feels his claws sing out of his fists as the Puppeteer speaks, and he lunges at Storm with a pained yell, the only warning he could give. Luckily she’d prepared for this and had the wind rising to block him in a moment, flinging the wolverine across the room and into the far wall. The Puppeteer continued as if nothing had happened while Logan stood up mechanically from his spot next to the wall, heaving for breath. “Well now Wolvie, share with the class, what favor did you do for me”

The Puppeteer flexed his fist slightly as he spoke, and Logan’s conscious mind flailed under the tension in his muscles, flashing back to countless hours of torture. He wasn’t quite sure if it was him or the Puppeteer talking when he said “I told him how to get to Rogue. He wanted her as the amplifier” His tone was flat, casual. Believable. As if he put no worth to the information he’d given up

Jean and Storm stared at him as he was forced to advance by strings the Puppeteer still held while Scott turned instead to the Puppeteer himself, just as planned, and blasted him into the wall. Just like that it was over, and Logan fell to his knees, weak with relief as his autonomy was returned to him. Except not quite. All three X-men across the room gaped at him as if they’d never seen him before. He stared back, unsure

“Did you, really tell him about Rogue? You really, just, gave her up?” Storm asks, incredulous. Logan stared for a moment, the relief at the death of the Puppeteer still rolling over him, and just as he opened his mouth to explain– the torture, the Amplifier, all of it– he caught sight of Scott.

Scott, in his field goggles, meant for causing controlled harm, can never really not look angry. The cut of the visor, the furrow of his brow as he concentrates, all add up to a pretty severe RBF whenever he’s out in the field. This was different though. This was disdain. And as Logan looked at Scott, all he heard anymore were calls to surrender to the pain. Imagined insistence that they were never looking for him anyway and that he should just give up.

This all comes to a head when Logan realizes he’s nodding. Not explaining, not diffusing the situation, just nodding. Agreeing with the horrible question they asked him. That horrible apathetic look on his face. And then there’s yelling. Disbelief from both women and pure, unfiltered rage from Scott. “Why would you… how dare you… just to save your own skin… she cares about you” and Logan’s mind faded again under the noise.

He couldn’t force his mouth to move or stop his eyes from squeezing shut as their raised voices seemed to put physical pressure on his still kneeling form. This was wrong, this was all wrong, why was he acting like this? The camera was gone, the Puppeteer was gone he should be fine, he should tell them what really happened, he should be able to stop the yelling.

“Selfish!” Rang through Logan’s ears. Scott’s shout shakes him to his core. The yelling needs to stop, it needs to STOP-

The familiar sing of his claws has him preparing for the pain of them being stopped, the intentional pain he used over the last uncountable days to ground himself and instead leaves him reeling now as the weapons fly out of his fist unimpeded. Logan registers the next few things much slower than they really happen, from the deadly buzz of Scott’s eyes to the burning across his chest then the bite of a stone wall into his shoulders. The room falls silent as Logan’s consciousness finally gives up, sighing with relief– despite the pain in his chest– at the quiet.

Chapter Text

If only unconsciousness could last longer. Instead, Logan finds himself drifting vaguely upward toward awareness, stopping just before he breaks the surface.

They’re on the jet, he thinks. It sounds like they are, anyway. And other than the sound of the engines, the silence is thick and heavy. Pain comes to him in dollops. His stomach, cramped still around lack of food. Whole body aches, leftover from the Puppeteer. His chest, screaming from the burns Scott left behind, healing slowly.

Oh God, Scott. He’d been so angry, and rightfully so. Logan couldn’t decide if the laserbeam or the words, how dare you be so selfish this is exactly why we can’t trust you we should have left you there, hurt more. Exhausted by the echoes of both, Logan let himself slip away again and only came back to when he was staring at a familiar ceiling.

The Med Bay of the X-men manor was sterile. The sharp smell of whatever mutant-strength disinfectant they used was uninterrupted, so he was alone. Logan let his eyes fall shut again. He’d fucked up, got himself captured, and lost the trust of his team enough for them to forgo the usual position of a sentry in the med bay. All because of his enormous pride. And it appears the rest of the X-men agree, since besides being dumped in the med bay and probably having his vitals checked, no effort was really put into his well-being.

Justified.

Logan heaved himself upright, sitting on the edge of the cot and taking a moment to rub at his hands and unsheathe his claws. The familiar sing of them had him clenching his law against the anticipated clang of adamantium meeting before he got ahold of himself. His claws were out and they were his again, unblemished and unchanged from his ordeal. As always

Logan moved on, reassessing himself. 1, Uninjured, as per usual, even the remnants of Scott’s rage had had a chance to fade from his now unmarked skin. 2, Hungry, as to be expected, luckily the med bay was stocked for long stays and after a few minutes shakily rooting around in some cupboards he found enough to stave off the worst of his hunger. 3, Filthy, which he hadn’t really noticed. The jeans he’d been wearing when he’d been captured were no longer blue, stiff and discolored as they were with sweat and blood, though his jacket had made it out ok. His skin was covered in a thin layer of grime as well, along with a fair amount of dried blood on his torso. His shower in the attached bathroom was hot enough to blister pretty much anyone else but did serve to help with 4, Sore. While technically no injuries remained, every part of Logan’s body ached, bone-deep and exhausting.

He pushed that away, again, trying to focus on what to do next. Logically, he knew he had to face Jean and Scott eventually, but doing that without sleeping first seemed insurmountable. He knew he owed it to them, to give them some kind of explanation, Ororo too, but right now all that seemed to fade under the weight of his exhaustion. So instead he tracked down a change of clothes tucked away in a locker– jeans, button-up, jacket– and he stumbled off, doing his best to avoid the other occupants of the house as he made his way toward his bedroom.

On the way, though, something else caught at the edge of his mind and he took a detour down a hallway that was mostly offices and entered the first unoccupied one he saw and woke up the computer. The desktop stared back at him, specifically the date. A week. He'd been there a week. And it's not like he'd had any way to guess at the elapsed time, The Puppeteer had done a fantastic job of throwing off Logan's internal clock, but a week was somehow both longer and shorter than he had thought.

Logan sat staring at the date for a long time, long enough that the screen turned back off and he was just staring into his own reflection, when he caught the voices of Jean and Scott.

They were arguing.

Logan moved down the hallway, listening intently until their voices became more distinct through the partially open door

“--don’t see why it's necessary,” Jean was saying. “What if it's private, or dangerous?”

“It's not dangerous, I already checked,” Scott shot back, “and as for privacy, I think he gave that up when he told a villain about a literal child when he knew what they planned on using her for, just to save his own skin.” That one hurt, though it wasn’t inaccurate. “Besides, this is our best shot at getting an explanation; tryna get that man to have a serious conversation is like pulling teeth”

That got a laugh from both Logan and Jean, though Logan’s went unheard, as Scott began messing with something Logan couldn’t see through the door and Jean settled in, seemingly conceding the point.

Logan leaned on the door frame, wondering what the hell they were doing when his whole body froze, ice dripping down his spine and terror clouding his thoughts.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the taming… of the Wolverine!!”

Chapter Text

Scott scoffed as the cheesy one-liner played. “Taming of the Wolverine” his ass. If Logan’s continued dick-ish-ness from when they found him was any indication, this prick in a knockoff Dracula cape hadn’t had much of an effect past convincing the hairy Canadian to save his own skin. Again.

Scott settled himself onto one of the stools they’d set in front of the shitty old TV and VHS player they’d tracked down– who uses VHS tapes anymore??-- after the strange package had turned up on their doorstep. Despite the note signed off as “For Scott and Jean, One last gift from the Puppeteer” with a heart, the package had been harmless, and so now Scott had to watch some weird video made by a lunatic and edited like a bad sitcom.

It seemed like a hell of a lot of bravado to start. This guy was cocky, no wonder he’d been that easy to take down. Scott did have to admit the guy was powerful though, especially as the camera (Why the hell was there a camera? What was wrong with this guy) panned over to include Logan in the shot.

Logan was shirtless, kneeling, and incredibly pissed off. The weird cage he was in came up roughly to the Puppeteer’s waist, and Logan was forced into an incredibly exposed position inside of it, arms spread wide and unable to stand. Logan hadn’t mentioned the cage had been for him. Jean gripped Scott’s hand a little tighter

“Fear not, ladies and gentlemen, for the beast is quite contained. Those coverings on his hands are adamantium, capable of withstanding even these claws.” There was a loud clang and Scott could only assume Logan’s claws had just unsheathed and hit the cuffs, though Logan’s expression hadn’t changed. “And I assure you, dear watchers, as much control as I have over our dear wolverine’s body,” The Puppeteer paused, and Logan thrashed in his bindings, twisting and pulling at the cuffs unnaturally. The Puppeteer was showing off, smiling as he continued, “his facial expressions are quite real”

Jean nudged him with one arm “Do you think he’s telling the truth?” She was hesitant, still unsure if watching this was the best idea.

Scott held her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, even as he said, “I guess he probably is, based on how Logan fought in the control room The Puppeteer’s powerful but his fine motor control isn’t the best, I don’t think he could fake facial expressions particularly well.” Which wasn’t as reassuring. He kept his own doubts quiet for now, that it didn’t look like The Puppeteer’s power ended at forcing people to fight for him. But no, Logan would have said something

The video continued, the camera panning closer as the Puppeteer began his twisted game of whack-a-mole, and Logan still was unaffected. Minutes ticked by and yet aside from the occasional grunt which sounded more surprised than pained, he took each dislocation without much trouble, and for some reason that pissed Scott off as well. Logan had given up the safety of the children protected here, including setting a villain on the path to kidnap one child specifically, because of something he was so clearly unaffected by? Sure The Puppeteer wanted Rogue for false reasons, and he couldn’t really use her the way he thought he could but still, to send a madman like this on the trail of a child?

That was until the Puppeteer lost his cool. Scott gripped Jean’s hand a bit tighter as the Puppeteer swiped at the camera, and the screen went black for a moment. When the video picked back up the angle was dramatically different, the new camera was posed in the top corner of the room. For a few moments, there was a freeze frame of the scene that had just gone dark: The Puppeteer yelling, Logan kneeling, and some guy in a uniform Scott’s never seen before booking it out of the room holding a camera and a tripod. There was text flashing at the bottom of the screen “Logan is as of now unaware of the security camera”. The picture was clear, though taken from further away until the freeze frame ended, and someone– probably the henchman– zoomed in to give Scott and Jean a clear view of Logan and the Puppeteer.

The Puppeteer is pacing, clearly furious, though he takes a moment to wink at the security camera. Logan, for his part, looks like he has control over his body again. His shoulders sag, his head drops and his breathing becomes more labored, even before the Puppeteer does anything, as if he had dropped a mask.

“You won’t talk? Fine. Just you and me then.” The Puppeteer flung a hand out and Logan seized at whatever the Puppeteer was doing. Scott only had a moment to wonder what was going on before it became glaringly, horrifyingly obvious. Starting at his joints, bones began to poke into Logan’s skin at unnatural angles, disconnected from each other. Jean gasped quietly, hand to her mouth as Scott recoiled away from the screen. What the fuck??

Logan’s back was arched, head thrown back and face in full view of the security camera. His eyes were shut, teeth clenched and bared as the Puppeteer continued to quite literally pull him apart. Soon a sound started to build, and it took Scott a moment to realize it was coming from Logan. The noise– half growl half shout, animalistic and terrifying– built until Logan was screaming, loud and raw and unending. He screamed far past what normal vocal cords would’ve been able to handle and still it didn’t end. Scott had a death grip on Jean’s hand as the screaming continued, and he resisted the urge to remove his glasses and blast the offending screen to smithereens; he glanced instead at Jean. She was leaning slightly forward, hand still covering her mouth as her eyes were glued to the scene in front of her like she was trying to pluck Logan out of it with her powers, or else kill the Puppeteer through the screen.

Eyes back on the TV, Scott watched as the Puppeteer dropped Logan’s limp form back to be held by his cuffs once again. The effect was grotesque, Scott could see Logan’s healing factor begin to work, snapping bones back together from their odd angles with audible pops and cracks. He was breathing shallowly, shoulders trembling, head bowed and slicked with sweat. The Puppeteer sneered at Logan’s battered body before kneeling in front of him and muttering something that the camera didn’t pick up.

The Puppeteer stood, waving his hand with a flourish towards the door, which opened as Logan snapped into motion. Scott watched, confused as Logan drew his legs back under him, and flicked his head back to get his hair out of his eyes briefly before bowing his head again. What was he doing?

There was a brief stutter as the video cut back to the original camera angle showing Logan knelt in his cage, body still visibly knitting back together as the door opened and shut. There was a slight pause where Logan’s chest moved with a few deep, measured-looking breaths until he looked up and made eye contact with the camera. Scott took in a quick breath, other than the sweat-soaked hair across his forehead Logan looked unaffected by his captivity once again as he grinned– he grinned– at the camera.

Scott’s thoughts raced, echoes of Logan screaming himself hoarse rattling around his head. He felt the familiar press of Jean’s mind against his own as they shared the same gut-wrenching realization. Logan didn’t know about the security camera. When the tripod wasn’t in the room he thought he was alone, meaning his behavior when the camera was out was specifically for the camera. He wasn’t unaffected, he was acting. Scott’s heart broke: Logan was still trying to protect them.

They watched as the video cut to an almost montage of Logan’s torture. The clips were shorter, but as more and more of them flashed by there was always– always– the switch. Not only did they watch as Logan’s body was torn apart time and time again, each pain different from the last, but they saw him hide it. He hid it well, too. When the camera was out he looked indomitable, unbroken, almost bored. Every time the Puppeteer made a comment he had a comeback for it, he laughed at the idea that the Puppeteer could follow through on his threats, scoffed when the Puppeteer suggested he was breaking and if Scott hadn’t seen him scream until his voice broke mere moments ago he would have believed it.

As it was, with being able to see both sides, Scott could tell Logan was struggling. Even when the camera was out he started to be less and less able to hide the tremors, the shaky breathing, the bags under his eyes. With the camera gone his reactions grew more desperate and Scott sensed, more than saw, Jean’s eyes fill with tears as Logan begged for the first time when his claws were used against him. Tears burned the backs of his eyes too as he watched the man on screen, usually so unbreakable, sob and beg and fall apart, only to force himself back together again for their sake.

Scott blinked his tears away as the final clip began. He watched the Puppeteer break the camera and saw him rail about how Logan was out of time. Scott couldn’t tear his eyes away, hoping beyond anything that Logan would realize what that meant. Prayed he would know they were coming and be able to hold out. He knew he didn’t though. Scott knew the ending to this and still, he felt his stomach drop when Logan broke after a comparatively weak hit to his face.

Logan’s voice was so quiet as he gave up Rogue’s existence and location that the security camera could barely pick it up. The Puppeteer released his hold on Logan and Scott dared to hope it would be over. Instead, the video continued, and Logan didn’t move after the Puppeteer left, Scott guessed because the camera was broken. He simply hung there in the cuffs, shaking slightly as the last of the open wounds the Puppeteer had left closed up.

“Is that..?”

The screen answered Jean’s unfinished question by beginning another clip. Logan was in the same position as The Puppeteer barged in again, gloating. Scott’s confusion deepened as Logan began to laugh. The Puppeteer echoed Scott’s worried confusion, thinking maybe he’d truly lost it.

But no. Instead, Scott watched as Logan, stupid, self-sacrificing, devoted Logan baited The Puppeteer. Laughed in the face of his torturer to divert him from the girl. Watched him get thrown around and torn apart for his trouble. Held back a sob as he saw something in Logan’s eyes break when he saw the camera and held eye contact with the video until Logan was dropped again like laundry.

Jean really did cry then as the camera panned down to Logan’s crumpled form. Beaten.

The camera fade-transitioned to yet another shot as Scott wrapped an arm around Jean. Logan was in the same position, unmoving but fully healed, and the room was still empty. Without any warning, and with no immediate reaction from Logan, himself, Jean, and Ororo came in and the video stopped on that picture with shockingly little fanfare. Leaving Scott to fill in for himself the end. Them seeing Logan, his uncharacteristic stutter, and the concerning sway to his step as they released him. All warning signs Scott had chosen to ignore in favor of his rage upon hearing that Logan had given up Rogue.

The memory of that anger sat uncomfortably next to his new knowledge of what Logan had been through, leaving Scott with a horrible taste in his mouth as the full weight of what he had done settled on him.

The Puppeteer’s final gift wasn’t done, however, as the screen faded from their entrance into Logan’s prison to a still-shot of the end of the fight in the control room. The screen now showed Logan’s crumpled and burned form against the wall, Scott, Jean, and Ororo standing over him, clearly making no move to help. The shot panned to include the Puppeteer’s defeated body as well, slumped just the same against a wall, the message of “Look, look at how you treated him the same as you did his torturer” was obvious. The image zoomed in slowly to give a close-up of Logan, hurt and broken against that wall, and finally, the video ended, leaving that image up.

Scott felt like he couldn’t breathe, his chest ached and his mind reeled at the reality of what Logan went through, and the hand he himself had had in Logan’s pain.

Jean’s breath beside him was shaky as she stared at the image on the screen. “How did he…” She trailed off. Hide it so well? Survive? Not tell them? Too many questions to ask, and Scott’s mind had just started to kick in and form plans of finding Logan, probably still in the med bay where they’d been horrible enough to leave him without so much as a sentry waiting for when he woke up. To find him and apologize until…. Forever. God Logan might simply hate him now, and worse still Scott had to agree. Before he could mention this to Jean, or even just peel his eyes away from the horrible screen he startled at a low grunt from behind them.

“Was hopin’ y’all had caught that henchman…” Scott and Jean whirled around to see Logan, leaning almost casually against the door frame, hands in his jacket pockets. Scott froze, more than anything taking in the look in Logan’s eyes. He was looking at them, technically, but really was staring through them to the TV screen and further, probably all the way back to that damned cage. He’d just watched his own torture on film.

Jean reacted first, running up to Logan and enveloping him in a hug. For a terrifying moment, Logan didn’t react, just looked with that same thousand-yard stare over her shoulder towards Scott before he slowly– slowly– wrapped his arms around her, pressed his forehead against her shoulder, and gave into the embrace.

Scott turned off the TV, still resisting the urge to destroy it, before making his way over slowly, careful not to startle Logan as he approached and brushed a hand gently over Jean’s back and Logan’s knuckles to announce his proximity. What he hadn’t expected was for Logan’s hand to move, latching onto his wrist before he could leave, and for Logan to pull back from Jean and grab her hand as well to look them both in the eye.

Logan’s voice was deadly serious as he spoke “You were right, I never should have told him about Rogue, I was putting all of you in danger and I understand if you’re mad but I just needed to apolo–” He got cut off with a sharp exhale as Scott, heart breaking, tears falling, hugged all the air out of his lungs. Logan fisted a hand in the back of Scott's shirt and held him close, trying not to shake apart at the seams

“Hey now,” Logan rumbled, voice low “I didn’t mean to–”

Scott cut him off before he could finish his sentence “If you say you’re sorry again I swear to god Logan”

Jean nodded in agreement, “And we should be the ones apologizing, we never should’ve taken so long to find you”

“Nah don’t say that I did that on purpose”

Jean forged ahead, unhindered by his comment. “And we’re sorry for not asking more questions, and for watching the tape without asking, if we’d known we never would have–” her voice gave out

Logan had no response to that

Scott picked up in the silence as something occurred to him and he pulled away, holding Logan’s hand again. “Logan, have you eaten?” He felt Jean’s sinking realization as surely as he felt his own. Logan’s hair and clothes were clean.

“Yeah, I ate and showered after I woke up, why d’you–” He tapered off at their identical looks of remorse and quickly backtracked, squeezing both of their hands “Oh, no, you two don’t have to… I know why you were… it's not that… really I'm okay,”

His half-hearted protests fell on deaf ears, however, and Scott spoke over him. “No, you’re not okay. What we did–” His breath hitched “Wasn’t okay. We left you alone after you were captured for a week. Fuck your healing factor, letting you wake up alone, force you to clean up, eat, whatever else alone after what you just went through was wrong.” Scott reached out and held Logan’s cheek, making sure he was looking him in the eye as he said “And I’m sorry”

Logan was staggering, thrown off balance by everything that had happened over the last hour. He leaned into Scott’s hand as he took a moment to readjust. Waking up alone, watching his own torture caught on tape, contrasting wildly with comfort from the two people he cared most about. Their touch, their apologies– as much as he protested against them– soothed the sharper edges of his mind and memories. The juxtaposition of the highs and lows in so short a span of time left him certain of only two things.

One: he was hopelessly and irreversibly whipped for both of these fools
Two: he was crashingly, achingly, bone-deep exhausted

The latter of these realizations came to a head when Logan stumbled, knees buckling under the weight of his fatigue before he could form words. He would’ve wound up on the floor if it weren’t for Jean and Scott, he didn’t even fully realize what had happened until he was upright again with Scott’s arm around his waist and Jean’s telekinesis supporting most of his weight.

“Woah big guy, don’t go fainting on us now,” Scott said, his voice ridiculously fond

“Shut up” Logan muttered as he found his footing again and Jean’s support retreated, leaving him to lean on Scott.

Jean laughed quietly at the both of them. “Let's get you off your feet, Logan”

As they turned to make their way away from the shitty TV Logan spoke again, not wanting to be told to sleep just yet, too much was going on in his head still. “I do want to talk yet, tell you some stuff” He knew he wasn’t helping his case with how he was slurring his words but walking was hard even with Scott’s help and he did his best

“Of course, whatever we can do to help, just let us sit you down first” Jean responded smoothly, guiding Logan and Scott towards a bedroom and opening the door.

Chapter Text

Logan did his best not to stumble on the threshold of the nearest bedroom, which of course had to be theirs, and then his best not to groan as they sat him on the edge of the bed and took up their spots on either side of him. Jean had his right hand between both of hers, one with her fingers laced through his and the other massaging the gaps between his knuckles where his claws came out– a nervous habit of his own that she seemed to be mirroring. Scott was on his left, arm still around his waist in both support and comfort. It was… nice, surprisingly natural, and far, far more than he could wrap his mind around.

Logan couldn’t look either of them in the eye, half caught in memories anyway, and their annoyingly sympathetic expressions would’ve sent them over the edge. Both of them seemed expectant, too, after he’d said he wanted to talk about it. Hell Jean could probably sense from there that his mind wouldn’t quiet down until he got this off his chest, in his own words. Even though they’d just watched most of it on tape. So he took a few steadying breaths, focused on the comforting presence of the people on either side of him, and began with something they probably already knew.

“So um, I know I mentioned this during the mission and you probably saw it from the uh” He broke off for a moment, waiving his free hand toward the office they had just come from, “the uh, tape. But near as I can figure his thing, his mutation is bodily manipulation. He’s not a telepath, I guess, he can’t get into your head but he can get your muscles, bones, blood vessels, whatever. He got better at it over time, I think, I guess that’s why he grabbed hold of me in the control room instead of either of you.” Gradually Logan felt his words coming easier, pouring out of him now that they’d been given a chance to start. His voice, as gruff and monotone as it normally was, was flat and rough from remembered screaming. Even he could hear that much.

He tried to focus on Jean’s slow massage or Scott’s hand that had come up to rub over his back, anything but the story he was telling. He tried to skirt around the more gruesome details, even though most of those details had been in the video, and instead, he tried his best to convey to them what it had been like. They saw the reality of it but Logan’s perspective was different, much different.

He told them about the cave. The room was damp, dark, and underground, and Logan’s enhanced senses could pick up every drip of water, every whiff of mildew, every rock beneath him. Damp air makes it damn hard to breathe after a while.

He told them about the haze. Keeping track of time in captivity is hard, and when semi-consciousness becomes the norm it gets harder and harder to see what's happening when the only moments of clarity come when the pain begins.

And he told them about the Puppeteer. How he reduced Logan’s world to the camera. How the audience he spoke to started to seem like it really was watching. How he had leashed the Wolverine and forced him to stay bowed in a cage for a week.

As he ran out of things to say, Logan’s voice got lower, quieter. “I… tried my best to hold out. I knew with cerebro it was only a matter of time before you found me and caught up to him but I just– I couldn’t–” His voice cracked again and he forced out a few deep, shuddering breaths, trying desperately to regain his limited composure. He’d just gotten to the bit he’d really wanted to mention, too, he couldn’t stop now. For the first time since they sat down, Jean spoke into the silence.

“Logan, it’s not your fault, he was torturing you, you didn’t–”

Logan cut her off, “I did though, he couldn’t hurt me, not forever, I’d heal and be just fine, and when I told him what he wanted to know I was putting all of you in danger. Rogue, the rest of the kids, not to mention the two of you, everyone” His eyes were watering now and he desperately wanted to stop but he was on a roll. “It wasn’t long after I broke that you showed up, less than a day for sure. If I coulda just held on that little bit longer…”

Scott spoke up, “Logan you held out for a week” His voice carried some weight in that last word that Logan couldn’t decipher, a hundred unsaid things held in a slight emphasis that he didn’t know what to do with.

Logan cleared his throat, unsure what answer Scott wanted “I uh, I guess so, really though I knew what was on the line and time got a lil fucked at the end there so I didn’t really know it was a week until now but, yeah.” There were a few beats of silence after that, both of them just stared at him as he glanced back and forth between them. Logan shifted in the silence, not enjoying the pressing reality that he’d been in that cave a week before they’d rescued him

Instead of dwelling on that, though, and more than a little bit anticipating being done with the story now that he was at the part he’d really wanted to tell, Logan cleared his throat and continued, voice watery “Towards the end, I started to get even more… out of it, I guess. Focusing was hard, I couldn’t really tell what was real and what wasn’t.” Again, as he started talking he found he couldn’t stop and the next bit came out in a rush “And when he burst in for the last time I was delirious, and that last blow where my nose started bleeding I didn’t think it was him I thought it was you. One of you, or both, kind of.” Logan shook his head, knowing he wasn’t making sense but plowed on anyway “I guess I was hallucinating because I thought… It felt like one of you had kicked me, rather than the Puppeteer doing it, and I heard you both tell me to give up and I-”

This time his voice truly broke, giving out from underneath him as he shuddered, curling in on himself. The last remnants of his mask, the one that slotted into place the moment there were eyes on him, born of necessity under the lights of the Puppeteer’s camera, gave way.

He turned, desperate for any comfort from this and Scott was there, guiding his head to his shoulder and bringing his other arm up and around Logan’s shaking shoulders, holding him tight. The hand that had been rubbing Logan’s back instead found a home at the base of his neck, scratching gently at his hair, almost petting him. Logan didn’t want to admit how good it felt. Jean had switched which of his trembling hands she was holding so her other hand could take over rubbing soothing patterns into his back.

“I stalled as much as I could, tried to make sure he wouldn’t go after Rogue, kept his focus on me, upended his plan when he said it was time to go-” Logan rambled, words hitching around mostly kept back tears as they held him.

Jean hushed him gently “It’s alright Logan, we know. You did so well, he never even made it out of his cave.” Logan held tight to her words, the knowledge that they’d won, that he was home now, settled deep into his mind for the first time.

Comfort bloomed and spread from every point of contact, soothing an ache in his chest far older than he cared to admit. He cried, try as he might not to, tears spilling out as he lost his composure. Tucked safely into the curve of Scott’s neck, held gently between these two as they mumbled reassurances and apologies he didn’t catch in equal measure it didn’t seem to matter as much.

Time passed, probably, though Logan had no idea how much, but eventually he’d more or less cried himself out. He stayed though, breathed deep into Scott’s neck and took solace in the scent there until Scott spoke again.

His voice was quiet and calming as he loosened his grip slowly and asked “You alright to look at me, Logan?” And it took him a moment but he was and when he pulled away Jean came forward to support his back and it felt good. As he scrubbed his eyes and looked at Scott though he nearly broke again. Scott looked heartbreakingly guilty and Logan can’t deal with that, not on top of everything, Scott couldn’t blame himself for this he wouldn’t let him.

“Fuck, Scott I didn’t mean to… It’s my own dumbass fault getting myself captured, I didn't,” He tried to say but Scott stopped him with a gentle hand over his mouth, which worked more by shocking Logan into silence than actually inhibiting his speech. Scott had one more apology to get through. At least for tonight.

“No.” He said firmly, taking over the job of wiping away Logan’s remaining tears, though much more gently and that felt good too. “Well, actually, yes, you are a self-sacrificing idiot and threw yourself on the wire for the rest of us but not that. What I meant was: what I said to you before, what I did, in the control room when you told us what that bastard knew…” Scott trailed off, choked up by the memory of his rage toward the man now seated nearly on his lap, disgusted by it “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what he did to you and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I was wrong, I never should’ve hurt you even if I didn’t know and it wasn’t right and I’m sorry”

Logan waits and lets him get his words out before he grabs the wrist of Scott’s hand that’s still cupped around his jaw. He holds it for a moment, letting the apology wash over them both, before gently and deliberately pressing a kiss to Scott’s palm. It was nothing really, a quiet way to tell him all the things that get caught up in his throat. I forgive you. I’m sorry for worrying you. We’ll be ok. I love…

They must’ve gotten the message though, since Jean wrapped both her arms around his waist and left a kiss on the base of his neck as if in response and Scott pulled himself ever closer to the other two, both of Logan’s hands clasped in his own, rubbing his thumbs gently over Logan’s knuckles and pressing still-apologetic kisses to the scruff on his jaw and cheek.

And oh Logan’s composure was so dead cause he was really pinned between these two now and it felt so damn good, each touch– his back, his face, his hands, his waist, his jaw– fed a low thrum of, was that contentment? Building in his chest. Especially the kisses. His one on Scott’s hand seemed to have opened a floodgate of them. Quiet, chaste and so damn comforting that he couldn’t bear to let either of them go. And so he didn’t. Instead, he melted back into Jean’s chest, sank deeper into their embrace, and trusted them to hold onto him, at least for now. He focused on that thrum, let it grow until it drowned out everything else. Felt it fuse with the exhaustion embedded deep in his bones until he thought he might just close his eyes and sleep right there, jacket and all.

No sooner had said thought drifted lazily across his mind than Jean acted on it. Logan felt more than heard her say, “Not to be the one to make us have to move again but Logan, Love, I can feel your exhaustion from here and I do not want you sleeping in jeans.”

Logan grunted out a laugh at that, even as he felt the pet name– she called him love– settle in his chest next to the rest of the warmth they had given him. “Always so desperate to get my shirt off, ain’tcha Red” and he laughed again when she swatted his arm as they both sat up, glad to be playful again.

Scott hopped off Logan and landed standing, moving quickly to the dresser “You okay to borrow something of mine?” Logan nodded, grumbled a quiet assent, and tried not to think too much about the idea of wearing Scott’s clothes. His focus is quickly diverted by Jean’s hands, moving slowly over his chest and shoulders, under his jacket which was pushed off and discarded on the floor. He sighed as it went, content to let her do all the work as she slowly unbuttoned and worked his shirt off in the same manner. The shirt got thrown vaguely off towards the hamper by Jean’s powers as she moved behind him and her unfairly soothing hands turned instead to Logan’s now-bare shoulders and the base of his neck, beginning to massage out the knots there.

The sound Logan made when Jean found the tension in his shoulders was almost inhuman– you’re not an animal he thought she told him– a groan from deep behind his diaphragm, a low and rumbling sound of pure relief. It was striking enough to get Scott to turn from his spot near the wardrobe where he’d just finished changing, mouth slightly agape as he watched the two of them.

Logan cracked one eye open and tried for his usual growl, “Whatchu lookin' at bub.” And Scott smiled when he heard none of the usual fire.

“Just you, Lo, just you” And having no response for that– another nickname–, he let his eyes fall shut again as Jean worked her magic and the sounds of Scott rummaging in the wardrobe resumed. Time went loose again as the thrum returned until Jean stopped her massage when Scott walked over. With a pair of grey sweatpants and a plain white shirt in one hand, Scott outstretched the other toward Logan. “Might wanna stand up for this next bit”

Logan sighed as Jean stood and headed off for the attached bathroom, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and then his cheek as she went. He eyed Scott’s proffered hand, already feeling a twinge in his lower back from the idea of standing “You sure? Won’t be the first time I’ve slept in jeans y’know” He stops at the look he got from Scott, whose arched eyebrow was visible above his glasses. “Okay fine, I warned you though” Logan gripped Scott’s hand and stood, joints aching and popping as he went.

“Goddamn you sound old, I thought you had a healing factor,” Scott remarked sassily as he helped Logan to his feet

Logan made some sound in the back of his throat that could’ve been a laugh. “I am old, and a healing factor can only do so much with 200-pound bones and no sleep”

“Hmm, Touché” And Scott tried to ignore the implications of ‘no sleep’. Tried to ignore the images that floated into his mind unbidden of Logan, awake and alone and in pain for a week, locked in the cell they found him in with no idea when he’d be rescued. Images made sharper by the videos from the security camera, the night and day difference between Logan when he’s protecting them and Logan when he thought he was alone. Scott’s heart broke for this man once again, and he comforted the both of them with another quick kiss, closer to his mouth this time, when they finished getting Logan into borrowed clothes.

Logan, still a bit unsteady and holding Scott’s shoulders for balance, hummed deep in his chest and murmured, “Thank you darlin’” Before pressing a slow kiss, a proper kiss, to Scott’s lips. After a pause while Scott’s brain rebooted– darlin’– he kissed back. And there they stood for a while, kissing long and low and slow, they basked in the taste of each other, until Jean came back into the room.

She smiles at them both, walking up and running a hand through Logan’s hair, “Good to hear you purring again, love.”

The thrum that had started back up in Logan’s chest sputtered as he pulled away, embarrassed. “I didn’t, I wasn’t, it’s not-” He gave up, tucking his head into Scott’s chest and dealing with the realization that that happy buzz wasn’t just in his mind. He didn’t move, just pouted at the chuckle his reaction got from the other two and then protested slightly at the loss of the hand in his hair while the other two kissed over his head. It wasn’t until he felt a gentle hand lift his chin that Logan decided to move, looking into Jean’s eyes at her prompting.

“D’you mind if I…” She left the end of her sentence off, raising her eyebrows in question. Logan simply brought his hand to her hair and guided her forehead to meet his own in answer. Her presence was tender, gentle, never prying or obtrusive as she poked around in his mind. Thank you for letting me do this. Her voice was just as distracting when it was in his head. She laughed, thank you love, that's very sweet, I just wanted to make sure you’re really okay. With the two of you here how could he not be?

Her presence remained though, hesitant. You mentioned not knowing what was real, and that you saw us telling you to give up near the end… Logan faltered, knowing what she was asking but still needing a moment as the memory of that horrible hallucination flashed across his mind before Jean saw it and helped him push it away. Her soothing voice repeated It’s alright, take your time, you’re safe as Logan fished around for a way to explain what was going on in his brain. He settled for something he wasn’t sure was going to work and focused on the warmth in his chest from the physical touch, the cool relief from their apologies, and the thrum that’d been present since she’d hugged him in the office. This, he thought to her, this is what is real

And with that Jean’s active presence drew back, satisfied, and he had only a moment to feel disappointed at the loss before it was replaced by the press of her lips on his. Logan reeled slightly, unprepared before he grabbed her waist and kissed her back. The kiss, while less lazy than his kiss with Scott, was still relaxed. Logan was yet again more than willing to let her do all the work as her hands moved slowly up from cupping his face to tangle in his hair. It wasn’t until she found one spot just behind his ears that the purring started up again, deep in his chest and she felt it, not just heard it, and god this man may be the death of her.

As she pulled back to catch her breath she noticed Logan shifting slightly on his feet, heard a joint pop as he readjusted and immediately felt bad for keeping him standing. “Shit Logan, you’re exhausted we should-” She broke off again as she looked toward Scott who had moved sometime when she wasn’t paying attention and was already rearranging the pillows at the head of their bed as he eyed the both of them fondly.

Her eyes snapped back to Logan as he laughed quietly, keeping a hold on her forearm with one hand for balance as the floor seemed to sway beneath him, “Just didn’t wanna ruin the moment.” Logan hesitated a second as Jean pulled him towards the bed before catching the reassurance in both of their gazes and allowing himself to be manhandled to the center, thoughts tripping wildly over the idea of sleeping here with them

By the time his brain caught up, Logan was buried between Jean and Scott, purring contentedly like a goddamn housecat. He was on his back, which did wonders for his lower back relaxing, with the both of them tucked into either side of him, Scott’s arm around behind him, and Jean’s head on his chest, drawing random circles into his abdomen.

Something, probably Jean, turned the lights off, pulled the covers over all of them and as he drifted Logan managed to mutter “Thank you both”

Scott pulls back slightly to better see his face “For what?”

“For finding me”

And the last thing he remembered before exhaustion finally overtook him was the both of them pulling closer, and quiet assurances murmured into his skin.