Chapter Text
The kid was docile. He concerningly, expectedly docile.
At first, Logan had kept the defibrillators on hand. Every move that the boy made he was sure to have his finger on the button, ready to activate the electrical hum. Scott had given him a look, but Logan wasn’t above using the noise to spark fear and submission. However, the longer that time went on, the more his finger began to move from the trigger. He didn’t abandon the device entirely, but it quickly became obvious that it wouldn’t be necessary.
Anything Logan said, the boy did — anything at all. He followed orders without question. He bent to every test that he was given. He didn’t make any sort of protest as they ran him through medical tests, cleaned his wounds, rebandaged them, or anything else. He didn’t flinch at needles or pricks when Jean took a blood sample, and he shifted into position easily when Scott brought the forgotten IV forward, and he stayed still for the entire time they kept it on. Every movement that he made was practiced and mechanical, as though he had been through this process many times before.
There was only one thing that the boy didn’t do when asked. Throughout the entire process, he didn’t speak a word.
The X-Men were concerned. Logan wasn’t. He did wish that Jean would stop trying to make conversation with the kid though; it made the situation more uncomfortable for everyone.
“Could you tell us your name?” She asked— not for the first time— as she redid the bandages that had been knocked loose in the fight. It was easier this time since he was conscious and moved whatever way that she needed him to. At the moment he had his arm held out, and his previous black shirt was gone to give Jean the ability to better secure the temporary cast around his wrist. The lack of fabric revealed more dark blue skin, and Logan could see the way that Jean would avert her gaze from the pock-marked scars that littered his skin. This was obviously not his first fight.
The kid didn’t respond to Jean’s question. He simply stared forward, his yellow eyes blank and dull as she finished with his broken wrist. Once she was done and began to move on, the arm dropped lifelessly back to his side.
At this most recent bout of silence, Logan found Jean’s eyes shifting to look at him. There was a question and a concern deep in her gaze, and it made Logan want to sigh. It had been only a few hours since this kid had come into the Institute and yet the amount of side glances and silent questions that had been directed to him had already become exhausting. He hardly had a choice in this matter, and yet he was already regretting his agreement to this entire situation. Rather than show that though, he gave her a simple shrug and averted his gaze. His arms crossed over his chest, and he hoped that she would get the hint and stop trying to make conversation with the kid that was obviously not going to reciprocate.
Logan couldn’t remember much of his captivity, but he could remember the first few weeks of freedom. He could remember how long it took to relearn how to speak on his own. He didn’t want to remember that time.
As Jean continued to work, Ororo gravitated toward Logan. He had told her that she could leave. She hadn’t listened.
“We should get that thing off of him,” she murmured quietly, as if concerned that the boy would hear. Her face was angled toward Logan, but her soft gaze continued to stray back to the kid. It was as if she thought that her stares would make him uncomfortable, despite the fact that he was already quite obviously the object of attention in the room.
Logan followed her gaze. Unsurprisingly, she was staring at the piece of metal wrapped around the boy’s throat.
“The collar?”
“Yes. It is detestable.”
“Maybe, but it’s something he’s used to.” The collar was a constant. Logan could remember that much. Sometimes he still woke up feeling as though he needed that metal around his throat. Plus, the collar was the source of the electricity. There was a mentality behind it that, for now, should be preserved. “You want him to feel comfortable, right?”
Ororo made a face, one that seemed twisted in a mix of disgust and righteous anger. “That thing cannot be comfortable.”
“You don’t know.” That was the truth. She didn’t know. The X-Men knew nothing of this situation. They were asking Logan to take care of it, so he would. They wouldn’t like it, and that was fine; some things had to be done. It was true enough to make her stop, and it was true enough for his point to stand.
Jean was still binding the boy’s injuries, and Logan could see her eyes catching on different marks in the blue skin beneath her hands. With the kid’s shirt gone, the marks were suddenly much more apparent. Logan could practically see the questions that were beginning to form in her mind with each pass that her fingers made over the indigo skin. Every few moments her eyes would begin to drift toward him, and then focus back on her patient. There was a dam holding those questions back, and each moment the dam seemed to weaken a bit more. Logan decided to put a stop to things before that dam could break.
“Do you think he’s good enough?” He asked Jean. The woman tilted her head toward him, then glanced back at the boy in front of her.
“Apart from the fact that he won’t speak…” she paused, as if waiting for the boy to say something and contradict her. Or perhaps she was waiting for any reaction at all. What she received was a continued blank stare directed to the wall in front of them. A soft breath left her lips, and then she shook her head. “Well, besides that, yes. I think his injuries are taken care of, for now.”
“Good.” Logan didn’t want to be in this metallic, hospital-like basem*nt any longer. He wanted to get out of here, out of the mansion, even, and clear his head. He knew that to do that, he had to make sure that this kid was stashed safely away where he couldn’t hurt anyone… or at least, somewhere that he would be less likely to hurt someone. “Let’s get him set up somewhere, I guess.”
“We’ve got a guest room ready upstairs,” Scott spoke up. Logan glanced over to where the man was leaning against the wall. He held up his phone like a declaration. “I let Kitty and Bobby know that we had a new student. They made sure everything was put together.”
“Kitty and Bobby?” Logan asked, his nose wrinkling slightly as he tried to remember which students those names belonged to. In reality, he had only stuck around the school because of Rogue. She said a lot of names as she was getting to know other students. Those two had certainly been a part of the arsenal, but it was difficult for Logan to remember exactly what name matched with what loud, obnoxious child. “The loud-mouth and the icebox?”
He could feel Ororo’s displeasure and see Jean roll her eyes, but he didn’t care. He never pretended to get to know these kids. It was enough of a strain to interact with the X-Men, after all.
“Yeah,” Scott said after a moment, his voice tinged with some sort of mild annoyance that Logan couldn’t care less about. “I guess that’s something you could call them.”
“Great. Whatever.” Logan glanced back at the kid that he was supposed to be helping with. The blue mutant was still sitting on the cot where Jean had been bandaging his injuries. He was still as stone, his gaze fixated somewhere in the middle distance, as if he was completely unaware of his surroundings. He probably was. “Are they gonna tell anyone else?”
“That we have a new student?” Scott clarified. When Logan nodded, the man glanced down toward his phone. “They probably already have.”
Logan let out a harsh huff, his claws itching in the back of his hands. Of course . Once one of the runts knew something, the entire rest of the school was soon to follow. He should have thought of that the moment that Scott had carried this kid in here… no, Scott should have thought of that before he decided to text two kids about the new creature under their watch. “What details do they have?”
“None. They just know that there’s a new kid, but—”
“Keep it that way,” Logan growled, completely uncaring that he interrupted Scott’s thought. “It’ll be better for everyone.”
Scott’s brow furrowed. “How so?”
“You saw what he did,” Logan said firmly. “He shouldn't be interractin’ with the squirts.”
“Not yet, maybe, but eventually he will.” Scott frowned. “There are plenty of kids here with their own unique challenges.”
“I’m sure,” Logan said dryly. “But this one’s a weapon. The kids need to stay far away from him, and they don’t need to know why.”
“Logan, explaining would—”
“Explaining would spark curiosity , Summers,” Logan pointed out. “You gotta know how dangerous that is.”
Scott’s red glasses didn’t break his gaze. “Leaving them in the dark would be even worse. They can’t exactly ignore an entire new person living in their home.”
Logan curled his lip. He wanted to argue, but as much as he hated it, Summers had a point. There would have been no way to hide this from the students that swarmed the Institute. Besides, the damage had already been done. If even one of the kids knew about the blue boy, the whole school would know about it before long. They would know, that was inevitable. That didn’t mean they needed to be around him though.
“Just tell them to stay away, alright Summers?” Logan made sure to keep his gaze level with the other man. “For everybody’s sake.”
As much as Logan hated to admit that Scott had a point, he could tell the feeling was mutual. As much as Scott’s bleeding heart wanted him to help this kid, Logan could see him taking into account the wisdom that would be keeping him away from the rest of the runts. Scott may not understand anything about this, but he was a smart guy. He could see that this situation wasn’t normal.
“I’ll talk to them,” Scott relented. He gave Logan a small nod. “They’ll leave him alone.”
That wasn’t all that Logan was getting at, but it was the best he was going to get. So after another moment he let out a breath, then nodded.
“Alright then.” Scott pushed himself away from the wall that he had been leaning against. He turned to look at Jean, then Ororo, then the boy that was still sitting on the cot. Scott’s filtered gaze then turned to focus on Logan, and he gave a single nod. “Let us know if you need any help.”
Logan found himself gritting his teeth. He didn’t want help . He wanted the X-Men to get far away from this kid, as far as they possibly could.
But of course, he didn’t voice these thoughts. He could already imagine the heartbroken look on both Jean and Scott’s faces, and he didn’t want to be the cause of that. They had to learn that they couldn’t fix everything… but Logan didn’t exactly want to be that teacher. Not now, at least. Not with a truth this heavy sitting right behind him.
Thankfully, his silence was enough. With one last look, the three X-Men finally left. The door of the med bay slid shut behind them, almost silent as it settled into place.
Finally, it was only Logan and the kid left in the room.
Without meaning to, Logan let out a small sigh of relief. He could feel a bit of the tension in his shoulders begin to fade, and he granted himself an annoyed huff. Then, once he felt like the stinging buzz of scrutiny had finally begun to fade from his skin, he turned to the creature sitting on the cot.
Dull, blank eyes met his. Stringy black hair framed the gaunt blue face. Everything about the boy was utterly still, perfectly tense.
“Alright then,” Logan muttered to himself, his words hardly more than a grumble on his tongue. “Let’s get this over with.”
He took a step closer to the boy, watching the utter lack of reaction that the kid gave him. There wasn’t a single twitch as Logan scrutinized him, which of course made sense; the kid was probably used to being studied.
Logan shook his head. He wasn’t in the mood to think any more about this situation. He would just get the kid to the guest room and make sure the door was locked. Then he would probably drink a beer or four; that felt necessary after a day like this. He moved to the left a bit more, ready to pick up the defibrillators if the need arose, and then he spoke.
“Get up.”
The command cracked out through the room, harsh and flat and cold in a way that tingled the base of Logan’s skull. It felt wrong to bark out orders like that, and a part of him recoiled from himself. A part of him, a part that he still couldn’t quite silence, insisted that this was wrong, that he should be on the receiving end of the demands. He shoved that part away before it was able to fully form, and instead focused on keeping his hand near the table.
His proximity to the defibrillators was unneeded. The moment that he spoke, the kid was on his feet, his blank eyes pointed at nothing and yet his body tensed for action. He was obviously waiting for his next order. He was waiting for Logan’s order’s.
Logan refused to think about that.
“Follow me,” he said curtly, then turned to the door. He could hear the quiet click of the kid’s clawed feet behind him, and he didn’t bother turning around to check that the creature was following. There was something about all of it that made Logan’s skin crawl, and he didn’t want to look at the boy for too long. There was too much familiarity in those dead yellow eyes.
First, get him out of the way. Then, beer.
He kept his goal in mind as he led the boy through the now-familiar halls of the school. He kept his mind on the goal rather than the creature’s near-perfect step, the way that he followed obediently at Logan’s heels, the way that his breathing was kept low and even. If the focus stayed on the goal, it would keep Logan from thinking about what he was doing too much. Beer was a great motivator. Get the kid secure, then beer.
He didn’t want to think about what was motivating the kid to follow him. He didn't want to think about that at all.
The guest room that Summers had cleared out was — thankfully — far away from normal student activity. It was tucked far back in one of the corner hallways, one that was closer to the teacher’s rooms than the student’s. It was a familiar hallway too; it was where they usually let the guests or new students sleep. It was also where they let anyone who needed to be further away from the action stay.
Logan’s room was just two doors down. Convenient.
He stepped into the room without too much delay, and felt an unexpected sense of relief at the fact that it was empty. He had been expecting an empty room, of course, but Scott’s mention of the other students had put him on edge. He didn’t know what he would have done if some pipsqueak had been waiting to say hi to the “new arrival”. He knew that there had been plenty of people curious when Rogue first came to the school.
He barely held back a snarl. He didn’t want Rogue anywhere near this new creature.
“Stop,” Logan commanded, and the boy stopped exactly where he was, all of his muscles freezing at once and his eyes turning to stare blankly at the floor. It made Logan’s teeth grit together, but he ignored it because it accomplished what he needed. The kid was in the room now. He had done that much. Now he could go back and get a beer and try to forget this all happened…
…but Summers wouldn’t be too happy about that. Jeanie wouldn’t either. He could already see the look of disappointment on Ororo’s face. The kid was only wearing the slim black pants that he had shown up in, which left the dark blue skin of his torso exposed to the air. It also left the scars that criss crossed his skin exposed… Logan had a feeling that the others wouldn’t appreciate seeing those. As much as he hated to admit it, he could feel his own eyes itching to drift away from the sight of mangled skin.
A part of him wondered how he would have looked without his healing factor.
Once again, Logan shoved his thoughts to the side. He had to get out of here . He practically ripped open the nearby dresser, ignoring the lack of reaction from the mutant as he pulled out the first shirt that he found. It was a simple gray t-shirt that was at least four sizes too big for the scrawny, tooth-pick of a creature that stood in front of him, but Logan could care less. He didn’t bother to spend the time to see if the guest clothing selection had something to fit “malnourished imp”, and rather held out the t-shirt to the kid.
“Put it on.”
The kid didn’t hesitate. He took the shirt and pulled it over his head, and Logan winced for him as he saw the way that the movement pulled at the newly wrapped bandages. Maybe he should have been more careful about that. Maybe he should have tried to make the kid take a bath, with the amount of blood and sweat that still covered his scent. Maybe he should have done something more.
But Logan didn’t want to. He was tired and ragged and could still feel the itching sense of familiarity in the boy’s scent and mannerisms. Everything about this felt too familiar and he wanted it to stop.
The shirt hung down across the kid’s gaunt frame, absolutely swamping him as it fell down to his knees. Still, it hid the ribs that poked out from the kid’s blue hide, and it hid the scars that cut through his fur. It was good enough. Logan could worry about it more in the morning.
But even as he began to turn away, he paused. He glanced back at the kid, who was once again staring listley at the ground. It didn’t feel right to call this creature ‘kid’. He was far from a kid. In this state, he was hardly even a person.
Of course, the same thing could be said about Logan. At least he had a name. At least he had something to go off of.
The kid obviously didn’t have a name; at least, not when Jean asked him. But there might be something else… something that would make sense in the mutant’s mind.
“What’s your designation?” Logan asked, his voice as clear and commanding as he could force it to be.
For the first time, he thought he saw some sort of involuntary reaction; a twitch of the tail as the dead eyes moved up to him. For a moment, Logan wondered if the kid was going to answer. Then, slowly, he watched as the boy held up one clawed hand, the point of his nail moving toward his neck. Logan stepped forward, and the boy didn’t flinch when Logan’s hand reached up and brushed the vulnerable flesh to see what he was pointing at.
It took a bit of squinting, but he soon found it. There, embedded in the silver of the collar and right up against his throat, were letters. They were small and stamped, but once he found them Logan was able to easily read the inscription.
46483824 | T89 | J | Nightcrawler
“Nightcrawler,” Logan muttered aloud, and the word came out in more of a growl than he intended. It churned in his mouth like a bad taste, and the numbers preceding it seemed to seer his eyes. It was a familiar pattern. It was a familiar combination. Even the sight of letters pressed into metal was too much, all of it ringing and smarting in the base of his skull.
45825243
His mind drug up the number instinctively. The sequence was burned into his memory from years of repetition.
T78
He could practically feel the weight of his dog tags against his fingers. The numbers were something that he knew better than himself for years.
A
He knew the sequence before he knew his own name. He knew the numbers back when he was only —
Wolverine.
It was all too similar. It was all too familiar.
Logan let out a growl, and this time he saw the kid flinch. It was small, hardly more than a jump of the eyebrows, but it was there. Worse than that, the kid’s fists didn’t clench. He didn’t prepare to fight. The only thing that he did was bow his head, leaving his vulnerable neck utterly exposed.
Logan wanted to snarl.
Instead he choked himself back to a mere grunt. He forced himself to keep the animal inside of him trapped, muzzled, caged — all too familiar — and he made it to the door. He barely managed not to slam the door, and it was only the last moment that he thought to look back over his shoulder and leave the kid with one last command. “Just— stay.”
He couldn’t do anything else. He didn’t even bother to look back. He simply shut the door as quickly as he could, and turned to go to his own room. It was a bit early in the day, but he didn’t care. It was all too familiar. All of it reminded him too much of things that he did not want to think about.
He was going to get a drink. Everything else, everything about Nightcrawler , could wait until the morning.
