Chapter Text
Hours later as dusk crept over Tull’s barren landscape. Those injured in the battle at the saloon had been taken to the hospital, where Hank quickly set to work attending their many various injuries. The remaining accomplices of Creed’s short but potent reign of terror were also rounded up and boarded in the town’s jail, looked after by Scott’s deputies, while the Sheriff himself was being cared for and looked after by Emma Frost.
It would take days to sort out all the details and bring charges against the guilty. Already Charles had given Logan, Remy and Hank a full pardon and had made arrangements for the reconstruction of Logan’s Inn.
For the time being, Logan and the others were being put up in the Mayor’s house, which thankfully had remained largely intact.
Remy was sprawled out in the large claw foot tub, head dropped back against the porcelain rim, letting the steaming water sooth his aching muscles. Though he had escaped the battle largely unscathed, he still felt as though he couldn’t shed himself of Victor’s touch and scent on his skin.
He looked up as he heard the door open and his ruby eyes slid towards the stout figure that entered the room. Logan moved towards him, as Remy reached up to greet him and pull him close, brushing his lips warmly against his.
“Mon coeur,” the Cajun mumbled warmly. “How are you?”
Logan looked at him lovingly, brushing his fingers through the man’s wet hair. There wasn’t a mark left on him to testify to the day’s earlier conflict, only a heaviness in his being and new sort of sadness in his bright blue eyes. “I’m with you; I’m fine.” He answered, kissing the man’s forehead.
Remy chuckled softly, lifting himself reluctantly from the tub as Logan handed him a towel from the hook above him. “And de girls? How are dey?”
“Asleep now,” Logan answered, lingering close to the lanky man who dressed himself somewhat self-consciously. His lover was not as lucky as he was, he would wear his marks for days. He recognized the deep purple ones around his wrist, and hip and the little scrapes that marred the inside of his pale thigh.
The Cajun sucked his lower lip thoughtfully for a moment as he pulled on a loose pair of trousers and turned to look at his lover. “I keep scrubbing, yet never seem ta get clean. Ya know what I mean, cher?”
Logan nodded and drew him close, holding him tightly for a moment before taking his hand and guiding him away from the tub and towards the bed, turning the lamps down low as they both settled on the mattress, pulling the blankets around them to ward off the chill.
They curled around each other beneath the blankets, resting face to face, Logan breathing in the smell of soap on Remy’s freshly washed skin and feeling the warmth of his body heat. But he couldn’t ignore the way the way his lover’s eyes struggled to meet his, or the hint of shame he saw there. Logan moved in closer, his nose brushing against the Cajun’s, looking up to meet his eyes. “You brought me back when I was lost,” he said quietly. “Both times you put yourself in danger, just to keep me and mine safe. If you hadn’t distracted Creed, I’m sure the Sheriff would be dead. If you hadn’t stopped me back there…I would have left Jubilee and Laura all alone in the world.”
Remy smiled ruefully, “Well, I have to admit I had my own selfish reasons for not wanting dat.” He scratched his fingers through Logan’s thick sideburn. “Tried life wit’out you, cher. It’s not anyt’ing I’d try twice. Do anyt’ing to keep you and dose girls safe…”
He started to look away but Logan turned his cheek and looked at him seriously; “Stop lookin’ at yerself through his eyes. Yer so much more than what he made you, Remy. I wish you could see yourself how I see you…” He laid his head against Remy’s. “Ya can feel it, can’t ya?”
Gambit nodded faintly, feeling Logan’s love nearly overwhelm him. “We stay together now, cher? No more wandering, no more wantin’?”
Logan pulled him closer, pressing flush against him and kissed him deeply. They clung to each other, needing the closeness, the reassurance, the familiarity. Little by little Remy curled into the nook of his neck and shoulder and fell asleep. Logan rested his head on top of the other man’s and listened to the softness of his breath and watching the flickers of his eyelids as he dreamed.
The house around them fell into a deep, comfortable quiet, the only sound being Hank’s quiet shuffling here and there as he checked on Charles after returning from the hospital. Though his tired mind and body craved a long dark sleep, Logan found himself unable to succumb.
They had only begun to clear the wreckage of the old Inn; but there was no sign of Creed’s body. It seemed plausible that Creed had been caught in the inferno and burnt down to his very bones; rendering him unable to regenerate.
Logan wanted to believe this was the case, but his instincts told him that this was not. Finally the nagging feeling deep within his bones got the better of him. He slid out from Remy’s sleeping figure, kissing the man softly before slipping out of the room.
He made his way out into the night, bracing himself against the bitter cold wind that blew. He wandered through the quiet town, eyes searching the dark for any sign of his adversary. Eventually he came to the wreckage of his former home and stood for a time, looking at the still smoking remains.
He lifted his nose to the wind, but could detect nothing but the smell of wet, burned wood and cold wind.
Logan sighed deeply, watching his breath swirl in front of him and remembered his words to Remy. He needed to stop chasing ghosts from his past and focus on his future. If even Creed had survived; surely he would have fled. Logan shouldn’t follow him; it would be exactly what the beast wanted. He wanted that control, that mastery over Logan’s thoughts and desires. He wasn’t going to get it; not ever again.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat he turned away, putting the wreckage behind him once more. He made to return to the Mayor’s home, when some faint commotion and familiar voice caught his attention. He turned and made his way towards the train station then, where he saw the woman named Ororo waiting to board the train.
He approached her as she stood on the platform and was surprised to see Red Streak was sitting at her side. The white haired woman turned to him with a faint smile. “Bad night for a walk, wouldn’t you agree?” she asked.
Logan shrugged, “I suppose it doesn’t bother me anymore than you.” He nodded. He looked to the wolf beside her and crouched down. The pack leader studied him for a moment, but did not go to him. Logan frowned. “I suppose ye don’t like the way I smell now, eh? Too much civilization. I understand.”
Storm stroked the place between the animal’s ears lightly with her finger tips. “You have a pack of your own now.” She said to the man. “But that doesn’t mean he will forget you.”
The dark haired man nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Storm. For everything. I hope we didn’t cause you too much trouble.”
She smirked; “That would be impossible; you’re a man after all.”
He chuckled. “You’ll look after those pups when they’re born, won’t ya?”
“Of course. And you’ll do the same for yours, I presume.”
He nodded; “Long as I’m breathin’.” He tipped his hat to her, “Safe trip, Ororo. You ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call. I owe ya one.”
She nodded thoughtfully and then moved down the platform as the conductor gave the last boarding call. Logan turned away and began the long shuffle home, walking alongside the steaming engine as it warmed up for its journey until it faded behind him into the dark and the drizzling rain. He wandered for a time, following the tracks mindlessly as his thoughts drifted elsewhere. His thoughts had turned back to home; to Jubilee and Laura, and watching them grow together and of Remy and the nights and days that would be filled with companionship and family rather than loneliness and regret.
The wind gusted angrily and Logan bowed his head against it, trying to keep himself from being swept aside. But as it howled around him, he was brought from that happy revere by a devastatingly familiar scent.
Squinting in the wind, he tried to turn towards it, but he wasn’t quick enough. Claws slashed down his back, opening him wide and sending him sprawling forward in the dirt. Logan rasped in pain only to have a foot collide harshly with his shoulders, sending him rolling, only to be kicked in the face. His head snapped back, clanking against the railroad tie. His vision was a red blur and he felt numbness creeping across his limbs even as his healing factor sought to right the traumatic blows.
A heavy body fell upon his and Creed’s clawed hand thrust itself against his rib cage again and again until it managed to force its way through the mangled tissue. Logan screamed and gurgled blood, claws revealing themselves once more as he forced his arms up and thrust both sets into the sides of the bigger feral.
Creed screamed and rolled backward, taking a chunk of Logan’s guts with him as he did. Howlett lay on the gravel, spitting blood and trying to keep from blacking out as he tried to drag himself away from the mad man in front of him.
Blinking through the bloody haze, he got his first good look at Victor. The feral still had severe burns and lacerations covering his skin; marring his usual wild appearance and he seemed genuinely hobbled by the blows Logan had dealt him. “No one walks away from Victor Creed! Not even you!”
He reached down and grabbed Logan by the hair, dragging him up and hurled him forward like a rag doll, making the smaller man collide with the tracks. The iron dented under the force of the blow and Logan groaned, rolling once more, trying to pick himself up.
But Creed never gave him a second to recover. He came at him again and again, slashing, biting, tearing. At one point he set his teeth into the man’s neck and bit down as hard as he could. Logan screamed and managed to dig his claws into Creed’s back, delving deep enough that it finally dislodged the lunatic and allowed them both to fall aside.
Howlett laid sprawled upon the tracks, barely functioning, only knowing pain. Victor’s blows were brutal and his healing factor was taking too long…why was it taking so long?
Victor was standing over him again, laughing, a mangled bloody mess. “Not feeling so good, eh Jimmy?” he mocked. He bent down next to the man, watching him struggle for air. “Guess you weren’t paying attention earlier. Ya might have noticed a queer lookin’ fella with a long red coat? He was my ace in the hole, Jimmy-boy. The brains behind my brawn, if ya wanna put it that way. Had a nice little side business going here while you were out playing in the woods. See, Mr. Sinister, as he likes to call himself, has a knack of being able to find out what makes people like you and me tick.” He rammed Logan’s head down against the railroad tie, letting him feel the vibration as the engine, now just a few yards down the track began to rumble to life. “And once he finds out what it is…he figures out a way to make stop ticking.”
Logan barely heard him, the words drifting in and out as he fought for consciousness, feeling the vibration of the train as it began to move forward down the track. They were only a mile from the platform, but the night was utterly dark and rain was falling now in driving sheets. The engineer could not see them.
“It’s what Raven used on Xavier to shut him up; and what you're fucking little beau Gambit used on me! Guess you must have gotten a dose of it when your little shack came falling down on our heads. Musta been what all that damn green smoke was. Hahahaha!” he laughed crazily. "Look at me!" He leaned closer so that Logan could see the burns on his skin. “Shoulda been all patched up by now, don’t ya think? Took a double hit of that and it still can't keep me down! But you...you're getting weak as a kitten, aren't ya?"
Logan moaned, trying to break free, trying to understand what Creed was saying, but the words sounded like they came from underwater.
"Wonder how long it’ll take ya to put yerself back together after this engine splatters yer brains all over the tracks?”
Logan tried to push him off, but he could barely move, much less fight. Creed was too strong. Victor leaned over him and licked the blood from his cheek, watching him squirm as he did so. “You smell like the Cajun…I think I’ll bring him a piece of your head. Give him something pretty to look at while I’m---“
He heard it too late; the thudding of feet across the muddy ground, the panting breath, the smell of anger and adrenaline. Creed turned just in time to have Laura’s claws rip through him as she screamed. The girl impaled him in the shoulder then swung and kicked him backwards, sending him flipping and rolling across the tracks.
The train was coming, picking up speed. Laura reached down and grabbed Logan, heaving him away from the ties as he clung to her. They rolled away from the tracks, barely clearly the speeding train as it rattled by.
They looked back and saw Victor bathed in the yellow light from the engine, for just a moment, then a loud thud and crack.
Logan turned his head away, hiding in the crook of Laura’s arms as he struggled for breath. Little by little the wounds were closing, the blood was flowing less freely, but flowing all the same. The young woman looked down at him in fear, seeming to realize that he wasn’t recovering as quickly as he should.
“Logan? Logan! Are you alright…say something!”
The man once known as Wolverine looked up into the young woman’s face and smiled through the blood that ran down into his eyes and pushed back her hair. “You did good girl. You did good.”
***
Two months later…
Opening day.
It had taken long enough; at least in his opinion. But then again, when he had put her together the first time he had half as many resources and even fewer hands. But now it seemed that nearly everyone in Tull must have had a hand in rebuilding the grand old Inn.
The morning was bright and not as cold as it had been in the previous weeks. But it was dry as hell, which meant everyone would be thirsty. Logan stood at his accustomed place behind the bar, polishing the counter top until he could see his reflection in it.
He noted the scar that ran from his left cheek bone up across his eye and well into his hairline. It was growing a bit paler every day, but it was still deep and ragged, and Dr. McCoy guessed that it would never fully heal. Logan was lucky it hadn’t blinded him.
His healing factor had never returned to its full strength, which worried everyone. Except for Logan. Strange…the idea of mortality seemed less frightening now than it once did. He glanced up to see Jubilee darting in and out between the tables in her accustomed fashion, fussing over whether or not they each had the correct number of chairs and there was enough space between each to keep patrons from bumping into each other.
“Are you gonna stand there all day staring at yourself, old man?” she sighed, hand on her hip as she looked on at him. A small grey furry beast rushed past her ankles and darted towards the kitchen corridor, looking for scraps. It was one of the wolf pups from Logan’s pack, affectionately called Storm Cloud, that Ororo had brought with her on her last visit. The pup was a runt, too small and fragile for survival in the wild. At least for now.
It came around the corner of the bar and brushed up against the Inn Keeper’s leg like a cat, pawing at his shoes and whining and Logan swatted at it. “Off with ya, get! Ya little beggar.”
Remy emerged from the kitchen then, quickly untying his apron strings and hanging it upon the hook on the wall before draping himself over Logan’s broad shoulders. “Ugh, Mon Dieu, is it time to open de doors yet? You have been standing here all morning, time to let dese good people have their drinks, eh?”
Logan smirked at him; “Fine, fine. I suppose she’s as ready as she’ll ever be.”
Remy grinned and kissed his cheek, darting around the bar with Jubilee as they rushed for the doors. Laura emerged from the stairway then as well and looked on thoughtfully. “You ready, darlin’?” he asked.
She nodded, nervously smoothing down the apron that clung to her waist. “I think I understand what I am supposed to do, yes.” She looked flatly at Logan. “But if anyone tries to touch me, I’m punching them in the face.”
Logan grinned and tossed his dishtowel across his shoulder. “That’s my girl.”
The doors opened, letting in cold air and bright sunlight as a crowd of eager on-lookers pushed their way inside, eager to get out of the draft and see the fruit of their labors. Among the first through the door were Dr. McCoy and the Mayor.
Charles had never recovered from the wound Creed had dealt him. It left him permanently crippled, bound to a wheel-chair. But the man remained in good spirits as ever; perhaps more so, now that Hank was ever by his side.
“Good morning!” Henry called eagerly, waving to all of them. He took a moment to look around at the new interior, which was very much like the last one, yet grander somehow. “Oh Logan, it’s marvelous. I have missed this place. And of course, your impeccable service.”
“Remy has the table already set up for you, Doc. Try not to lay it on so thick, would ya? It’s embarrassing.” Logan replied, doing his best not to smile too much.
“Entrevous gentlemen! You have de best seat in de house of course…” Remy called, ushering them along to let others pass by. Jubilee was already shouting orders and telling patrons to settle down and wait there turn, while Laura followed after her, dutifully writing everything down. Her hand writing was still a bit shaky, but they had learned to decipher it’s general meaning.
Logan welcomed others to the bar with his usual cool approach, but the warmth he felt inside was nothing short of brilliant. He was home.
He glanced up briefly to nod to Scott and Emma, who sat at the bar and ordered two shots of Vodka. No words passed between them, but Logan was glad to see them all the same.
Within a half hour the Inn was as full as it had ever been, and already new arrivals from the morning train were stopping in to make room reservations. Somewhere in the warm, joyous chaos of it all, Logan found himself drawn to a strikingly unfamiliar face.
The man’s skin was blue and so smooth and fine that he almost didn’t realize that it was fur covered as well. He was young as well, maybe a few years older than Jubilee at best. He had taken a seat at the far end of the bar, huddled under a long coat and hat that was too broad for him. He smelled nervous, tense. But Logan realized that the man had been watching him for more than twenty minutes; all without saying a word.
Finally the bar tender made his way down to him. “What can I get ya, bub?” he asked.
The young mutant startled slightly and Logan saw a twitch of a forked tail just behind him. A blue devil. Now here was something you didn’t see every day; not even in Tull.
“Are you…are you Mr. Howlett?” the man asked, his voice very soft and his accent very German. Logan blinked slowly.
“What’s it to ya?”
The young man licked his lips faintly before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a rolled up scrap of newspaper, handing it to the barkeep. “I believe we share an acquaintance, mein freund.”
Thoughtfully Logan unrolled the paper and realized it was a flyer for some sort of show or event taking place in New York City. It pictured a man with narrow features and very cold eyes standing in the center, surrounded by various depictions of freaks and mutants. Logan recognized one in the far corner, who was depicted pacing in a cage; Victor Creed.
The bar keeper narrowed his eyes at the stranger. “Why did you bring this to me?”
The blue furred man looked up at him, and Logan saw that his eyes were yellow and bright like gold, possessing no other color or shape. They looked very sad. “Because we need your help.”
***
Fini