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Scott found Logan exactly where he’d thought he would- at the bar twenty minutes down the road.
It was the closest one, something he’d complained about a handful of times, and while Scott had made a point to refuse every offer ever made to grab a drink with him, he knew the place decently well. Well enough to know that the bartender there wasn’t going to kick the Wolverine to the curb no matter how late it got.
Most places wouldn’t, but he knew a handful of establishments scattered across the country would turn Logan away at the door.
He almost wished this place was next in line. Make him walk an hour there and back if he wanted to get wasted that bad.
Scott locked his car from the doorway and pushed his way inside. The scene before him was disappointing, but not surprising. At least nobody was hurt this time.
The place was nearly empty, save for the bartender wiping down his counters, someone out cold in the corner booth, and a familiar figure in flannel hunched over the vacant bar with an array of empty bottles and shot glasses before him.
God damn it, Logan.
Scott’s cheek throbbed, and a petty part of him hoped the bruise was prominent enough that Logan would see it through his drunken stupor. Maybe he’d feel bad.
It was a hard maybe.
And he didn’t want that, not really. But the anger was still bubbling under his skin, leaving him to grasp uselessly at childish frustration. Storm had told him to wait until they were both calm before trying to talk again, wait for Logan to come to him on his own time, but that would be like waiting on a fairytale. When were they ever not at each other’s throats these days? When had Logan ever come to talk to him willingly?
It wasn’t unusual for them to butt heads after a mission, but Scott was man enough to admit that he’d lost his cool. Logan wouldn’t, not even after he’d been the one to swing on him, but he wasn’t their leader. Nobody was looking to him to be calm and collected. It wasn’t on his shoulders to patch things up, even if he was the one tearing them apart.
Logan had ignored Scott’s orders in the middle of a battle again, and really it had only been a matter of time before he lost his patience like this.
He’d gone off on his own without so much as a warning, gotten himself hurt in the process, and he’d been damn lucky he’d managed to shield the civilians in harm’s way. There would have been a very different kind of argument if he’d gotten someone killed today.
As it was, Scott was just fucking sick of Logan throwing himself into the front lines without any regard for the team. Healing factor or not, nobody was a fan of seeing Wolverine dive head first into danger at every given opportunity. His recklessness was going to get someone killed or seriously hurt one of these days, and he’d told Logan as much before he could retreat to lick his wounds in silence as he so often did.
Logan had bristled, always looking a bit too much like a stray dog being approached by a stranger, but he hadn’t jumped to the challenge like he normally did.
“Back off, Cyclops.”
“We need to talk about this,” Scott had insisted, his own anger spilling over. “You’re not a one-man show, Logan. Your actions have consequences. You’re an X-Man, you’re expected to follow orders. You have responsibilities –”
“A responsibility to sit on my ass and let someone die because you’re too distracted to make the right fucking call? Is that what we do now?”
“No. But you need to talk to the team. Tell us what’s happening, let us help you, or else all you do is create more issues.”
Logan’s lip had curled, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. For someone so closed off, so infuriating, he’d always been achingly expressive.
“That’s all I do, huh?”
“That’s not– when you do whatever the hell you want, yes!”
Logan had sidestepped him, he’d tried to walk away from the fight, and in a moment of pure blind frustration Scott had intercepted and kept talking.
“Do you ever think about anyone other than yourself? Can you do that? Can you try to think about the team for one second?”
“I didn’t fucking ask for this,” Logan had snapped, and Scott had held his ground. “Get out of my way, Summers.”
“You’re an X-Man, Wolverine. We’re in this together whether you like it or not, whether you want to wear this suit or not.” He’d gestured to his yellow suit, stained with grime and dust and blood, a stark contrast to Logan’s dark, torn clothes. “I don’t care what you asked for, you’re here with us. And as long as you’re a part of this team you follow orders like everyone else.”
Logan had gone stiff. Unnaturally still.
“I said get out of my way.”
“ No ,” He’d been so angry. Angry and blind and a little bit stupid. “I know you don’t want me to call you on your bullshit, but you can’t run from this like you run from everything else.”
Scott hadn’t seen Logan move. But he considered himself lucky that it had only been a fist across his face and not a set of metal claws across his throat.
The force of the Wolverine’s punch had sent Scott stumbling backward, losing his footing and landing hard in the grass. The air was knocked from his lungs.
Pain sparked to life almost immediately, white-hot heat spreading across his face, cheek throbbing in time to the furious beats of his heart.
He’d gingerly pressed his fingers to split skin, adjusting his visor carefully. Logan didn’t even bother glancing in his direction. He just started walking again.
“That’s how you’re handling this?” Scott called after him. “Just like everything else, huh? Throw a punch and walk away?”
And Logan had hesitated, only for a moment, his shoulders tense. Scott had waited for a retort, for a threat or an insult- something. Anything. But Logan had just kept walking in the opposite direction of the rest of the team, and Scott had let him go. He had a debrief to get to.
Jean had gotten him an ice pack for his face, and Scott tried to let his anger simmer down before moving forward. Storm told him to talk to Logan again when he came back, after they’d both eaten and calmed down, and Scott had reluctantly agreed.
But then Logan hadn’t come back for dinner, and he didn’t come back in the hours that followed. Everyone else settled down for the night, and as much as he didn’t want to care, Scott knew he wouldn't be able to sleep without seeing for himself that Logan wasn’t rotting in a ditch somewhere.
He wished he could get rid of that.
Shut off the worrying, the doubts, the what-ifs for just one night.
The Professor had told him it came with leadership. It came with caring. He said it would get easier in time. Scott never planned on telling him that it hadn’t, or that he spent his nights more often than not pacing up and down the mansion’s halls, pulling at his hair, trying and trying and failing to convince himself that every member of his team was still breathing. That he hadn’t made the wrong call.
So he made sure everyone was in their rooms for the night, safe in the X-Mansion’s walls, and found himself crossing the empty bar to Logan’s side at three in the goddamn morning.
He could leave him here. Turn around and try to salvage the last half of the night and get some sleep. Logan was fine, just miserable and drunk and alone. And if that was what he wanted, who was Scott to judge?
But that wasn’t really an option. Not without at least giving Logan a chance.
Scott pulled out the stool next to his teammate, offering an apologetic smile to the bartender as Logan raised his head, brow furrowing.
“The fuck’re you doing here?”
Scott took a second to look him over. Checking for injuries, discomfort, an old habit despite being intimately aware of Logan’s healing abilities. He wasn’t hurt- he never was- but he looked like shit.
“Just thought I’d make sure you were still alive,” Scott said. “Nobody’s seen you in hours.”
Wolverine bristled, his gaze cold. His words were heavy, slurred, and Scott had to lean closer just to hear him properly.
“Still kicking.”
Logan raised his hand to grab the bartender’s attention, and Scott quickly grabbed his wrist.
“You’re done for the night, Logan.” He nodded to the array of empty glasses. “You’ve had enough.”
Logan ripped his hand away, but he didn’t throw another punch.
“Fuck off.”
“I’m trying to help you here,” Scott said, amazed at how quickly any resolve he’d held onto was ripped away. Logan could piss him off without uttering a word. “Are you listening?”
“Yes, I fuckin’ heard you. Lecture can’t wait till the sun’s up?”
“I’m not here to lecture you,” Scott said, which wasn’t… entirely true. But he was holding back a decent chunk of what he wanted to say, frustration and anger taking a forced back seat. He wouldn’t get through to Logan in this state, anyway. “I came to make sure you were okay.”
“Well, m’ fine,” Logan snapped. “You can see that I’m fuckin’ fine so leave me the fuck alone. Go home.”
This was the part where Scott gave up. Fuck Logan and his shit attitude and his drunk anger. If he was having a bad night he could sort it out by himself.
But this… this wasn’t right. This wasn’t normal. Logan was an angry drunk (and an angry sober), everyone knew that. He’d seen it for himself dozens of times, and it wasn’t this.
His words were mean, sure, but there wasn’t any venom to them. His voice sounded almost strained. He was posturing, hiding behind false fury and dull blades, desperately trying to get Scott to leave.
Cyclops’s frustration hit a wall.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. He’d walked into more suicide missions than he could count, balanced the weight of the world, fought impossible odds just to save one life, and somehow this felt more like walking a tightrope than any of them. It felt like stepping into a predator’s den without a weapon. “I don’t think you should be alone right now.”
Logan scoffed, the sound choked and strangled.
“Always fucking alone. Always… I don’t need this shit. Fucking… anyone of you. Don’t need it. I’m good. I’m good.”
Maybe if Scott was a better leader, he’d have a tighter rein on his temper. Or maybe Logan just knew how to push his buttons, knew just how to bring that frustration to the surface even when he could barely hold himself upright.
“I get it,” he said instead. “I do, okay? You’re a big tough independent guy- whatever you want. But I meant what I said. You’re a part of this whether you like it or not. And we can’t have a lone wolf on the team, that’s not how we work.”
He expected to argue, to hold steady against another drunken onslaught and harsh words- or at worst dodge another blow.
But Logan just hunched his shoulders and ducked his head like Scott had tried to hit him. He scowled, still pent up and piss drunk, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes and digging his fingernails into his scalp like he was trying to physically hold himself together.
The claws stayed locked away, but Scott could see the first trickle of blood beneath his fingertips. He reached forward without thinking, grabbing both of Logan’s wrists and prying his hands away from his face.
“Hey, hey, stop that.” By some miracle, Scott didn’t lose any fingers. He was willing to consider that a good sign. “Jesus, Logan.”
“What d’you want?” He was sure it was supposed to be a demand, some kind of threat, but it came out more like a plea. Logan was tense underneath his touch, coiled tight like he was fit to snap in half. “Fuck, I can’t- not today, Scott, I can’t do this today.”
It barely sounded like him, breathless, and Scott felt an unfamiliar weight settle over his chest.
“I want you to talk to me. Tell me what’s really going on, Logan. I’m not here to lecture you, I’m just trying to understand.”
Logan’s eyes were only for the glasses in front of him. Anywhere but Scott, sitting with his hands wrapped around Logan’s wrists.
“Nothin’ to talk about,” Logan muttered after a minute, and Scott sighed. “You always wanna fuckin’ talk. When’s it gonna get through your thick fuckin’ skull that I don’t have shit to say to you, Slim?”
“And when is it going to get through your thick skull that all anyone wants is to help you? You make it so damn difficult to- hey. Look at me, Logan.”
“No.”
Scott sighed, squeezing Logan’s wrists just a little too tight. He’d have half a mind to give them both matching bruises if he thought it would make a difference.
“Logan–”
“Ask what you wanna fuckin’ ask,” Logan growled. “An’ then leave me the fuck alone.”
He didn’t know what to do. There was only so much he knew how to do with Logan. Every interaction felt like a hit or miss, like trudging blindly through the wilderness without an end in sight, hoping and praying nothing leapt from the treeline to rip you limb from limb.
He could lead his team, he could chip away at Logan’s defenses piece by piece in battle, over dinner, take those tiny steps to get him to listen, but it always felt like one step forward and a dozen steps back.
Hell, he couldn’t even get Logan to wear the suit.
At what point did he cut his losses and stop trying? At what point was Logan a lost cause, a brick wall, more trouble than he was worth?
Never, the traitorous voice in the back of Scott’s mind hissed, defiant, and Scott softened. Never a lost cause.
No one was. Scott didn’t give up on anyone. Especially not one of his own. And god help him, he couldn’t stop caring. Not about Logan- stubborn, annoying, short tempered, fiercely loyal Logan. Not when he was hurting so clearly.
“How come you have to make this so hard, huh?” he finally asked, his voice gentler than he’d thought possible tonight. “Just tell me that. None of us have done anything but try to help you, and you can’t do anything but push us away. Especially me. Why? Why can’t you let us in?”
Logan’s hands tensed under Scott’s own, the muscles jumping, and Scott resisted the urge to pull away for his own protection. But there was no pain, no blood, no sight of metal slicing through delicate skin.
And for a long moment Logan didn’t utter a word. He didn’t look at Scott either, eyes fixated on the edge of the bar, stock-still, scarcely breathing. It was like he was picking apart the words piece by piece. Like he was fighting himself just to be able to open his mouth again.
Logan’s brow furrowed, and for a second Scott thought he looked his real age for a moment, decades and decades of bone deep pain etched onto his face.
Wolverine took a small, shuddering breath. “I don’t know.”
And that wasn’t a good answer. It was hardly an answer at all, really. But Scott thought it might be the most honest Logan had ever been with him.
“Alright,” he said. “That’s okay. I just wish you’d trust us, that’s all.”
Logan still didn’t move. “S’ all gonna fall apart eventually No fucking point in gettin’ attached.”
….Ah. There it was.
“That’s not going to happen,” Scott said. It was stupidly optimistic considering what they faced every day, and judging by Logan’s disheartened scoff he felt the same way. “Nobody’s going anywhere, is what I mean.”
“S’ how it goes.”
“You can’t live your life waiting for everything to fall apart,” Scott said. “You’ll make yourself miserable. You are making yourself miserable. Shit happens, I get that, but that doesn’t mean you stop letting people in.”
“Yeah,” Logan muttered, carefully eyeing the bartender at the other end. Scott was willing to take a knife through the palm before he let Logan put another drop in his body. “Easy for you to say, bub.”
“You think this is easy for me?” he echoed, incredulous. “You think I'm not worried every second of every day? You think every worst case scenario isn’t on my shoulders? I don’t get on your ass for fun, Logan. You put good people in danger when you pull this kind of shit. My people. I’m looking out for all of you.”
Logan raised his head, finally doing Scott the courtesy of looking him in the eyes. “Your people, huh?”
“You’re one of them,” Scott said, before he could talk himself out of it. “I told you. Whether you like it or not.”
Logan didn’t look at him long. He busied himself by staring at the wall again, jaw clenched tight like he was trying to physically keep his thoughts silenced.
The fight proved futile.
“I tried real hard not to give a shit about any of you,” Logan said. “I really did, you know? Real fucking hard. Fuckin’... fucking bastards. All of you. Didn’t wanna fucking love anyone again. How come I can’t stop doing that, huh?”
Scott’s heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of his chest.
“Because you care, Logan. It’s who you are.”
“Yeah, and where’s that get me? S’ all fucking shit. It’s all shit.”
“It gets you people who love you back,” Scott said. “That’s not nothing. Don’t you think that’s a risk worth taking?”
“Not worth it when you all end up dead.”
“Nobody’s dying,” Scott insisted, because that was a rabbit hole he refused to go down. He’d never make it back to the surface if he started. “We’re strong, we’re resilient, we’re not going anywhere. We’ll face whatever comes our way together, just like we always do.”
“It’s three in the morning,” Logan said. “Don’t need a pep talk.”
Despite everything, Scott found himself forcing back a smile.
“It’s my job no matter what time it is.”
“Don’t know how you’re this opti-” Logan said, words still slightly slurred, stumbling on his tongue. “Optimistic with that stick up your ass.”
“Don’t try to change the subject.”
Logan seemed to wither when Scott smiled at him, continuing to avoid his eyes like the plague.
“I need another drink.”
“I don’t think so, hotshot.” He kept his grip firm, even if he knew he’d have no chance of holding him down if Logan had the sense to really try. “You’ve had enough. You’re wasted.”
“Not enough,” Logan said. It didn’t sound like an argument. “S’ never enough.”
Once again, Scott felt insurmountably out of his depth. He was going in blind, fumbling around in the dark, hoping and praying he didn’t make a wrong move.
“Enough for what?”
“Fuck off.” Alright. Back to square one. “Fuck you.”
“Logan–”
“Fuck you.” Logan finally pulled his wrists away, slipping out of Scott’s grip, and Scott let him go. “Stop- stop fucking acting like this.”
“Like what?” Scott asked, now left with nothing to hold onto when the frustration returned with a vengeance. “Like your friend?”
“Like you give a shit.”
“Of course I give a shit,” Scott snapped. “You think I’d be here if I didn’t? You think I want to be sitting in a bar arguing with you at three in the morning? I’m here for you, Logan. I want to help you.”
Logan didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He closed his eyes like Scott’s words were physically paining him, (given how much he’d had to drink, they might be) clenching and unclenching his fists now rested against his thighs.
“I don’t want to care about you.”
“Why not?” Scott asked quietly. “Why is this so hard for you?”
For a moment, Scott was convinced he’d stepped too far and was about to get a face full of adamantium blade. Or maybe Logan was about to keel over right then and there, and he’d have to decide whether he was finding a way to drag him home or leaving him here to rot on the bar floor.
But Logan stayed upright, barely, and his hands stayed on his thighs, fingers running along the material of his pants.
“Every time I look at any of you, I can’t… I can’t fucking- it’s all bullshit, Scott. S’ not gonna fucking work.”
Scott, with the sneaking suspicion that his voice would only clam Logan up again, held his tongue and waited for Wolverine to continue.
“Everyone dies,” he said. “You get that? Everyone around me always fuckin’ dies. The second I get attached, s’ all just gone- all gone, and I don’t… fuck, I don’t mean to, you know? I don’t mean to… but I can’t stop it. Can’t- can’t protect anyone for shit. M’ not… not the good guy, slim. Not supposed to bring me home.”
Scott didn’t like it when Logan drank himself half to death like this, but he doubted he ever would have voiced any of this out loud if he was sober.
And sometimes that was what it was like to know Logan. Cutting your losses and taking what you could get in small, painful bursts of raw honesty ripped from his throat when he was at the end of a constantly fraying rope.
He had the sudden, unexplainable urge to reach out and take his hands again. Neither of them moved.
“Thought I could handle it this time,” Logan said, growing quieter with every word. “I’m not wearing your stupid fucking suit, I’m not… not on your stupid fucking team. Can’t give a shit about you that way.”
For the first time, Scott thought he might understand.
“It doesn’t work, does it?”
“Not even a little,” Logan said. He laughed, the sound bitter and strangled. “Fuck. Fuck, I can’t- I thought I could. N’ then I started dreaming and now I can’t… can’t even fucking look at you.”
Scott took the risk.
“What kind of dreams?”
And somehow, it paid off.
“About you. N’ the team. All of you. Dead before I can even fuckin’... before I can even try. I couldn’t protect you, I couldn’t–”
“Hey, hey.”
Fuck it. Fuck potentially losing a finger for crossing some invisible boundary and fuck Logan sinking in on himself like a cesspool of survivor’s guilt and crippling panic. Even if Scott was pulled under with him, drowning together was better than watching him drown alone.
He reached forward and wrapped his hands around Logan’s own, holding on tight.
“I’m here, okay? Look at me, I’m alive. Everyone’s alive, we’re not going anywhere. They’re just dreams.”
“I can’t save you,” Logan rasped, eyes clouded over with something that made Scott’s throat go dry. “I can’t save any of you, I can’t- I walk away, just like I always do just like you said because I’m a fucking coward.”
“You’re not a coward,” Scott said, but as much as he meant it the words felt stale on his tongue. The bruise on his cheek twinged like a painful reminder. “And you’re not walking away from us, I know you won’t. You’re more loyal than you give yourself credit for.”
Or more loyal than he wanted to admit to himself, maybe.
“And what happens when that’s not enough? I’m not the world saving type, Scott. You’ve got the wrong guy.”
Scott sighed, heart heavy in his chest, a suffocating vice seeping into his lungs that made every breath harder and harder to control. But this wasn’t about him or that nagging voice in the back of his head or the ever present crushing weight of everything and anything that could go wrong at any given second.
This was about Logan, who seemed to feel the exact same way this entire damn time. They both could have saved themselves a lot of trouble by talking sooner.
“Nobody’s the world saving type,” Scott said. “That’s not how it works. You try to hold yourself to that standard, you’ll just end up crashing and burning. We’re still just people, Logan.”
Logan was looking at him now, almost wary, and Scott figured he owed him a little honesty too.
“I don’t go into this thinking about saving the world,” he continued. “I go into this thinking about saving the person in front of me. I think about whoever needs me, because when it comes down to it that is my world. You’re a good man, Logan, and you don’t need to save the whole world to be a hero. You can just be there with us, with the people who need you. Because your team needs you, more than you know.”
Logan was silent again, and this time he didn’t look away, scanning every inch of Scott’s face like he was trying to pick him apart, detect any hint of a lie. There was none, nothing but painful, shaky honesty shared between the two of them tonight, but Scott was still glad Logan couldn’t see his eyes.
“You need me, huh?” Wolverine drawled. Scott could smack him. He really could. The tension broke, and he smiled at the resurfacing banter. “Never thought I’d get ya to admit it.”
“Don’t get cocky on me, now.” Scott pulled his hands away from Logan’s before it could really dawn on either of them how close they’d been, frowning slightly when Logan didn’t so much as scowl.
Logan didn’t seem to have it in him to smile either, but he uncoiled himself slightly, looking a little less like he was seconds from bolting and never showing his face again.
That was better, at least. Small victories.
“Hey,” Scott said again, just to make sure Logan was still with him. “No more talk about walking away, alright? You’re not going anywhere.”
“I don’t want to,” Logan said, another confession that swept Scott’s feet out from under him. “I never do. Don’t know why I always… I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.”
“It’s who you are,” Scott said, and he felt guilty for it the second the words left his mouth. But he’d been there, curled in one himself like a rabid dog, saddled with that insatiable urge to push and push and push everyone away until there was no one around to hurt anymore. To kick and claw and fight his way to solitude just to find a quiet place to wash all the blood away. “It’s not about what you want or don’t want. You’re a fighter, you always have been. That instinct to be alone, it’s just…” It’s who you are. It’s who you’ll always be. “It takes time to unlearn.”
Logan shook his head, and Scott steeled himself for an argument neither of them really wanted to have.
“S’ not true.”
He was still drunk, still slurring his desperate words.
“Logan, it’s okay–”
“Not true,” he said again, almost a snarl. “It’s not true, I’m not- I’ve never wanted that. I never wanted to be alone, Scott, I never wanted to fight. Never wanted to be a soldier, either. But I can’t fuckin’ get away from it. So I gotta keep fighting an’ then I gotta keep running because I can fight but I can’t fucking save anyone.”
Scott wasn’t sure what to say to that, mulling over every piece of the drunken confession.
“You don’t like to fight.”
“Don’t wanna fight,” Logan said, muffled slightly as he buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes. “Don’t like t’ fight.”
And Scott…
Scott wished he could believe him. He wished so badly that he could look at Logan and everything he was and everything he’d done and see a gentle man beneath the surface.
He couldn’t. And he hates himself for it.
But Logan seemed to believe what he was saying. Like he was digging up the deepest parts of his soul, tattered and buried and forgotten, showing Scott the broken and mangled and neglected thing that was the last remaining shreds of his gentleness.
He believed it about himself, so Scott could work with that. Maybe he’d see it too if they kept trying.
“I believe you,” he said, hoping it wouldn’t be a lie one day. It was worth it, to see the way Logan all but slumped forward in relief. “But you have to believe me when I tell you that we’re here. We’re not going anywhere.”
Logan seemed to be thrust right back to where he started, fighting with himself to let a single word slip by his carefully guarded defenses, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he sat beside Scott in heavy silence.
“S’ late,” he said after a long moment, and Scott didn’t try to mask his disappointment. “You should go home.”
“Not without you,” Scott said. And then, a little bolder, “If you really don’t like being alone, then you need to let me in. Let me take you home.”
Logan didn’t move, frozen in place like the offer itself was paralyzing. Like accepting help would shatter the illusion all at once and everything would crumble around him.
“Logan.” He crossed that invisible line again, hand wrapping around Logan’s arm. “Let us in. Please. You’re a part of this team, you’re–” And he hesitated. He didn’t know why. He’d never hesitated like this with any other X-Man.
But Logan was staring right at him with dark eyes, never deterred by the expressionless visor, trying and failing to pretend he wasn’t hanging onto every word.
And Scott pushed their past aside, because it didn’t matter anymore.
“You’re family,” he said, well aware this could all blow up in his face. “We’re a family, Logan.”
If Scott didn’t know him so infuriatingly well, he might have thought the words didn’t affect Logan at all. But he saw the flicker of emotion in his eyes, the mask slipping under the exhaustion and the alcohol, something neither of them were ready to unpack pulling at the corners of his mouth.
He almost smiled. Almost.
“Yeah,” he said instead. “Thanks.”
And that was okay. Scott didn’t mind smiling for both of them tonight. “Don’t thank me for this. You’re a pain in my ass, but we take care of each other.”
Logan didn’t have a response to that other than a noncommittal hum, turning one of the empty shot glasses over in his hand. His grip was wobbly, and Scott had the sudden image of the thing shattering all over the floor.
He glanced at the poor exhausted bartender, trying and failing to shepherd the drunk asleep on one of his barstools out the door, and Scott figured he could at least make the man’s life a little easier.
“Come on,” he said. “We should go. You need to sleep and sober up.”
Logan still seemed hesitant, like he’d convinced himself the bar was some kind of safe haven from the inevitable.
“M’ fine,” he said, right back to his stubborn ways. Well. Change wasn’t going to happen at the flip of a switch, Scott supposed. “I can get back.”
The thought of Logan stumbling down the street in his current state was equal parts amusing and terrifying- especially when he made a valiant attempt to stand only to sway and immediately lose his footing, steadying himself against the bar.
Scott was there in an instant, not even bothering to hesitate before touching Logan this time. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”
“I sober up fast,” Logan slurred, even as he let Scott straighten him up. “Always do.”
“Not fast enough,” Scott said, taking the brunt of Logan’s weight and maneuvering both towards the exit. “C’mon. My car’s outside.”
Logan leaned against his side, legs a tangled mess beneath him. He mumbled something incomprehensible as Scott shouldered the door open, too quiet to even try to make out.
“You say something?”
Logan lifted his head, and Scott practically did a double take when he realized Logan was laughing. Breathless and drunk, but real. “I said- I said you wanna know something?”
Scott wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. “What’s that?”
“I was thinkin’ about gettin sober,” Logan said, pausing for a second to breathe in the fresh night air as the two of them stumbled outside. Scott felt his heart drop. “Can you imagine? Me? Hah. Fucking… really fucked that up, huh? Didn’t even get to start.”
And Scott thought he might understand that all too well, fighting tooth and nail only to stumble and fall before you even reach the starting line.
“You still can,” he said. “It’s hard, I know. But if anyone could do it, it’s you.”
Logan let Scott lead him down the steps and towards the car parked outside.
“I dunno.”
“Starting is half the battle.” He fished his keys out of his pocket, fumbling for a moment before managing to unlock it and lead Logan over to the passenger seat. “The fact that you even thought about it is a big step. You can still try again.”
Logan stared straight ahead, grunting when he was deposited into the car.
“I dunno.”
Scott sighed, shutting the passenger side door with a little more force than necessary. His frustration was back in full force by the time he rounded the car and slipped into the driver’s seat.
Maybe Logan just brought out the worst in him. He wasn’t sure who’s fault that was.
But it was hard to stay angry at him now, almost limp and half asleep beside him, his eyelids drooping as he stared at Scott.
“Logan,” he started, trying and failing to come up with the right thing to say. “I just… you have to deal with this. This isn’t healthy. I don’t care about your healing factor, you can’t drink yourself to death every time something goes wrong. You need to get better. I need you to keep wanting to get better.”
Logan stared at nothing.
“I’m trying.”
He was frustrated, angry, but for once it wasn’t at Logan. Angry at the situation, angry at the world being hell bent on keeping them all miserable, angry at the pain that had settled deep into his friend’s skin and made itself a home.
He thought no one else would have been able to survive it. Logan didn’t have a choice.
“I know,” he said quietly. “And I know it’s not your fault. But you can’t run from this, either. You need help.”
“I don’t want help.”
Had all the progress they’d made tonight been completely undone in the two minutes it had taken them to walk to the car? What was the point in being so stubborn? So annoyingly defiant? What good did it do to blatantly refuse the help being offered to you?
“Yeah, well that’s too bad,” Scott said. “Because you need it, whether you like it or not.”
“Nothing helps,” Logan said, like it was just another fact of life. “Whiskey’s all I got, slim.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” His words were coming out sharper than he wanted them to. His chest burned, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. “Nothing helps because you won’t let it help. You won’t let anyone get close enough to help you.”
“I told you,” Logan said, suddenly refusing to match the pent up frustration in Scott’s tone. “M’ trying.”
“I know,” Scott said. “I know, I’m just saying–”
“Please.” It was sudden, breathy and pained and so unlike anything he’d ever heard from Logan that it stopped Scott in his tracks, any argument dying on his tongue just like that. “I don’t wanna fight. Not right now, Scott. Please.”
Logan had squeezed his eyes shut, his hand trembling from where he’d squeezed it into a fist in his lap, his skin a sickly pale.
Frustration and guilt waged war in his head, and Scott forced both of them to quiet down. That was something he could handle on his own. Later, when he could pace the mansion’s halls and know everyone was safe.
Each and every one of them.
“Okay,” he agreed, forcing his tone to even out, his words softening. “Okay, we’re not gonna fight. Just… let’s get you home, alright?”
Logan nodded, leaned back against the carseat, and it was the most agreeable Scott had ever seen him. “Hurry up. Don’t wanna throw up n’ your car.”
Scott barked a quiet laugh, reaching over to give Logan’s wrist one last squeeze. Wolverine didn’t protest.
“Yeah, I’d like it if you didn’t do that either. Keep it together for me, okay?”
Logan grunted again, hardly an audible response, but he kept his eyes open and his breathing even as Scott started the car and took them both back towards the X-Mansion.
About halfway through the drive, Logan turned to him again. He was barely awake, but his words were a little clearer, a little less slurred and muddled by the drink.
“I’m done running,” he muttered, still quiet. “No more walking away.”
Scott’s heart squeezed, but his chest felt lighter. Maybe it was hope.
“No more walking away,” he agreed. “I’ll hold you to that.”
It was progress. Small steps on an insurmountable path, but Scott would take what he could get. It was more than he’d expected, either way.
And maybe Logan was right, maybe he was overly optimistic. They’d have a lot to talk about when he was sober, assuming Logan would even admit to remembering any of this.
But Logan wasn't a lost cause. He never would be, not to Scott. Not a single member of his little family ever would be.
And who knew? If they kept going like this, maybe one day he’d finally get Logan to wear that suit.