Archive of Our Own ^beta

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No one was expecting Kurt to wake up lucid or even half-aware of what’s going on around him—but waking up swinging was another thing entirely. And maybe that was a hell of an under sight on their part. Maybe it shouldn’t have been. Everything the guy’s been through, everything he’s still going through… yeah. Maybe they should’ve seen it coming. But maybe and should’ve don’t do jack shit to ease the sting of the lines clawed into his arms, or the bite marks healing on his neck, or—

It started with a building collapse. Search and rescue that were helped along by Kurt zipping in and out of piles of debris, following the coordinates shouted through their comms by a drone-led cleanup crew and leaving puffs of smoke and the smell of brimstone and sulfur behind.

Stronger, though, is the stench of exhaustion. It clings to him so harshly that Logan’s damn sure it’ll never leave—the smell of sweat and blood and a level of tiredness that seeps into your bones. He’s shocked the guy hasn’t collapsed yet. Logan hasn’t seen him take a minute to breathe, a second to rest, since they got here. And he gets it. If he could do more than dig through the rubble, he sure as hell would. But it gets to a point where you have to slow down—or you won’t be able to help anyone at all.

Would Kurt appreciate that, though? Not everyone takes it well when someone—even their friend, even their… whatever they are—tells them to take it easy. Not everyone likes to be told to back off when they could be helping. When they need to be helping, like he knows Kurt does.

Kurt doesn’t like being told what to do. Fights against it, does the exact opposite of what the hell you want when he doesn’t think it’s the right thing to do—Logan respects that. Logan really, really feels that. But when he sees Kurt stumble out of the darkness, bloodied and bruised and holding two small children in his arms, he throws that respect out the window—just a little bit.

“Elf,” he calls, lifting a hand to wave him over.

Kurt looks up. His eyes light up—literally—at the sight of him, and Logan has about two seconds to enjoy that. Two seconds to think about how much he loves to see that—how much more like a person it makes him feel, the joy in Kurt’s eyes when he sees Logan. Then the smile slips from his face, and Logan sees the moment that his hold on the children starts to fade.

Shit.

He hears two panicked screams, and Logan’s at Kurt’s side before he even realizes he’s moving. There are two kids in his arms, dots of blood on the pavement underneath from his knuckles as his skin knits itself together again. Kurt hits the ground with a sick thud that he has to pretend he doesn’t hear. They’re crying in his arms—he can’t make out the words yet, but they’re crying and fighting and he can feel tiny, ineffectual fists pounding against his hold on them.

He tries not to take it personally. They’re (1) kids, (2) scared kids, and (3) Kurt would be pissed if he’d just let them hit the ground. Yeah, it would’ve been a pretty short fall. And yeah, they’re more likely to scrape their knees running the hell away from him. But he’s not gonna just… he’s not gonna let them get hurt—at all. Not just because of Kurt. Because it’s his fucking job, and they’re just kids, and…

“You let him die!” one of the kids cries, still punching him ineffectively. It’d be funny if the situation wasn’t the situation. If literally everything about it was different. But Logan gets their fear. Here he is, some scary, grumpy looking man, grabbing them out of the arms of the cuddly blue guy who just saved their lives. The cuddly blue guy who they just watched collapse to the ground—and Logan’s the guy just standing here and letting it happen.

“Look, kid, he’s not—”

“You let him die!” This time there’s a small finger in his face. Logan blinks back his surprise, schooling his expression into something a little more appropriate. “He saved our lives, and you let him die, and—and I don’t even—” Her bottom lip is quivering again, signaling a quick change from anger to sadness. “And I don’t even know his—his name! You monster!”

Logan’s been called that more times than he can count. Monster. Creature. Animal. Weapon. Thing. Somehow, it hurts more coming from this kid’s mouth, with Kurt laying still on the ground next to them, than it’s ever hurt in his damn life.

“He’s not dead. ” Logan growls. Doesn’t mean to—but the kid’s freaking out, and the other kid is starting to look like they’re gonna cry, too, and Logan doesn’t know if he can fucking handle two crying kids and dealing with Kurt. “Look.”

He puts the kids down. Gently. And then, making a big show of his movements, drops down to one knee next to Kurt. He’s crouched at their eye level now—they don’t take a step away from him, like he expects—instead, the girl, who can’t be older than seven or eight, steps forward. Puts herself as in-between Kurt and Logan as she can get.

Brave. he thinks. Stupid. But brave as hell.

And he respects that.

“My name’s Logan.” he tells them, and then nods down at Kurt. 

“This is Kurt. He’s my…” Friend doesn’t seem like a strong enough word. Coworker’s just stupid as fuck. “He’s my Kurt.” he finishes, feeling a little bit silly as she stares at him with those big fucking eyes. But his meaning seems to get through to them—the girl takes a small step back, holding her sibling’s little hand in her own.

“Are you gonna help him?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he promises, throat tight enough that he’s not sure how the hell he’s still breathing—much less getting the words out. “Yeah, kid. I’m gonna help him.”

With a hand cupping the back of Kurt’s neck to keep him as steady as possible and the other pressed to his chest, Logan ever so carefully rolls him onto his back. He hears a sharp inhale and a gasp at the sight of the blood he could already smell—a cut on his forehead is pouring blood down his face, and Logan grunts in irritation as he rips an already torn piece of fabric from his suit. He’s still breathing, and Logan doesn’t have to check to know his pulse is erratic. Gets that way sometimes, when he’s running himself into the ground. Sometimes he swears he can hear it—he’s sure he can even now, over the roar and the rush of his own blood.

“Looks like a lot of blood,” Logan tells them, trying to keep his voice calm and gentle. Bites down the growl that bubbles up in his chest for the sake of the kids watching him closely. “Just the way head wounds look, though. S’not as bad as you think. See?” He makes a show of wiping away the blood with his sleeve. Sure enough, the cut across his head isn’t deep. He wraps the cloth tightly around it, pressing a hand to it in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

He expects something to happen. A noise. A scrunched up nose. An insult. Hell, Logan would’ve been happy if Kurt woke up and punched him. Because at least it means he’s doing something right. Anything.

But he’s still and he’s quiet.

The girl squeezes her sibling’s hand and sits down next to him. She gently puts the other on Kurt’s head, patting his hair. He’s not sure who it’s meant to comfort, exactly, but he’s not gonna complain. And he’s sure as hell not gonna push her away when all she wants to do is help Kurt.

“Why won’t he wake up?” she asks.

Logan scoffs, shaking his head. There’s a gash on his arm that’s still bleeding sluggishly, and he’s covered in dirt and dust and bruises—but other than that, he’s fine. He’s gonna be fine. “Because he’s an idiot.” he says, letting the frustration bleed into his voice. “Won’t fuckin’—” Logan cuts himself off. “Won’t listen when anyone tells him to slow down. He’s pushin’ himself too far because he thinks it’ll help other people. He doesn’t get he can’t help anyone else if he’s hurtin’.”

The kids giggle at his slip up. He thanks whatever fucking God is out there for the small things for the second or third time today.

“Oh,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smile as she idly pets Kurt’s hair. “So he’s kind of silly.”

Logan doesn’t fight the smile that pulls at his lips. “Yeah,” he agrees. “He’s kinda silly.” He pauses a moment, shifting Kurt in his lap to finish checking him over. “Look. I’ve gotta get you two out of here. Might have to—”

“My god! It’s them!” All three of their heads snap up at the piercing shriek quickly coming their way. Logan moves before he can even think, setting Kurt gently on the ground and putting himself between the kids and whatever’s approaching. He curls his hands into fists, readying himself for the sting of—

“Mama!”

He stops in his tracks. The younger kid runs past him, barreling into the arms of a woman who drops suddenly and painfully to her knees. “Oh my god,” she sobs, pulling the child into a tight hug and pressing too many kisses to count into their hair. “Oh my god, you’re alright. You’re—you’re both—”

She looks up. Her daughter stands next to Logan, reaching for his hand.

He looks down at her, smile long forgotten. “Get out of here, kid.” he tells her, jerking his head toward her mother. “Go to your mom. S’not safe out here.”

“It’s not safe for you either, Mr. Logan.” she says. “Or Mr. Kurt,” she says, looking back at his companion on the ground.

“I know.” he drops back down to her level, putting a light hand on her shoulder—like it’ll hurt her, like the claws will somehow come out and shred through her body. Like— “But I’ve got a job to do, and I can’t carry him and you.”

She giggles.

And then, all of a sudden, she launches herself at him. Logan catches her with a grunt, unsure of what the hell he’s supposed to do while the kid hugs him. Hugs him— like he’d saved her life, instead of Kurt. Like he’d done anything other than scare the shit out of her. He doesn’t know… Kurt’s blood is still on his hands. Does he hug her back? Or should he just sit here awkwardly?

She makes the decision for him. She finally lets go of him, standing there with one of his hands held in both of hers. “Please take care of him, Mr. Logan,” she whispers.

“Yeah.” he nods, because what the hell else is he going to do? Kurt takes care of Logan. Logan takes care of Kurt. It’s just—it’s what they do.

The girl takes one more look down at Kurt—like she’s debating giving him a hug, too, and Logan doesn’t know if he’d have it in him to try and stop her—but turns back and sprints to her mom. She gives him a grateful look, mouthing the words thank you at him with tears in her eyes. They fade into the background of his mind, happy and tearful and so, so fucking alive.

Logan shifts his gaze back to Kurt, lifting a bloody hand to scrub at his forehead. “Fuck.” he breathes. “You’re gonna kill me, furball.”

Kurt doesn’t respond.

“Figures.” Logan mutters. Then he bends down, cradling Kurt in his arms as he lifts him from the ground. He presses his lips to his forehead—a shred of it untouched by the debris—and exhales a slow, shaking sigh. “Alright. Let’s go home.”

With Kurt held close to his chest and more guilt than he knows what to do with, Logan starts the long trek home.

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Hank takes a good, long look at Kurt and declares that he’s gonna be fine. All Logan knows is that if he’s not, he’s gonna find a way to bring his ass back just so he can fucking tell him off for being reckless and irresponsible and stubborn and a pain in his ass and—

Okay. He’s not really. But the thought of it—of chewing Kurt out and grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him until he can get it through the idiot’s thick fucking skull that he’s important, too—makes him feel a little bit better. Not enough to override the shit ton of guilt that thinking about it brings up, but honestly? At this fucking point, Logan will take what he can get.

“I think bed rest is most of what he needs.” Hank says, writing furiously on a notepad as his gaze flicks back and forth between Kurt, Logan, and the little screen sitting next to them. “Typical for exhaustion. Kurt’s powers expend a great deal of energy—from what he’s told me, carrying multiple people along with himself is difficult, to say the very least.” He hums, tapping his pen against the middle of his glasses. “I wonder…”

Hank’s standing next to Kurt’s bed—it’s more like a cot, really, but thinking about it like a bed makes it feel less terrifying—in the corner of the medical wing. There's a room in the back they use for exams, he's pretty sure (they never managed to get him in here), and Hank set Kurt up in here for privacy. Hank's hand is resting on the edge of the bed, right next to Kurt's head. It makes Logan’s skin itch with the urge to tell him to back off. Or shove him away. Or—or anything, really, to get Hank the fuck away from Kurt.

“…if there’s something we can do to help lower the energy cost to him.” Hank continues, like an annoying fucking fly that keeps buzzing around his ears. What he wouldn’t fucking give to swat at him right now. “Granted, I suppose it has something to do with the displacement and reformation of each individual atom, and trying to alter that too much could result in nuclear fission—and wouldn’t that be something!”

It’s irrational and he knows it. Because Kurt’s not really all that hurt. There’s clean bandages wrapped around his head, and the cut on his arm’s been carefully cleaned and stitched, and he’s clearly a hell of a lot more comfortable than Logan could’ve gotten him. Hank gave him something for the pain, he remembers.

“Not because his injuries strictly require it,” he’d said, “but I’d rather give him something now and we find out it wasn’t necessary than risk him waking up in pain.”

So there’s that. He’s not in pain. He’s alive and he’s not in pain. There’s no reason he should be thinking about ripping Hank’s face off right now, but it’s there in the back of his mind. It’s just… fuck, this is the first time he’s seen Kurt hurt. The first time he’s had to carry him back instead of watching him limp away with a fanged grin on his face and an I told you I was fine, Liebchen on the tip of his tongue.

“Of course, not something we want to test out on Kurt. Or anyone else, for that matter.” Hank adds, chuckling to himself as if literally any of this is funny. “No, I suppose we’ll avoid nuclear catastrophes and figure out a way to make this easier on Kurt another time. Perhaps he can give us some insight when he wakes up.”

Kurt’s not saying I told you so right now. He’s not saying anything , and it’s—it’s unsettling. How quiet he is. How still he is.  Logan wants to hear I told you so and you’re overreacting and maybe an I’m sorry I swooned into your waiting arms, Logan. Just so he can say no problem, it’s what my arms are for. 

Hank’s hand on his shoulder jolts him back into reality. For a second, he has to fight the urge to shove it away—fuck, or cut it off. Maybe then he’d get the idea and fuck off. 

“If you need me, I’ll be nearby. I'm going to pick up some paperwork from Charles, get a head start on it. He'll never take a break otherwise, and then I have to deal with the migraine he's going to complain about later.” Hank tells him—and he guesses the guy finally did pick up on how antsy he is. If only he’d done it a couple minutes ago, Logan could’ve had some peace and fucking quiet by now. “Shout if you need anything. He might be a little disoriented or confused when he does wake up, so try to be…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Comforting. Reassuring. You know, all of that.”

Logan snorts. “Comforting. Yeah, sure. When the hell have you known me to be comforting, McCoy?”

“Sure, Logan. You’re right.” Hank sighs, long and tortured. “You’re very scary. People all over the world are shaking in their boots right now, just from the thought of you.” Logan is calm. He’s kind. He’s patient. He’s gracious. He’s reminding himself to breathe. He’s breathing. He’s breathing.

“I’m sure you can manage it.” Hank continues with a stern look, then nods toward Kurt as the weight of his hand vanishes from Logan’s shoulder. Suddenly, everything feels just a little bit easier; he feels just the slightest bit less murderous. “For him.”

Okay. The rage starts to seep back into him, ugly and violent. “What the hell is that supposed to…” He turns back toward Hank, but he's already slipping out of the room. The door shuts quietly, and he's at least grateful for that. “…Asshole.” he mutters anyway, turning back around in his chair to face Kurt.

And then he’s left with the silence. He listens to the sound of Kurt breathing, soft and slow and peaceful. And the soft beeping of the monitor next to him, telling Logan his heart is beating steadily. Just him and enough alive to keep him from ripping his hair out, but not enough to prevent him from feeling fucking insane with it.

Logan drags his chair a little bit closer, leaning forward and glowering at Kurt’s sleeping form. “Alright, elf.” he starts, shooting for threatening and landing somewhere a lot closer to desperate. Ah, whatever. No one’s here to hear it. “Need you to wake up—because I’m startin’ to freak out, and that’s freaking Hank out, and that’s getting annoying real fast. I can’t…”

He pauses to take in a shuddering breath, shoving a hand through his hair. Kurt doesn’t say anything back to him—no calm reassurances, no witty side comments, nothing.

He shifts closer again, feeling something like fear taking root in his chest and clawing its way up his throat. He wants to reach forward and take one of Kurt’s hands in his own—maybe the one without a fucking needle stuck in the crook of his elbow. But he’s—fuck, he’s scared. Scared he’ll fuck it up even more, scared he’ll hurt him, scared he’ll… ugh. Logan drags that same hand over his face, setting the other on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know what the hell to say right now. I need you to wake up. It’s—this is weird as fuck, sitting here without you saying your stupid, sappy shit.” Logan can feel how tight his throat is again—all the emotions he’s been trying to shove down threatening to burst out of his chest. He doesn’t know how the hell he’s gonna heal from that—if he even will. He forces out a dry laugh, sitting back and folding his arms over his chest. “You know, those fuckin’ kids were—they were really lookin’ forward to saying thanks for saving them. And they’re worried about you, and I’m worried about you, so… you just…”

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if Kurt doesn’t wake up. They’d gotten a pretty good place, recently. Where they’re something more than friends—something good , something that Logan feels like himself in. He felt like he’d finally found someone who he didn’t have to be Wolverine around all the time, someone who saw Logan. Someone who saw him and cared for him and—fuck, and might one day find it in them to love him.

What the hell is he supposed to do without that in his life? Now that he knows what it’s like—how’s he meant to just… go back to the way things were before? Sure, there’s people here who care about him. Sure, there are people here who say they know him, who say they see Logan. But… Kurt is something—some one—entirely different.

That’s one wound he’s not sure he’d ever be able to heal from.

So it leaves him with one option. “Come on. ” Logan doesn’t beg easily, and he sure as hell doesn’t like to. But he thinks he’d do just about anything right now. “Wake up, Kurt.”

And if he didn’t know any better, the way Kurt shifts minutely in bed—just the smallest little knit of his eyebrows, the tiniest twitch and scrunch of his nose—immediately following his plea might be a miracle. Logan jumps out of his seat, reaching for one of his hands as he leans over him. He gets that most people would probably find it intimidating—hell, downright terrifying—to wake up with Wolverine towering over them. But Kurt told him once that he never once felt like that.

“I have not once feared you, mein Freund.” Kurt assured him. “Waking up to your face is… peaceful. It reminds me that you won’t leave—that you will be there, no matter what. I find that comforting, Logan.”

Always Logan and mein Freund and Liebchen. Never Wolverine—never when they’re like that, anyway. Almost like there’s a line separating the two—like Logan can be both of those things, whenever he wants. Almost like he has a choice.

“Hey,” he chuckles, soft and breathless, as Kurt’s eyes slowly drift open. They don’t seem to lock onto Logan immediately, and that’s—shit, that’s fine. Hank said he’d be disoriented, right? That he might be confused. He’s pretty sure that’s all this is. He reaches up to brush the hair from Kurt’s forehead; he doesn’t risk pressing his lips there, instead, unwilling to take the chance of causing him any pain. “Took you long enough, huh? Feels like I’ve been sitting on my ass for hours.” he says, watching as Kurt’s eyes float around the plain walls. Watches as his gaze falls onto the monitor sitting next to them, which he follows down to where it’s connected to him, which he follows to the IV in his arm, which he follows to the fluids hanging from a rack next to him. His eyebrows knit tightly together, lips pursed as a soft, distressed whine rips itself from his throat.

Logan freezes. His heart sinks into his stomach.

The hand he’s not holding fumbles for the needle in his arm, and Logan reaches forward to hold onto it—he keeps his hold gentle, but firm. “Woah, hey, hey,” he tries. “You need that right now. Messed yourself up pretty bad out there, Kurt. Hank’s outside, said you might be confused when you wake up—” Kurt’s hand moves underneath his, a little desperate, and Logan tightens his grip. “ Kurt. Stop. You’re gonna—shit. There’s a—you need to—you’re gonna hurt yourself, Kurt, you’ve gotta—”

Fear.

It’s all Logan can smell. And it’s not an I’m in pain type of fear, or I don’t quite know what’s going on or even this situation is a little bit uncomfortable for me right now . It’s pure terror—so sharp and horrible that Logan nearly chokes on it. He realizes very suddenly that disoriented might be the understatement of the fucking century. Kurt’s looking straight through Logan suddenly makes a hell of a lot more sense. Poor bastard probably has no idea what the hell’s going on, or where he is . Logan follows his glowing gaze to the exit, and then down to their conjoined hands, and watches as Kurt’s features twist in realization that he is the only thing standing between him and that door.

Shit. He’s already said it once, and he’s going to say it about a million more fucking times. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

“Elf…” he starts, adrenaline flooding through him as he shifts his stance—ever so slightly.

Moving, predictably, was a really, really shitty idea. Before he can get the rest of the warning out, Kurt rips his hand away from Logan—and lunges right at him.

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Logan tries to jerk himself backward as soon as he realizes Kurt’s coming at him—but despite his recent injuries, despite his clear fucking exhaustion, and despite the pain meds Hank gave him earlier, he’s fast. And Logan might not be nearly as tired as Kurt is, but he’s got enough of an advantage here that there’s no getting out of the way for him. Something sharp—several somethings, he thinks—rake across his face, and Logan resists the urge to pull away as blood starts to pour down his cheek.

He can ignore the feeling of his own blood. Hell, Logan’s been ignoring that for years—he’s so used to seeing it, to feeling it, to smelling it, that he can almost tune it out at this point. He pushes it to the back of his mind—and instead, Logan grabs hold of Kurt’s flailing arms, one wrist held tightly in each hand.

“I got you,” he tells Kurt, even though he knows the guy probably isn’t hearing a damn thing he says. Even though it’s probably giving the opposite of calm and help and support.

As predicted, all he gets in response is the sound of his friend snarling and spitting at him. And that’s fine. Logan can take that. He can take Kurt struggling and fighting for his fucking life, tail flickering behind him dangerously, and isn’t that a miracle? That he hasn’t gotten the idea of using that as a weapon? Logan’s seen the spaded edge of a very similar tail pierce all the way through a human’s body. And while he’s pretty sure it wouldn’t kill him, it definitely wouldn’t feel great. And he really doesn’t want to have to explain why he’s god a fucking hole in his stomach to anyone who happened to walk by.

Logan wrestles Kurt’s arms to his sides, pinning them as carefully but securely as he can and pulling him into a tight hug against his chest. It’s not much, admittedly, and it’s sure as hell not what he fucking wants to do in the moment. He knows how much Kurt hates being or feeling restrained, knows it sets off more panic than either of them know what the hell to do with even if he doesn’t know why, but fuck is he running out of options. He could shove him back down on the bed, but that’s just gonna freak him out more. He could try to call Hank in here for backup, but he doesn’t know what the hell the sight of him would do. Logan can’t just let him hurt himself. He can’t let him hurt anyone else, either.

As he holds Kurt steady, the snarling dies down to what isn’t quite words, but it sounds like maybe it could have been at some point. Like maybe they were supposed to be, but somewhere between his foggy brain and his mouth, the translation sort of got lost. Whatever it was supposed to be—and Logan can’t imagine any of it was good—comes out as a messy jumble of syllables that might be English, might be German, could be another language entirely for all he knows. None of it’s coherent.

And all the while, Logan murmurs quiet reassurances that he doesn’t know if Kurt can even hear. Just fucking holds him and talks to him like he does on the nights Kurt wakes up screaming, wakes up unsure of what’s real and what’s not. Wakes up sure that none of it is real, that it’s all just some movie in his mind to distract him. Talks to him like Kurt does when Logan wakes up shaking, knuckles bleeding onto the sheets underneath him. When he wakes up not remembering what his name is, not remembering that he isn’t a weapon anymore. Tells him it’s okay, that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere. That everything’s gonna be fine, even if he doesn’t fucking know if that’s true.

And it seems like maybe it’s working. The fight slowly—slowly—starts to ebb out of Kurt. The struggling and the clawing stop, leaving him completely still for a moment. His frenzied heart is racing and beating against Logan’s skin, panting for breath in quiet, heartbreaking wheezes that end in whimpers he has to ignore for his own sanity. Has to pretend they don’t make him feel like shit.

“It’s okay.” Logan repeats. Maybe he can convince himself of it, if he says it enough. “You’re alright, elf. You’re safe. Promise you’re safe.”

Kurt’s shaking like a leaf now—trembling so violently that Logan’s worried he’ll shake himself to pieces. Probably a good sign that he’s starting to wake up, starting to become more aware of the shitshow that their lives have turned into. He pulls Kurt closer, then, into a tighter embrace. Tucks his head into the crook of his neck, letting go of his arm just to cup the back of his neck. The way he knows Kurt likes to be held, when he’s feeling unsure of himself. When he doesn’t feel entirely safe, when he’s not all there.

“You there, elf?” he asks quietly. Kurt shifts, lifting his head just a little. Logan’s heart skips a beat, and hope flashes in his mind, and—

He shouts, more out of surprise than anything else, when Kurt’s fangs sink into his neck and pull. No, not pull. Tear. Logan has no choice but to let go of him as blood starts to spray between them, clamping both hands over the wound. “Fuck!” he grunts, stumbling a few steps back and snatching the first piece of fabric he can find—one of the shirts he’d grabbed for Kurt. He presses it to his throat as he fucking reevaluates the whole fucking situation.

This is bad. Not a little dicey. Not even fucking awful. Just really, really, really, really fucking bad.

He knows what this is. This isn’t Kurt a little bit freaked out and disoriented from meds. This isn’t post-nap confusion. This is Kurt fighting for his life—and Logan’s seen that two too many times to know that it doesn’t fucking end well.

Most of the time, Kurt’s like… fuck, whatever. He’s like a huge kitten. He’s furry, he’s cuddly, and if you scratch behind his ears he purrs louder than an engine. His tail sways when he’s comfortable, it flicks around wildly when he’s excited. He can fall asleep curled up just about anywhere, and he radiates heat like a fucking furnace. He’s kind. He’s gentle. He’s one of the best people Logan’s ever known.

But when it really gets down to it, Kurt’s strong. He’s almost as fast as Logan now, especially when he’s porting around like crazy. He doesn’t pull his punches when the people he cares about—hell, even the ones he hates—are in danger. And when he’s in danger? When he thinks… Logan doesn’t know what the hell he thinks is happening right now, but if it’s bad enough that he fucking ripped Logan’s throat out, then…

If this was anyone else— anyone else—they would be dead. Maybe not right now, but they sure as hell would be soon. He can already feel the flow of blood slowing to a stop, can feel the tear in his throat starting to weave itself shut.

He needs to figure this out. Because someone could end up dead, and that would… it would destroy Kurt. If he woke up and found out he hurt someone? He’d never forgive himself. It’ll be hard enough convincing him he’s not the scum of the Earth if Logan’s own wounds aren’t completely healed by the time he comes back to himself.

Okay. He can do this. He just… needs to try a new approach.

Kurt’s shoved himself in the far corner of the room, blood rolling down his arm and staining his fur—probably from the IV he ripped out in the struggle. His face is a mess of it too, Logan’s blood in his teeth and running down his chin. His tail lashes wildly behind him, beating against the wall in a thump thump thump that’ll draw attention soon, if it hasn’t already.

“Easy.” Logan raises his hands palm up, trying to look and sound as non-hostile and non-aggressive as he possibly can. It’s not much. He knows the sound of pain in his voice, even when he tries to push it down so far he won’t be able to process it later. Kurt just stares back at him, eyes wide and his back pressed against the wall. Logan’s seen that look in a mirror too many times to not recognize it—he’s looking for a way out. Cornered. Caged.

God, does it hurt to see it directed at him.

When nothing happens, Logan takes a short step forward. Immediately, the smell of brimstone and sulfur invades his senses—faint enough he doubts anyone else would be able to pick up on it, but he can, and he knows what it means. Kurt’s so freaked out he’s about to port blindly—and in this state, there’s no telling where he’ll end up. Logan doesn’t even know if he’d make it there in one fucking piece. He can’t risk that.

So he takes two steps back.

“Okay.” he says. “Okay. Backin’ up.” Fuck, this is bad. “Look, elf. I know you’re in there. I know you’re freaked out. I don’t know why, but it’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna figure it out, yeah? No one’s pissed about it. I’m not pissed about it. Shit happens, we’ve all got stuff to work through, right?” He lowers his hands. “Everything’s gonna be fine. We’ll figure it out.”

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. He just watches Kurt stare at him, watches his breathing start to slow. The smell starts to dissipate. None of the tension leaves Kurt’s body, as much as Logan wishes it would, but it doesn’t seem like he’s gonna blindly flee anymore. And that’s a win in his eyes.

Small victories. Small blessings, or whatever the fuck.

Logan lets himself breathe for the first time in several minutes. “Okay,” he says, still quiet. He looks around the room for something—anything—that can help him. He could probably try to get the blanket around him. Would that help? Would that just make him feel trapped? Could give him the shirt that’s not covered in Logan’s blood. Toss him a pillow or something, maybe give him some water.

Water. Water is good. Water will help him calm down, right?

“Okay.” Logan very slowly reaches for the cup of water next to the bed. When Kurt doesn’t immediately bolt, he picks it up. “Okay, I’m just gonna—”

The door opens behind him. Both Kurt and Logan jump at the sound, and he whirls around to see who the fuck thought it was a good idea to walk in. Hank is standing in the doorway, looking frazzled. His glasses are askew and his coat is sort of haphazardly thrown on. There’s still an uncapped pen in his hand.

“Hank.” Logan tries and fails to keep the growl out of his voice. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Hank looks at him in bewilderment, unbothered by the tone of his voice beyond the confusion flickering across his face. “I heard shouting,” he says, like it should be fucking obvious. “And a commotion. I just wanted to check—is everything…”

Hank frowns over at Logan, finally seeming to notice the blood. Then he looks over at Kurt. Then he looks back at Logan. “...okay?” he finishes lamely. Logan just stares at him, hoping the does everything fucking look okay here? gets across to him. Fortunately, it looks like it does—Hank seems to realize that he’d massively fucked up.

The smell of sulfur hits Logan again. He twists his head to look over at Kurt, who’s staring directly at Hank—at him, or through him, or something . It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that the panic is back in his eyes, and whatever semblance of calm he’d managed to convince him to take on is completely fucking gone.

He’s gonna bolt, Logan realizes. And Logan has no clue where the hell he’s gonna end up. So he does the only thing he can think of—he lunges forward to grab him.

But it’s already too late. His hand closes around nothing but smoke as Kurt vanishes into thin air.

Chapter Text

He’s gonna lose it. He’s really, honest to God, gonna fucking kill Hank.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Logan snarls, turning on him as soon as the shock of Kurt vanishing fades to dread. Hank takes a step away from him, dropping his pen onto the floor in favor of raising his hands. It’s a defensive gesture, he knows, but it rips a low growl from his throat anyway.

Hank takes a careful breath, considering his next words carefully. Smart. Because he’s about two fucking seconds away from saying—or doing—something they’re both really gonna regret. “I’m sorry, Logan. I thought something was wrong—I only wanted to check on you. You and Kurt.”

Logan turns away from him with grunt. “You said shout if you need anything. Remember that, McCoy?”

“I distinctly remember it, yes.” Hank says, sounding every bit as irritated as Logan feels—somehow, that pisses him off more. “Just like I distinctly remember hearing shouting. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, Logan, but I think that means—”

Logan doesn’t recognize the sound that he makes. He does recognize the way he surges forward, grabbing Hank by the collar of his jacket and jerking him to the side; he shoves the bastard against the wall, one arm braced across his throat. The other is balled into a fist just a few inches in front of his face.

“You wanna know what I think, Hank?” he asks.

Hank doesn’t answer, and that’s probably the smartest fucking thing he’s done all day. He’s staring at Logan’s fist instead, like he’s expecting claws to impale his forehead. Probably is—it’s the only thing people expect from him, once they know who he is.

“Did you fucking hear Hank, c’mere, I need help?”

Hank looks like he might be sweating. Or about a second away from it. “No.” he says.

“No. You didn’t.” he agrees. “You should’ve stayed outside until you did.” He pauses, lowering his fist and reminding himself to take in a breath. Hank looks marginally less terrified as he exhales. He takes another second to calm himself down, then asks, “The hell did you do to him?”

Hank blanches. “Nothing!” he says, horrified. “My god, Logan, who do you think—what kind of person do you think I am? I didn’t do anything to him.”

“The fuck did that happen for, then?” He points at the torn IV hanging off the side of the bed. Then to the mostly-healed tear through his throat. Then, finally, he gestures wildly to the rapidly dissipating purple smoke. “Huh? How’re we explaining that?”

“I don’t know.” Hank admits after a moment of hesitation. “There’s no way to predict how someone’s going to react to any type of medication, Logan.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “There’s nothing I could have done to predict this would happen. You know Kurt a lot better than I do, Logan, and you didn’t see it coming either.”

Logan pauses.

It makes him want to push Hank in the face. But as much as he fucking hates to admit it, he’s right. 

“Get the hell out of my face.” he says, letting go of him. “And get me Xavier.”

He watches Hank straighten the collar of his coat. “I’ll get the professor.” he says. “Let him know what’s going on. Just—” He waves a hand. “I’ll go get him.”

Hank’s gone a second later.

Logan’s left alone in the room for what feels like the second time—it’s really only the first, he knows, but he doesn’t feel like Kurt was there— to do damage control. What the hell can he even do? Could try to use something in the room to track Kurt down, maybe. Following the smell of his port won’t do a damn thing, will it? With the way it works… Kurt’s just gone from one place and there in another. The same goes for the blood drying on the floor—he’ll just be walking around the whole damn house looking for where the scent’s gone to.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? He might not even be in the house. He could be who the fuck knows where. He could be dead.

He’s gonna kill Hank. He’s gonna fucking kill him, and he’s gonna make it slow and painful and—

Please don’t do that.

Logan flinches at the voice in his head. He was so caught up in his irritation that he didn’t notice the sudden fucking intruder knocking at his door. “Don’t fucking do that.” Logan says out loud. “Don’t be cute. Just help me track Kurt down.”

A flicker of frustration curls around his mind. For a second, he’s not sure who it belongs to. I’m trying. Charles tells him. Getting into Kurt’s mind—it’s always been a bit tricky. I’m not quite sure what it is about him, but that’s… it’s hardly important right now.

As he snatches a bloodstained blanket from the floor and tosses it to the side, Logan has to agree.

Yes, well. He feels more than hears Charles’ sigh. Right. Telepath. Sometimes he forgets just how much they can hear. I may not be able to see inside of his mind, but I can still feel it. Give me a few minutes to get set up—I’ll start searching as soon as I can.

“We don’t have a few minutes.” Logan insists. “Look at the room, Chuck. Go ahead and take a look at what he did. He’s hurt, he’s bleeding, he’s freaked the fuck out. He could be in danger.” He doesn’t want to say the next part. Knows Charles can feel his hesitation, knows he doesn’t even need to finish the sentence. He does anyway, though, despite the way the words stick in his throat and threaten to choke him. “ Other people could be in danger.”

Charles is silent for a good long moment. Images—memories—of Kurt lunging at him, clawing at his arms, shredding his throat, flash across his mind. His own sense of dread and urgency seems to grow. Probably Charles projecting his own anxiety.

Sorry. The apology comes immediately, and the fear seems to fade—just a bit. I don’t always realize…

“It’s fine.” Logan says. “Just… we don’t have a lot of time. I don’t want somethin’ to happen to him if we’re not fast enough.”

I know. And you’re right—this is a dangerous situation. But if you really think he could be anywhere…

Logan shrugs. He doesn’t know if Charles sees it or not—if he’s looking through Logan’s eyes, or if he’s just sitting on the outskirts of his brain. But he does it anyway. More for himself anyway, you know? “You know how he is.”

Quite. It’s full of exasperation, but fondness as well. There’s not a person in this fucking house Kurt hasn’t wormed his way into the heart of. Not that Logan’s surprised—the guy is—

Logan. Charles’ voice startles him out of his thoughts. I thought I’d remind you that I can hear you.

Shit.

You’re welcome.  

Whatever.

Whatever, he says. Amusement. Logan could throttle this guy. He wouldn’t, not anymore. But he could. The point is, with the extent of Kurt’s powers, Cerebro might help. Telepathy isn’t limitless—and even if he is nearby, the assistance could be helpful in finding him faster.

He can’t fucking argue with that. “Sure.” Logan says. “Yeah. Whatever. Just—don’t fuck around.” 

I won’t. Charles promises. Stay tuned. I’ll be back. And Logan?

There’s hesitation there. Nervousness—not the same as Hank, who thought he was gonna get his face sliced to ribbons. More like a social kind of uncertainty. One that’s a hell of a lot more familiar to Logan. “Yeah?” he asks.

I’m sorry for dropping in unannounced. Charles says. I wouldn’t have… I know how you feel about that. It felt like an emergency.

Logan scoffs. “I know.” he promises. “You’re gettin’ better. Haven’t had to tell you to screw off in a couple weeks. Keep up the good work, yeah?”

There’s a ghost of a smile, and maybe a little bit of pride. Surely. I’ll be in touch.

He feels it the second Charles is gone. Some people describe a telepath slipping in their mind like having a guest in their house. He’s heard someone say it felt like having a weighted blanket thrown over their head. But to Logan, it’s always felt a little like someone wrapping a noose around his throat and pulling it taut.

And when they’re gone—when Charles is gone—Logan feels like he can breathe again. There’s just something about it, about having someone else sitting in his mind, that makes it harder. Even though he knows, realistically, Charles is sure as hell not make him run off and kill someone. Charles isn’t gonna brainwash him and turn him into some kind of weapon.

His brain knows it. The rest of him hasn’t gotten that memo, and that’s… it’s not fine. It’s not okay, as much as anyone tries to tell him it is. It’s ridiculous. It’s stupid. It’s pathetic. But Logan can’t seem to get his fucking brain to cooperate, so he’s just gotta learn to live with the fear.

Or at the very least, push it down, too.

For now, though, he lets himself be relieved. He lets himself pick up the blankets Kurt dropped, lets himself clean up the blood he spilled—and he tries not to think too hard about who it belongs to. Tries not to think too hard about any of it, really. Because it’s just—it’s not gonna fix anything, the dwelling. It’ll just make him feel like shit, and he’s no good to anyone like that. Especially not Kurt. He has to keep it together.

He tosses the bloodied sheets into the corner of the room, raking a hand through his hair. What else? Maybe he should get fresh ones, in case they’ve gotta bring Kurt back here. And water—he’s gonna need water. And clothes, right? Logan’ll get him that flannel he likes. The red one he’s always trying to steal. Let him wear it as long as he likes—shit, he can keep it if it’ll make him happy. If it’ll make him something other than afraid.

Logan. Charles’ presence presses down on his mind again, and Logan grits his teeth against the feeling. He’s about to say please tell me you’ve got something when Charles adds, he’s alive.

“Jesus.” Logan exhales, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He drops his head into his hands, just taking a moment to breathe that in. Kurt’s alive. Probably banged up and in shock, but alive. Bleeding and scared shitless, but alive. He’s alive. “You know where he is?”

Charles’ uncertainty bleeds through. Somewhere near the house. he tells Logan. I did a quick search on my way to Cerebro. I’m not quite sure… exactly where. Not inside, I don’t think. I would have felt him closer—but he’s nearby. A sigh—he’s not sure if it’s his or Charles’. I’m having Hank check the security cameras now. Everywhere on the property, just to be safe.

That’s good, Logan thinks. Xavier’s got more surveillance than he knows what to fucking do with, and most of the time it goes pretty unused. It’ll be good for Hank to put the shit to use, even if the circumstances are less than fucking ideal.

He feels Charles’ laughter, can see the bemused smile on his face. As I said, Hank is checking. I’m having him scan through just about everywhere—but in the meantime, if you can think of anywhere specific Kurt might have gone. Anywhere he talks about, perhaps, anywhere the two of you visit often. Someplace he might feel safe.

The image appears in Logan’s mind before he knows he’s going to think about it, and he wonders if Charles was digging around for the information while he talked. Maybe tried to help him remember—and as much as it makes his skin crawl, he doesn’t think he’d be too pissed this time. Not if it’s for Kurt. Not if it means getting him home safe.

It’s not somewhere he and Kurt went too much. Maybe only a couple times, but it was always when one of them was feeling overwhelmed or overstimulated or just… needed a second to breathe. When they need space. Kurt took him out to these pipes in the middle of the woods, hidden between the trees and the bushes. Told him, while he was curled up inside the empty pipe and looking smaller than Logan’s ever seen him, that it helps him feel more like himself to hide out here with him. That he feels like he can be himself.

He remembers the soft smile on Kurt’s face when he said it. Remembers the soft, warm feeling of his fur when he took Logan’s hand. Remembers the nervous, exhilarating energy that burst through him when they kissed that very first time. It became their place after that—somewhere they could go whenever they needed to be Kurt and Logan, instead of Nightcrawler and Wolverine. Somewhere safe.

“Don’t bother checking the cams.” he tells Charles, knowing full well he doesn’t need to. “I know where he is.”

He knows he’s not imagining the soft affection that lingers behind the professor, and finds that he doesn’t even care that he saw those things. Finds that he sort of likes the idea of someone else knowing there’s more to him than Wolverine. Maybe, Logan thinks, he could get used to that.

Chapter Text

Logan packs a bag before he heads out in search of Kurt—the first thing he shoves inside of it is the thickest flannel he owns. It’s the middle of October, and getting pretty late in the evening, so it’s bound to be cold; hell, it’s chilly even for a guy covered in fur. So he grabs the one he knows holds in heat the best, because he’s always catching people in this damn house trying to snatch it. He found Kitty curled up on the couch with it once, passed out in the middle of a movie. Scott took to wearing it under a thicker jacket during the coldest months of the year. Sometimes he still sees it tied around Kurt’s waist in the summer.

So it goes in the bag. The flannel, a bottle of water, and a couple rolls of bandages. The water’s multipurpose—he can try to clean Kurt’s wounds, both old and new, as painlessly as possible until they get him calmed down. And he can hydrate, because Logan knows Kurt’s sure as hell not been doing it on a regular basis.

It all goes in the bag that Logan slings over his shoulder as he treks into the woods surrounding Xavier’s stupid mansion. He knows the cameras are still running, can hear the electric buzz of the damn things and feel their stupid digital eyes on the back of his head.  He kind of just hopes no one’s watching. Sure, they can’t see Kurt. And sure, they’re not gonna be watching the conversation.

But they are seeing him try to fight back the fucking tears in his eyes. They are watching him make the damn trip.

And there’s the thing about it. It’s not a long walk, not by a longshot, but Logan still feels like he knows it better than he should. Feels like there’s not a chance in hell that he could get lost, even if he was just wandering aimlessly with no real destination at the front of his mind.

He can’t say it’s because of how much they’re out here—Logan’s pretty sure they don’t come out here all that much, despite how overwhelmed he knows they both perpetually are. They don’t have that kind of time—not with something and someone always trying to shit up the world. Not with how often they’ve gotta put on their suits and be Nightcrawler and Wolverine, the X-Men who always show up to save the day, rather than Logan and Kurt.

Maybe it’s just how much he enjoys it, slim as the opportunities are, that keeps the path so fresh in his mind. Maybe it’s the peace, the quiet, the tranquility. Things his life’s always been so fucking devoid of. Things that he’s always been seeking out, whether he knew it or not. Maybe it’s Kurt himself.

Maybe it’s a combination of all of those things. How calm everything is out there, how much he enjoys being around Kurt. How much more like a person he feels when they’re together—Kurt’s never made him feel like less than that, never looked at him like he was an animal or treated him like one. Never acted like he was a weapon to be feared and cowered away from.

Kurt never made him feel like he was just Wolverine. He made Logan feel like there was a choice, like he could be both Logan and Wolverine. Like maybe he’s both—and after a while, Logan didn’t even feel like that was a bad thing anymore. It just felt more like… a fact.

God. Logan really, really hopes that Kurt’s okay. Alive is one thing. Kurt’s not an easy guy to kill, even when he’s not hyped up on adrenaline and fear and whatever the fuck else is going on. He’s quick, he’s smart, and he’s a damn good fighter. Logan would know—they’ve spent enough time in the danger room beating the shit out of each other. For fun, for training, for the added challenge.

But alive doesn’t always mean okay. Alive doesn’t mean that he’s safe, or that he’s not hurt, or—okay. He’s definitely hurt. And the thought of it—of Kurt out in the middle of the woods bleeding, not knowing where he is or what’s going on—terrifies him. More than seeing himself hurt, more than seeing the pearly fucking gates of heaven with his own eyes, more than…

More than anything, really. And honestly, that scares the shit out of him, too.

Logan just hopes everything turns out okay enough that he can fix it. Because he doesn’t know what the hell he’s gonna do if he can’t.

Everything’s silent when he finally approaches the massive, abandoned pipeline in the woods. The birds have stopped chirping, like even they know something’s up. Maybe they didn’t want to scare Kurt even more. Maybe he scared them. He doesn’t immediately hear or see anything, but he can smell the sulfur that clings to Kurt after a jump. It’s not a problem that he doesn’t see the guy, and the smell definitely means that he was right to come out here, but…

His heart is pounding in his chest as he steps around the side of the pipe. When Logan peers in, he only has a few seconds to be relieved that he was right.

Then he takes in the shit state that he’s found Kurt in.

The whole of him is trembling, shaking so badly that he knows it’s got to hurt. Whether it’s from the cold, or the sheer terror, or exhaustion hitting as the adrenaline starts to wear off, Logan’s not sure. He’s overcome with the urge to scoop him up and hold him tight enough that the tremors stop. Wants to pull him into his arms and shield him from every fucking shitty thing in the world, Hank and his stupid fucking medicine included.

But he doesn’t. Not yet, at least. 

Instead, he makes a big show of coming closer to him—he shuffles through the leaves, making as much noise as he can to warn Kurt that he’s approaching. Telegraphs every movement. It’s something he’s learned to do, over the years. The claws and the blood don’t always scare people; when they do, though, Logan knows what helps. He knows how to make himself smaller.

He’s just never had to do it for Kurt. Never needed to, because Kurt was never scared of him.

Even so, it works. The sound catches Kurt’s attention, and his head snaps up. Logan instantly a million times worse—his glowing eyes are puffy and his face is drenched in tears. He doesn’t look as scared anymore, and the smell of an impending port doesn’t get any stronger, so he’s clearly not gonna run.

He’s not as freaked, but he’s fucking miserable.

“Logan?” his friend asks, hoarse and unsure, and something evil and nasty grips Logan’s heart, threatens to rip it from his chest and crush it underfoot.

“Just me,” Logan says, carefully shifting the bag on his shoulder. Kurt follows the movement, but it’s more curiosity and lingering anxiety than anything else. It rolls off of him in waves, so strong that he’s not sure who it belongs to. Hell, it could be both of theirs. “You okay?”

The look on Kurt’s face is heartbreaking. Tears start to well up in his eyes, and Logan mentally kicks himself for asking such a stupid fucking question. Of course he’s not okay. “I don’t know,” he admits. Doesn’t take his eyes off Logan, though. “I don’t—” His breath stutters. He watches Kurt gasp for air like he’s drowning—there’s not a thing he can do about it, but god does he wish there was. “I do not remember how I got here, I don’t—I don’t even know where… I don’t know what happened. I’m cold. Everything hurts, and I don’t—I don’t know how…” He doesn’t seem to know how to finish the thought.

“Mind if I come sit?” he asks, keeping his voice soft.

Kurt looks him over at him for a few seconds, like he’s not sure. Like he really has to think about it. Logan feels sorry for himself for a few solid seconds, then reminds himself that there’s something else going on. Something he doesn’t know about. Something that’s making Kurt hesitate.

He takes his self-pity and puts it high up on a shelf.

“Building collapsed, you passed out.” he tells Kurt. “You were pretty beat up, Hank gave you somethin’ for the pain just in case. Just to be safe.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, a scowl creeping onto his face at the thought. He fixes it before it manages to take over. “You freaked out when you woke up, and—” Logan hesitates. “Ported before we could figure out what the hell was wrong.” he finishes.

He keeps the injuries to himself. Keeps the image of Kurt flying at him quiet, because there’s no use in bringing it up. He’s healed now, right? It’s like it never happened. Not important enough to make Kurt feel guilty about it.

He doesn’t get a verbal response. Kurt just purses his lips and shifts his gaze away, tail curled around his leg and his arms wrapped tightly around himself. He hasn’t stopped shaking.

“You can sit.” Kurt finally says.

Logan shuffles into the pipe, carefully sliding in and lowering himself down to sit next to Kurt. He’s close enough that their arms brush, but neither of them move away.

Good sign, he tells himself. S’good.

He shrugs the bag off his shoulder, reaching in for the flannel first. He makes a big show of unfolding it, giving Kurt plenty of time to move away or refuse the gesture—when he doesn’t, Logan gently drapes it over his shoulders. Gives the one closest to him a light, reassuring squeeze. He gets a tentative smile in return, and that’s—it’s something.

“You doin’ alright, elf?” he asks again.

Kurt opens his mouth to answer, then looks down at his hands. His brows are knit tightly together in thought. “I don’t really know,” he admits. “Everything is… a little fuzzy.”

Logan grunts. “Probably whatever Hank gave you. Wasn’t even an hour ago, doubt it’s had time to…” He waves a hand. “Y’know.”

Kurt hums thoughtfully. “I see.” he says.

“You mind if—” Logan starts. Hesitates. “You mind if I check you out?”

When Kurt looks up at him, there’s a tiny smile on his face. Hell, Logan’d call it a smirk. The sight of it makes him feel just a little bit better. Then Kurt raises an eyebrow and says, “Mein Freund, I never mind that.”

Goddamn it.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s real cute.” he grumbles, pretending for his own fucking sanity that his face isn’t red. Shut up. He also pretends it’s not why he hears a quiet laugh—he chooses to focus on the sound of it, instead.

Kurt’s arm is still bleeding sluggishly, and his forehead looks pretty nasty. He doesn’t look much worse than when Logan dragged him back to the others, though, aside from the exhaustion weighing down on him. So he reaches in his bag for the bottle of water and the bandages, holding them both up in question.

Kurt looks at them skeptically, then shrugs and mumbles a quiet ja. He barely shifts or acknowledges it when Logan cleans his arm, and only winces when he wipes the blood from his forehead. He murmurs a soft apology as he wraps bandages around them, holding his arm gently and cradling his head like it might break if he’s not careful enough.

“That’ll do it.” he says after a moment, tossing the remainder of his supplies back in the bag. He reaches over to adjust the flannel, pulling it tighter around Kurt’s shoulders; Logan leans back against the pipe, then, and closes his eyes.

A comfortable silence falls over them. Logan can almost pretend nothing happened—that they’re just hanging out, of their own free will, instead of Kurt fighting some fucking demons that Logan can’t see or help him with.

“I’m sorry.”

Logan peels one eye open to peer over at Kurt. “What?”

“I’m sorry. ” he repeats, a little more forcefully. Logan opens his other eye and turns to look at Kurt.

“What the hell are you sorry for?” he asks.

“For scaring you.” Kurt says. “For being scared.”

Now Logan can’t fight the scowl back. “Not your fault, elf.” It’s a statement of fact, not a question. Not some lame excuse to make him feel better. “You were unconscious. You couldn’t—nothing you could’ve done to stop it.”

“I shouldn’t have been scared.” Kurt repeats. “It is my fault. It isn’t—I should have—” He cuts himself off, shoving a hand through his hair. “I should not have reacted like that, Logan. I know that you are not… I know Hank is—you are not like that. ”

Something about it, about the way he says it, makes his stomach drop. Logan has to remind himself to breathe. “Slow down. Take a breath.” he reminds Kurt. “Not like what?”

Much to his relief, Kurt does take a breath. A couple, in fact.

“I told you that I used to be part of a circus, ja?” he asks once he’s got his breathing under control. Logan just nods. “It used to be… wonderful. It was… they were my family. My mother, my siblings, my friends. It was a place where I did not have to worry about the way I looked. Where I was accepted for it—where it was applauded. I was the amazing Nightcrawler, and the people loved it. Loved me. ” he adds, looking up from his hands. “That was—is—a rare thing, mein Freund.”

It’s not. Logan wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and say it over and over again, until it really sinks in. It’s not rare. So many people love you. I love you.

“Sensing a *but* here,” is what he says instead. Kurt laughs.

“But,” he continues, drawing out the word as his head thumps against the pipe. “That was only temporary. The circus started to go under, and it…” He trails off. Logan puts a hand on his shoulder, trying for something reassuring—one of Kurt’s hands lands on top of it, and he shoots Logan a grateful smile. “The circus was sold—it came under new management.”

“New management.” he repeats.

“He was not as big a fan of freaks as the previous owner.” Kurt tells him. A low growl starts to rise in his throat, and Kurt raises his free hand in apology. “His words, Logan, not mine.”

“Yeah, sure, but—”

“Let me finish.” Kurt interrupts him gently, and suddenly Logan feels like *he’s* the one who needs to be calmed and reassured. He looks down at Kurt’s hand covering his, then back up to his friend’s eyes. 

Damn it.

“Sorry.” he grumbles sheepishly. “Got carried away. You can finish.”

Kurt pats his hand. “He was not a fan, and he made sure everyone knew it. I… was not a person anymore, Logan. I was a freak show. A road stop for tourists. If I wasn’t performing, he—he kept me sedated. I could not tell you how long it was, the memories are… everything from then is sort of blurry. I do not remember most of it. I remember that he locked me in a cage, and no one tried to stop it. No one tried to help me.” He looks back down at the ground. “And suddenly I wasn’t a person to them anymore, either.”

It makes his fucking blood boil. The thought of it, of Kurt drugged out of his mind, sleeping in a cage, the people who said they cared about him walking by and doing nothing… they’re all fucking lucky they’re here. That he has no idea who or where they are now.

“Tell me this guy’s dead.” Logan doesn’t bother trying to hide the rage. He lets it shake him, lets it consume him for a moment. “Nah, fuck. Tell me he’s alive so I can kill him myself. ” He wants freaks? Logan’ll show him one. Right before he tears him to fucking ribbons. Shreds him like paper.

Kurt looks at him strangely. It’s not fear. It’s not even hesitation. Logan can’t identify what it is that’s bothering him when he says, “No, Logan. He is dead.” He offers a soft, sad smile. “Freak accident.”

It’s a lie. A bold one. But he’ll let Kurt have it—because it’s none of his fucking business, refuting something like that. Some things should stay buried. Need to stay buried. This is one of ‘em.

“Guess that’s for the best.” Logan says, just so Kurt knows he’s not gonna push it. He sees the guy’s shoulders relax, just a little bit, and knows he made the right choice. “I’d hate to be that guy when I found him. Good chance to keep my claws sharp.” Kurt snorts. “That’s why you freaked out?”

Kurt gives a noncommittal shrug. “Sort of. He made some sort of deal with a—a government agency of some kind, I think. Before he died,” Kurt adds. “They wanted to know about my powers. They wanted to use me, wanted me to be a weapon for their whims . I told them to fuck off.”

Sounds like Kurt. Underneath the sadness and the anger, there’s pride. Not everyone would’ve been able to do that—some would’ve done anything they could to save their own skin, even if it meant hurting others. But Kurt’s not like that. Never was, never will be. “They didn’t like that, huh?” he asks, knowing the answer to that question intimately.

“No,” Kurt sighs, “they didn’t. That was when they started the beatings. When that didn’t work, they killed another mutant in front of me. And when that didn’t work… Stryker was a very resourceful man.”

The name sends a horrible chill down his spine. For a long few seconds, Logan can’t make his mouth move. His throat is suddenly dry; the world spins around him and he’s sure he’s going to pass out.

Stryker. Stryker. Stryker. Stryker.

Secure Weapon X.

Kill the Wolverine. If it won’t heel, put it down.

“Stryker.” he echoes, voice sounding strange even to his own ears. “Son of a bitch.”

“Ja, I did call him that—and I told him how sorry I felt for his mother, raising a disappointment of a monster like him.” Kurt shakes his head. “That obviously did not end well. But he saw—he knew that I would not cooperate with him. That was when he introduced me to his friend—his serum.”

Logan’s intimately familiar. At least, he was familiar with a much older, much less refined version of it.

“Brainwashing is a bitch, isn’t it?” Kurt muses. “He said that if I would not cooperate, then he had his ways.” He lowers his head, tapping a spot at the back of his neck—it’s usually hidden by the collar of his suit or by fur, but with the thing as shredded as it is, Logan can see it. A scar, almost like he’d been burned, with a circle in the center.

“Where he injected you?” Logan asks.

“Same spot every time.” Kurt says. “I lectured him about rotating injection sites, of course, but you know how these things go. I am a professional and you are a devil. Why would I listen to you?”

Kurt shrugs. It’s too casual. “They took away my mind.” he says. “I remember watching people die. I remember them nearly killing me the first time they caught me praying. I remember the blood and the screaming… and I remember them asking over and over, are you capable of killing? And I remember telling them no. Over and over and over again.”

“And then I remember blood.” Kurt’s voice is shaking again. “And blood, and blood, and… and when I woke up, there was a moment where I thought—perhaps it was all a dream. Perhaps I am waking up to another body count. Another list of completed missions. Another false life.”

He turns to look at Logan, tears in his eyes. “ That is why I freaked out.” he says. “That is how they tricked me, Logan. They filled my mind with a life that never existed while they forced me to kill. I don’t know if I could live with myself if—if none of this was real. If I thought I’d built another life that never existed, if you never existed.”

Maybe it’s a bad question to ask. “How did you…?”

“Escape?” Kurt asks. “The serum—it wore off too quickly. I woke up to a mob, and the professor stepped in to save me. And then I was here. I’m still not quite sure how he knew where to find me, or why it wore off so soon, but…”

“Doesn’t matter.” Logan says. “Stryker, he dead?”

Kurt just frowns at him. And Logan’s overcome with the urge to walk away—to hunt down every single person who had a hand in this. Who participated, who watched, who *knew*. Anyone and everyone who let this happen to Kurt. 

But he can’t. He can’t leave, not when Kurt’s still shaking apart in front of him. He needs to be here to piece him back together again, with tape and glue and whatever the fuck else he can find. Fucking tree sap for all he cares.

“Can I touch you?” he asks.

The look Kurt gives him is so baffled that he almost laughs—almost. “Yes?” he replies, like it should have been obvious. Like he’s offended that Logan even had to ask. Like he wants to be saying something like duh, you idiot. Or maybe I’ll do something drastic if you don’t. They’re equally as likely. “Yes, Logan.” Kurt says, a little exasperated. “You can touch me. I’m not going to bite your arm off.”

If only you knew, he thinks. But he keeps the thought to himself. Logan wraps an arm around Kurt’s shoulders and pulls him against his own body—pressed into his side, head laying against his shoulder. It takes a little bit of shuffling, considering Kurt’s taller than Logan even when they’re sitting like this and he’s curled in on himself, but they manage it.

“This okay?” he asks, once Kurt’s settled there.

“Mm.” is the hummed response he gets. 

And then he yawns. He yawns, long and worn out, as he curls closer to Logan’s side. It’s so fucking adorable that he has to fight the urge to bite him. Fucking cuteness aggression or some shit.

Logan shifts his gaze over to Kurt and snorts. “You can take a nap, elf.” he says, trying to keep his voice quiet. Soothing. Comforting. “It’s been a hell of a day, I know you’re tired.”

“I’m not tired.” Kurt says, even though his eyes are already closed. “I should go back. I need to apologize to Hank, too.”

“Like hell you do. Fuck Hank. Fuck that guy—this is his fault, and I’m gonna kick his ass as soon as we get back later.” Logan growls. And Kurt giggles sleepily, apparently finding Logan’s irritation with McCoy hilarious. And fine. Maybe it’s a little funny. If he wasn’t the one plotting the guy’s fucking demise, he’d probably be laughing, too. He traces his hand idly up and down Kurt’s arm and adds, “Get some rest. Nobody’s gonna bother you, not while I’m here.”

Kurt huffs. “Fine.” he says, and Logan guesses it’s probably because he’s already starting to fall asleep. Probably too fucking exhausted to fight it any longer. He expects Kurt to say something else—probably something smart—but instead, he hears a quiet rumbling start up next to him. He wonders when Kurt started to snore—but when he shifts to look down at him again, he finds that the sound is coming from his chest.

He’s purring.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Logan murmurs, patting that shoulder with a grin slipping onto his face. “You really are just a big cat, huh?”

Kurt doesn’t say anything in response. His tail unwinds from his tail, though, and Logan watches in awe as it wraps around his wrist—effectively keeping his arm trapped where it’s draped over his shoulders. Not that Logan was planning on going anywhere, anyway.

He sighs, resting his head against the pipe and reaching out as far as he can. Chuck. he calls out. He feels a presence settling down in his mind, and the initial moment of panic that follows it. I found him. he reassures. Everything’s fine. We’re good.

Do you need anything? Charles asks. You’re safe? He’s alright?

Logan looks down at Kurt, whose cheek is squished against his shoulder, who is smiling in his sleep and purring louder than any engine he’s ever fucking heard, and shakes his head. Nah. he replies. But if anyone wakes him up in the next couple hours, I’ll kill ‘em.

He feels Charles’ amusement—but he doesn’t say anything in response, for which Logan’s eternally fucking grateful. The professor vacates his mind a few seconds later; Logan presses a long, gentle kiss to Kurt’s forehead, lowers his head to rest on top of the other man’s, and closes his eyes.