ain't no redemption for me.

@canucklchead

He doesn’t know if Logan thinks he’s being subtle, but Alex can definitely tell that the older man doesn’t know what to make of him yet–that he’s been watching to see how much like Scott this other Summers is going to turn out to be. He has no idea if he’s–passing, or if passing is even the metric that he should use, but Laura likes him–so even if he isn’t he has some manner of Wolverine in his corner, it’s not a battle he really needs to fight. It does make him feel like he hasn’t fully assimilated into this whole X-Men thing yet, like he’s walked into the middle of something and no one’s bothered to fill him in completely, and that is the part he’s getting tired of–it’s been almost a year now, he fought in the invasion as a full blooded member of the team, he lives at the mansion and grades the papers Hank can’t be bothered with. He may feel like an outsider, but it’s his right to feel that way. 

He’s in Scott’s office waiting for his brother, sitting at his desk with his feet propped up just because he knows it will earn a roll of the eyes and a fond huff about how Alex should get his own. He’s still getting used to this whole having a brother thing, and they aren’t great at it, but sue him, he has a whole lifetime of annoying things to make up for. He takes a bite out of the apple he’s holding and flips a page of the book he’s reading when Logan walks in, startles for a half second when he’s presented with the incorrect Summers. Alex smiles warmly and flips his book closed, takes another bite out of his apple. “I don’t know where he is–but can I ask you something?” He narrows his eyes and folds his arms across his chest. “Do you–not like me or something? I can tell that you don’t know what to make of me–but I’m not Scott. I think I probably know him about as well as you do at this point.” 

It was no secret to anyone that Logan didn’t get along swimmingly with Summers. The man was smug and obnoxious, though Logan wasn’t sure he’d be able to explain exactly what set him off every time Scott opened his mouth. There was just something about him, something that pissed Logan off for no real reason. When Scott’s brother showed up, Logan wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. He knew enough to know that judging someone based on their family alone wasn’t right, knew from Laura that no matter how similar two people’s DNA might be, there was every chance that one of them could be miles better than the other. Tentatively, he was prepared to give the younger Summers a chance, but he wasn’t in any hurry to start up conversation with him just yet.

When he showed up to Scott’s office, readily prepared to yell at the man for something (he hadn’t quite decided what yet, but Scott never made him wait long for a reason), he was surprised to see the younger Summers behind the desk. He froze in the doorway for a moment, inspecting Alex with a hint of scrutiny and wondering whether he ought to turn around and walk out or finally take the chance to have a conversation with the kid. Alex beat him to the decision, breaking the silence before Logan had a chance to. “Shoot,” he said gruffly, nodding for Alex to continue. At the question, he hesitated. He wasn’t exactly skilled in hiding his feelings, largely because he never bothered to. Logan wore everything on the surface, and he always had. He supposed he shouldn’t be shocked that Alex picked up on it. “I don’t like him,” he replied, nodding to Scott’s desk to indicate who he was talking about. “Don’t know you. Can’t say I’m crazy about jumping at the chance to trust someone I barely know, either.” Alex had essentially come out of nowhere, and Logan still wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“You too,” she said, squeezing him once more before letting go. “Course, that ain’t exactly a surprise with y’all, is it?” she said with a grin. Without Logan, she might never have found Xavier’s. He hadn’t been warm and fuzzy the first time they met, but he had cared. Given her a ride, turned on the heat, gave her the first thing she had to eat in days. He was a good person, better than he probably believed, and he was the one adult at this place that seemed as lost as Anna Marie felt. When they met, they only went by their codenames, they were both wandering, they were both outsiders. It wasn’t just that they were Mutants, it ran deeper than that.

She laughed at that image. “Please do, sugar,” she said immediately, grin growing wider. “But ya gotta do it when I’m there, ya hear? I ain’t missing the look on his face.” She wondered just how old he really was – there was still so much she didn’t know about him. But maybe there was a lot he didn’t know about himself too. They’d have time to find answers, god willing anyway. She just hoped he knew he wouldn’t have to go looking alone. 

But the talk of demons, the reminder of their situation, made her sigh. “Ya think this place woulda learned how to put an end to this nonsense,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s like we’re all chickens running ‘round with our heads cut off. You seen that big ol’ beastie at the border? Kids are calling him Butch.” 

“I’m always in one piece,” he agreed, leaning back as she let him go. Most people weren’t allowed to touch him like that -- or at all, frankly -- but Rogue was different. He trusted her, knew he could count on her from the first moment he’d met her even if he wouldn’t admit to that. She was just about the first person to make him feel human in years when he’d found her in that dive bar, and that meant something.

He couldn’t help but laugh right along with her. She had a contagious sort of laugh, the sort of thing you almost had to join in with. Even when he was feeling particularly surly, she knew how to get it out of him. “Done,” he agreed good-naturedly, imagining the look Xavier would give him at that. It was bound to be a good one, and he couldn’t blame Rogue from wanting in on it.

Privacy and freedom were undeniably sensitive topics for Natasha. The two went hand in hand, closely aligned with her experiences due to the Red Room. She had never been afforded such privileges, and now that she was, Natasha valued them extensively. An assassin intruding upon her home — a secret not nearly carefully as guarded with Clint as her husband—  was a slight that she had unfortunately grown accustomed to but loathed nonetheless. Years ago, the answer would have been clear: kill them, ensure they had no information about her whereabouts, but Natasha was no longer merciless. This assassin, however experienced, was clearly cowardly and while the man could still be a threat, there were other options. Prison was the simplest and very achievable, she and Logan had numerous contacts for evidence proving that he was a hired gun.

“We also didn’t wait this long to actually try to kill the target,” Natasha replied, glancing at the German disdainfully. If he were terrified, he was welcome to run, but gaping at her and Logan for such extensive periods of time was humiliating. “Do you think he’s capable of actually attempting to kill us?” When she asked that, the German didn’t even bother answering. He continued staring at them blankly much to Natasha’s sheer disappointment. “I doubt this man will manage. He hasn’t even tried to punch you,” Natasha pointed out. “Assassins must come cheap these days, they’re not hired for skill anymore.”

As Logan began laughing at the wet stain on the Germans pants, Natasha sighed, sounding both amused and disgruntled. It was a hilarious turn of events, but she was genuinely disturbed how unprofessional the assassin was. “I’m offended they thought this man could kill me or Clint,” she informed Logan. “It’s hilarious, but I am going to have to prove to the hirer how skilled I am.” It was an offence she took seriously! “Knowing who sent them will be useful,” she agreed. “And we can liven up our afternoon by meeting them.” Logan would be as offended as Natasha, she knew, and for the same reason. “I’ll ask him to make a list if you promise your guy can alphabetize the list.” As Natasha spoke, she began running out the door, catching up to the German easily at the elevators. He actually tried to take the elevator.

Though he was technically a superhero of sorts, Logan wasn’t a particularly good man. He was good at exactly one thing, and it wasn’t a thing anyone would consider noble or heroic. It was why he felt more comfortable with the lines and parameters set up by the X-Force instead of the X-Men, why he’d never quite felt at home living in the mansion among people like Chuck or Scott. They saw the world as painfully black and white, thought that problems had simple answers, but Logan had been around long enough to know it wasn’t the case. Sometimes, the only way to make sure an enemy didn’t come back to bite you in the ass was by ensuring they were gone for good. It was a messy, terrible truth, but there was no denying it. In this case, he wasn’t sure it was the only way. The assassin sent to Natasha’s apartment was clearly inexperienced to say the least, and there was every chance a few years in a jail cell and a pants-wetting experience with two infamous contract killers would end his stint in assassination altogether.

“I’d have chopped us both to pieces and gotten a beer from the fridge by now,” he agreed with a snort. The German seemed paralyzed under the combined gazes of Natasha and Logan, proof that he might not be a complete idiot after all. At least he was smart enough to be scared. “Are you kidding? Look at him. If he was capable of it, he would’ve at least taken a shot by now.” He wasn’t even defending himself. Logan might have felt bad for him if not for the fact that he’d broken into Natasha’s  apartment fully prepared to murder her husband. “Can’t imagine what they hired this guy for. Wasn’t skill, clearly wasn’t looks... You think he’s got money? Maybe volunteered to do it on the dime?” 

He couldn’t blame Natasha for being offended. If someone had sent a clown like this to end him, Logan would’ve been pissed. “Must’ve been someone who doesn’t know you,” he offered. Only someone who’d never so much of heard of the Black Widow would ever think a man like this was capable of taking her out. “That sounds fun. Mind if I get in on that? I’ve had nothing but demons for weeks now. I’m going out of my mind here.” Nodding, Logan offered her a smile. “That does sound like more fun than sitting around here,” he agreed. “Sure, my guy can probably do that. Might be a nice thing to have around the house.” He followed Natasha down the hall, snorting at the sight of the German frantically pressing the ‘close door’ button on the elevator. Logan stepped in next to the man after Natasha. “You’re really supposed to hold the elevator when you see people coming,” he commented. “Even I’ve got the manners to do that.”

Some people did not want him to be there. Some people did not want him to be anywhere. But, guess what? Some people did. And those people were the ones that pointed him in the way of a task. At the end of the day, he was still a part of the X-Force, even though he was waaaaay off being anywhere near a full time member. He only was one when he was bored or actually needed something. And, boy, was he bored. Wasn’t his fault this head hacking mission happened to be already taken by none other than the man whose claws’ sharpness was only outdone by his claws.

And, oh, lookie! That was so lucky! Wade got there just as Logan was about to head off to mind his business! Offering an enthusiastic wave, he picked up his pace, breaking into a light skip as he approached his good, kind teammate. “I heard the summons,” he mused, coming to a halt and sneaking an arm around the other’s shoulders. “We’re kindred spirits, y’know? Folks like us that go through similar experiences, we resonate. I call it the Canadian Radar. Still working on the name, but it’s better than the draft. Maple Syrup Radar? That’s just enabling a lot of stereotypes. Look at you, you’re not at all friendly or peaceful.”

After a sharp inhale, he tilted his head and posed the question, “So, what’re we doing here?”

There weren’t a lot of people that Logan liked. He was a bristly, rough-around-the-edges sort of guy, and it took a lot to make him look at someone as a friend rather than an irritation. Some people managed to worm their way into his heart, and while that number was a great deal larger than he’d ever admit aloud, Wade Wilson was not among them. The man was little more than a pain in Logan’s ass, from his ill-timed quips to his uncanny ability to show up wherever Logan specifically didn’t want him. He proved it by popping up now, just as bright and annoying as he always was.

Logan bit back a groan as the man drew closer, not wanting to alert his mark to his presence if Wade hadn’t done it already. “No,” he said shortly, roughly shrugging the other man’s arm off his shoulder. “We aren’t.” He was almost offended to come from the same country as Wilson; Canada deserved better representatives. Weighing his options, Logan tried to decide just how many times he’d have to stab Wilson to keep him down long enough to complete the mission. Probably more than he was willing to risk, which was utterly unfortunate.

Clenching his jaw tightly, he tried to take a calming breath. Jubilee was always saying he ought to try more of that, and Logan was too fond of her to point out that it was absolute bullshit. “We aren’t doing anything here. You’re leaving.”

@canucklchead

Having such a low tolerance for the mortals meant that even one of them being around was too much for Loki. So when the drinking establishment he had been patronizing started to fill up with people, he frowned, not wishing to be inundated with any more stupidity than necessary. So Loki finished off his beverage, set down some freshly conjured money on the table–which would naturally vanish after it had been collected–and rose to his feet. Sniffing in derision at the riff raff which had piled in, he started towards the exit.

As he passed some mortals, one idiot stumbled a bit, very nearly spilling his drink on Loki’s immaculate suit. Aghast at the thought of such an atrocity happening, he dodged out of the man’s way. That, however, caused him to bump into another man passing from the other direction. Though Loki was glad to have avoided being splattered with beer, he did not like having to be sullied by any contact with a mortal. Frowning, he glared at the man, acting as though it had been his fault, despite Loki having been the one to bump into him.

“How dare you, ruffian!” he snapped, “Where are your manners? Apologize at once for your clumsiness, or I shall have to teach you how to properly respect your betters!”

Ever since the reveal that New York was off its axis, the city’s bars had become overcrowded places. People seemed adamant that, if the world was really ending, the best solution imaginable was to drink until it didn’t seem so terrifying. Normally, that would’ve been well and good with Logan, but when his favorite dive bars became overrun with jumpy, annoying civilians, he tended to take offense. Add to it the fact that no one was sure how long the alcohol supply would hold up and he found himself downright annoyed at all the people crowded around him.

For the time being, he was doing his best to ignore it. He sat at the bar, he drank his drink, he ignored anyone who tried to speak to him. It got hard when a talker took the barstool next to him, chatting up a storm and indifferent to the fact that he was getting no reply. Logan could only stomach a few minutes of it before he slammed his cash down on the table and took off, looking to put as much distance between himself and the other patron as possible. He didn’t make it far before someone ran into him.

Normally, Logan was fine with letting such a thing slide, but the man’s reaction was entirely insufferable. Immediately, Logan tensed, whirling to face the man with a scowl. “You wanna teach me some manners, bub, you go ahead and try it,” he growled lowly. “I guarantee you it’s not gonna end how you think it will.”

Jean didn’t make it a habit to explore the deeper recesses of Logan’s mind. He trusted her, that much was evident, and therefore she would do nothing to jeopardise that trust. What she had seen, though, was more than enough to give her an idea as to what he had suffered, and what he had told her of his past in brief, offhand comments only reaffirmed as to how much he had suffered. It was something that was deeply unfair, how much he had been through, yet it only made Jean respect him all the more for continuing to fight. The honour and integrity he showed starkly contrasted how he viewed himself as a potential monster, and in many ways, that feeling was echoed across the campus of the institute. Perhaps that was why Logan had finally found his home within them - Jean liked to think she was no small part in that as well, but their relationship had always been far more complicated, and impossible to pigeon hole. All she knew was that if she had to pick one person to fight by her side, it would be him. That was all that mattered at the end of the day, she supposed.

“I don’t know. The ice sculptures he created for the last Halloween bash were really something cultured, Logan. I know even you were impressed.” No one was impressed by Bobby’s rendition of ‘Dick Pic In Ice,’ least of all Xavier, but at least it had given the younger students a laugh. “Good thing we’re in a 4x4, then,” Jean called back, sending another rope towards a group of demons, pulling tightly until they turned into smoke and dust. “I feel honoured. We should really take a picture to memorialise the occasion. Do you think this counts as an excuse to miss dinner?” Jean really didn’t feel like dealing with Thursday night dinner. It consisted of a lot of Emma Frost announcing her appearance, and how grateful people should be because of it. “We should draw it out if so. I figure we could occupy ourselves here for a few hours - or worst case, we could feign exhaustion. Hide in the library, Warren would never think to look there.”

Because of all the people who’d played around inside his head, telepaths weren’t easy people for Logan to trust. He trusted the professor if only because Xavier had been the one to save him, trusted Emma only as long as she was in his bed. But Jean? He trusted Jean entirely, with every part of himself. He knew she’d never do anything to his mind, knew she’d only look as deeply as he wanted her to. There was no one else he trusted more to go inside his head and fish out the memories he’d lost, though he had no idea if such a thing was possible. The professor seemed to think Logan’s issues went too deep for even telepathy to solve, but Logan knew if anyone was capable of fixing it, it was Jean. She was the only one he’d ever trust to try.

“You must’ve missed the three foot dick, then. That made the rest of them a little less impressive.” Logan snorted lightly, shaking his head. All the kids at Xavier’s were good kids, but sometimes they reminded Logan just how old he was. He chuckled as Jean spoke again. “That was pretty cheesy, Grey,” he commented lightly, slicing at another demon as it came close. His claws cut through their thick hide just as easily as they did everything else, which was probably just about the first time in Logan’s life he’d ever considered himself anything resembling lucky. “God I hope so. Only got so many more of those before someone’s getting stabbed.” Logan loved the X-Men like a family, but families were complicated things. Get all of them together in one room and there was bound to be trouble. “Don’t know if I’ve ever even been to the library. It’s probably the last place anyone’d look for me.”

White picket fence, golden retriever in the front yard, kids screaming as they ran around and rolled about in the grass. Those were things that everyone wanted back in New York, even when the war was going on. It seemed like wishful thinking sometimes, but people used to promise that to their sweethearts, say that the second they were back in the states that was what they were gonna do. They were gonna get a big house, they were gonna get their jobs back, everything was going to be fine, and their kids would grow up in a world where no one hated nobody, and everyone was at peace. It got them through the war without losing their heads, but Bucky had never subscribed to it. The second he got that draft letter through the door he had known he was never coming home. The moment he got a taste of the violence, he knew he was in it for the long haul, same as his da had been until he got too old to continue, too short sighted for a rifle’s scope.

Logan was the same kind of man. War was in his bones, was a part of everything even if he fought against that. Yet he had a moment of peace. He had a family, a wife. Bucky had taken that from him. Whether it had been on Hydra’s orders, or Leviathan’s, or the Red Room’s, he honestly couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he had first seen this man across a rooftop when he had been chasing him for days, tracking him down with a skill that Bucky had never before witnessed, and knew that he had taken a part of him away that could never come back again. He wondered, in a life as long as Logan’s, how he managed to keep anything at all.

“Always been good at runnin’,” Bucky said, “even when I shouldn’t.” It was a pointed statement, one that came damn close to an apology. Saying sorry was something that seemed insignificant. Proving himself to the other man, trying to redeem what he had done even if it would never bring his wife back, seemed like a more apt course. “Ya mean they never blunt?” Bucky asked, peering curiously at the man’s knuckles. “Petunias or lavender? Don’t wanna give you the wrong idea with roses.” Intelligence was a more delicate procedure than being a soldier was. Say the wrong thing at the wrong time, and someone would clam up so hard you would never get another word out of them. The only thing you could do then was kill them, kick something, and move onto the next lead, no matter how tenuous the link. With Logan and Bucky on the case, delicacy was more than likely in short supply. “Let’s go find out, then,” Bucky said. “I’ve got your six.”

For some people, happy endings weren’t just a far-off possibility. They were achievable, maybe even likely. Some people met the love of their life at a young age, settled down with them as soon as they could, bought a nice house out in the country, got a dog, had kids. They took it for granted sometimes, grew restless in the simplicity of it. For some people, the only thing standing in the way of their happy ending was their own stupidity, their own inability to sit still. Maybe Logan had been like that once. He couldn’t remember large portions of his life, but he knew enough about himself to know that sitting still had never been his strong suit. There was a part of him that needed action, needed answers, needed to move.

It hadn’t been like that with Itsu. He’d grown restless from time to time, but she’d always soothed it out of him. She knew how to make him act like more of a man than a beast, and Logan had loved her intently for it. For a while, she’d made him believe that happy endings were possible even for a man like him. She’d made him believe that the wrong he’d done, the things he’d participated in could be wiped away with her smile, washed from his skin with her touch. He’d been wrong, of course; he usually was. Itsu’s death had stolen any of the peace her life had helped him find, and he went from being a man worth loving to an animal intent on vengeance.

Frankly, Jen had no desire to be in any serious relationship. In high school, she’d tried it out, dated someone just as mousy and brainy, but it hadn’t worked out. She hadn’t loved the kid, and honestly, the relationship had never fit her properly. In university, she’d tried once more with an amazing woman, and once again, it just didn’t quite work. She liked to think she’d loved Diana, but it was unclear, and Jen had forgotten about her quickly. Clint was definitely not love, but he had been pretty fun to date. Honestly, her first real love, one that would last, was with saving the world, both as She-Hulk and in the courtroom. Some people would argue that wasn’t real love, but it prevented Jen from investing in anything serious. What she had with Logan fit her perfectly, gave her the freedom she needed, and the satisfaction Jen required. It was damn close to perfect, as far as she was concerned, and Logan seemed to agree. Naturally, Jen was a little bit pissed off that Doom had gotten in the way.

On the bright side, she wouldn’t have to sit with that anger for long. The demons could face the brunt of it. “Why not?” Jen asked, glancing over at Logan curiously. They were friends, but they rarely got deep, and she didn’t mind that, but if they were skipping the orgasms, Jen may as well ask a couple of questions. “I don’t know about that, Logan. I’m pretty incredible in bed,” she said lightly, stepping out of her apartment. Transforming into the She-Hulk before she was outside could be dangerous, and Jen did not have the money for repairs to her apartment. “Wasteland or just around the city?” Jen asked once they were outside, safe from property damage. After Jen spoke, she transformed, the process familiar and (mostly) painless.

Superheroes were a diverse breed, the group covering people in all walks of life. Sometimes, there seemed to be relatively little connecting them all together, but there was one thing they all seemed to have in common. None of them seemed capable of holding down serious relationships for long. Those that did, people like Romanoff and Barton who wound up married, they were the outliers, the exception that proved the rule. For the rest of them, the job came first. It was more important than being happy, more important than living life the way they desperately wanted to. Everything came second to saving the world, and superheroes were quick to accept that. Blowing off steam was a necessary thing, and Jen was always fun to blow off steam with. 

Even then, with something as simple as a ‘friends with benefits’ type thing, the job often got in the way. Nights like tonight were inevitable, though they mattered far less in a dynamic like this than they would in a relationship. “Been given too many reasons not to trust people,” he replied. The only people he’d ever trusted without consequence had been Xavier and the X-Men. “You are,” he agreed, flashing her a smile as she transformed. He liked Jen no matter what form she was in. She absolutely towered over him as She-Hulk, to the point that he had to look up just to talk to her. Fortunately, that was something Logan was used to. “Wasteland,” he replied with a nod. “Feel like taking on as many of these bastards as I can.”

Many people who had suffered horrifically chose to become better people in the end, and more specifically, chose to defend others, fiercely protecting them from a similar, dangerous fate. It was a noble path to embark on and Logan was immediate proof that overcoming anything was possible, and that a life dedicated to ensuring others’ safety was worthwhile. The Weapon X program had done horrific things to her father, had trained him to be solely a weapon and then sold him, but Logan had risen above all of it. He was once a member of the X-Men, dutifully defending mutantkind and humankind alike, risking his life on a regular basis. Laura had hated him for it once, believing that the as long as the Wolverine survived, many more would suffer, and that his membership with the X-Men was primarily to protect himself and his mutation from programs similar to the Facility. Laura had been wrong. Logan never once tried to protect himself, and ironically, it was the only thing she resented about her father.

Laura now dedicated her life to protecting others as Logan did and she had been for many years now. Human traffickers whereon of Laura’s primary targets, and one of the few that she didn’t share with the X-Men and X-Force. Their work was incredible, but it rarely extended towards common criminals, though Logan was just as invested in the fight as Laura was. She appreciated his loyalty and she appreciated having Logan at her side, encouraging Laura to remain calm. “I wasn’t aware you needed more compliments about who you are as a person,” Laura replied, mildly amused by Logan’s reply. Her father still struggled immensely with his self-loathing, but inevitably, Laura hoped that Logan would overcome it. He deserved to find happiness and he had for years, but unfortunately, it seemed to elude him. “We can set a daily reminder in your phone,” she offered. “I think we’ll also have to clean the tank, but we deal with worse messes regularly.” Laura had never owned a pet, nor did she intend to, but allowing innocent animals to die because their owners were no longer fit to care for them was cruel. “Good,” Laura replied, not seeing any amusement in the idea of the fish in a bag once used for drugs. It would kill them. “You’re right, a bag will be more practical,” she admitted begrudgingly. Now that they had life to look after, Laura did not want any of their friends to arrive. “Most of these men are too egotistical to have allies,” she added hopefully. When Logan fished out an unopened box of bags and finished smelling one, ensuring its cleanliness, Laura was satisfied. “Indiana is a good name, after Harrison Ford’s character.” Idly, Laura wondered if her father had seen Indiana Jones. Daisy had made her watch all of them while they had been dating. Carefully, Laura put the fish into two separate plastic bags and tied them tightly before answering. “I think I’ll name mine Lara after the Tomb Raider. We will have a theme of explorers.”

Logan wasn’t a good man. He knew it even if Laura didn’t, even if she’d smack him for saying it. He wasn’t a good man, hadn’t been made soft or understanding through the suffering he’d endured. He was more animal than human some days, and he was capable of terrible, unforgivable things that he had no issue doing. Laura, though... She was the best thing ever to come from him. He hadn’t raised her -- most days he wished desperately that he could have just to save her from what the Facility had done, though he knew he wasn’t the sort of father she deserved -- but she was a part of him all the same. She was the best part of him. She proved it every time she took out men like this simply because the world was safer with them gone, and she proved it by insisting on seeing the best in him even when there wasn’t much there to see. “I don’t need compliments, kid. You’re bad at them, anyways.” His voice didn’t betray much, but Laura doubtlessly knew him well enough to understand the teasing to the statement. “You know I go through, like, ten phones in a week. Haven’t found one yet that’s bulletproof.” Logan was capable of healing from just about any wound someone might inflict on him, but his cell phones rarely proved as fortunate. He could probably get someone like Stark or Richards to make him one that could, but truthfully, he tended to steer clear of men like that. The only genius he didn’t mind was Hank. The rest of them had egos bigger than their intellect, and it got annoying quick. 

Laura sounded so begrudging at the admission that Logan was right that he couldn’t help but let out a quick chuckle. “Don’t sound so pained,” he huffed, shaking his head. He walked over to join her at the tank, eyeing the fish again. “Let’s hope so. Better yet, let’s hope their allies are just a bit slow on the uptake.” That way they’d get a fight without losing their chance to take a breather, get to take out more terrible people and still transport their fish safely back home. It was the ideal scenario. “It’s a good name,” he agreed with a nod. “Used to know Ford, back in the day.” He watched as Laura secured the fish into their bags, nodding as she named hers. “That’s a good idea,” he told her. “I like it. We get anymore fish, we’ll keep with the theme.”

As long as the trigger scent existed, Laura would always be controllable by the Facility, and by anyone else that managed to discover its existence. She wasn’t confident that the Facility wouldn’t inevitably sell her out, though very little of their members existed. The ones who unfortunately knew intimidate details about her freedom would be angry, and with a high enough clearance, they would know exactly where to find the formula. Exposing herself and gradually forming a resistance, similar to the way that the Facility had brainwashed Laura to grow frenzied whenever she smelled it, was the only answer to her problems. Without the comfort of knowing that Laura could not be used as a nuclear weapon in the form of a mutant, blind anger and violence, Laura would never truly feel in control of herself.

For years, Laura had been working through her guilt and coming to terms with it. What she had done in the Facility’s grasp had not been entirely her own fault, she was a child, controlled by twisted, rage filled men, but that didn’t erase her conscious. Laura may not have been behind the orders, she may not have understood the morality of what she was doing, but she had been capable of resisting. In the end, confronted with a child, Laura had refused to follow orders. She had left the trigger scent’s immediate presence and kept from tearing that boy apart, but there were countless victims she had not been able to fight against murdering. Without acknowledging her guilt, Laura would become overwhelmed by it, internalizing every ounce until she could no longer carry the weight. She had not yet bowed, nor did she intend to, but knowing that she could harm a child, frenzied by the Facility’s creation, made it impossible to truly forgive herself. Laura was not confident she could resist forever.

Logan, as she expected, did not support her plan. He understood how difficult resisting control was, but Logan’s was not innate and programmed within him. He had overcome brainwashing and countless other obstacles, but their programs functioned differently, and the Facility had taken added precaution. “I don’t expect you to like it, Logan, but you’re not the one making these choices.” Once her mind was made up, Laura was resolute, especially where her freedom was concerned. “I’ve been reading up on building an immunity to poisons. I think the trigger scent will work similarly,” Laura replied, though she could not completely erase Logan’s valid concerns. “If I expose myself to a drop until that no longer works, I up the dose and eventually the tolerance will be built up. Hopefully in this instance, I’ll be completely free from its influence.” Before Logan could argue once more, Laura added, “This will be the final step in freeing myself from the Facility.”

Logan had made a lot of mistakes throughout his life. There were some he couldn’t remember, some that sat on the very edges of his memory like hazy, half-forgotten dreams, and some he remembered in clear detail. He’d failed a lot of people, let down more than he could count, but Laura... He always felt as if he’d failed her most of all. So much of the shit she’d been through had been his fault directly. Zander Rice had hated Laura for Logan’s sins, and there was nothing he could really do to change that. He wasn’t directly responsible for the torture she’d gone through, wasn’t entirely to blame for it, but he couldn’t pretend to be totally separate from it, either. He took responsibility for that, took responsibility for her. 

It was why he hated the idea of her knowingly exposing herself to the trigger scent the facility had cruelly created to control her. If things went wrong, if Laura wound up in an animalistic state for the rest of her life, if she hurt someone, that was on Logan, too. He couldn’t deal with that, and Laura shouldn’t have to, either. But she was here, she was standing in front of him and insisting, and Logan knew her well enough to know that this was something that was happening with or without him. It was safer, he knew, if he helped her.

Still, he couldn’t shake his reservations entirely. He was stubborn enough to try to convince her to change her mind, even if he knew it was a lost cause. “You think,” he repeated, crossing his arms over his chest and clenching his jaw. “For all you know, you could be completely wrong.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was hard to say no when she brought up a point like that, hard to tell her he wasn’t going to help her free herself from her former captives. “If I help,” he said, “we need to do this my way. Away from the city, away from civilians, away from everyone. Just you, me, and the wasteland. That’s it.”

“You’re telling me,” Jason agreed to the stranger’s comment as they were back to back. It had been a while since he felt this degree of a good time. Especially since he actually got to use his fists. He was so elated by the moment, that he didn’t see the man pull a knife until he was already being pushed aside. A table broke his fall and he watched as the guy took the full blow of the knife into his stomach. All the way to the hilt. Jason felt his own intake of breath, instantly feeling the guilt of being the death of a complete stranger that he just met not even five minutes ago. But a few second later, he found out how wrong his was. The reveal of the claws that suddenly emerged from between his fists just took things to a whole new level of interesting.

There was a dead silence for a moment after his demand to the drunk men who now looked terrified of him. “Whoa,” Jason really drug out the word over a long breath. Some eyes flashed to him for a quick as his shock turned into a smirk. “That is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” His eyes traveled to the knife still in his stomach and the smirk wore off. “Hold on… how can you…?” His gaze went to the man’s face and realized this was the worst time to ask for explanations. Who the hell was this guy and how had he never heard of someone who had knives come out of their hands?! Jason stood and turned to the owner of the knife. “You heard the man. Take it out. Losing a hand doesn’t sound too pleasant.”

Like minded people weren’t quite as hard to find in New York as they were in the rest of the world, and there was something concerning about that. Most people didn’t go out looking for a fight just to take comfort in the familiarity of human fists knocking them around, but in this city, Logan wasn’t particularly shocked by it. New York was a one-of-a-kind sort of place, and Logan hated it as much as he loved it some days. Getting stabbed in the gut, too, was a familiar feeling, to the point that he barely felt the blade. He knew enough to know that, without his healing factor, the blow would’ve killed him. Nicked his liver, he figured, left him bleeding out into his own abdomen. Luckily, Logan wasn’t the sort of man who could be felled with a knife.

There seemed to be a moment of shock throughout the bar, a beat where no one so much as breathed. Logan continued to look mildly annoyed at the knife in his gut, and the man holding the knife was wide-eyed and confused. The kid, for his part, seemed impressed somehow. Glancing over as he spoke, Logan quirked a brow. “Sounds like you need to get out more,” he muttered dryly. He watched the kid’s eyes travel, watched the question die on his lips as he realized they were still largely surrounded. He seemed to recover quick, and Logan decided he liked the damn kid. Looking back to the man with the knife still gripped firmly in his hands, Logan sighed. The man unfroze all at once, yanking the knife from Logan’s gut and stumbling back with the rest of his crew following. By the time they’d all left, the wound on Logan’s stomach had already begun to stitch itself back together. “Looks like we don’t get much of a fight after all,” Logan commented, looking back to the kid. “Fun while it lasted, though. Look, how about I buy you a drink?”

Throughout the years, Logan had mastered the ability to walk lightly even with the heavy metal coating his bones. He knew how to go unseen, knew how to track someone without them knowing he was there. It had certainly come in handy throughout the years, and it had proven to be an asset through his work with the X-Force. He could take out the people who needed taking out long before they knew enough to warn their allies, could ensure that every job was as easy as the last.

Tonight’s job should have been similar. The man in question was a scientist, intent on turning mutant DNA into a serum similar to the one given to Captain America. Logan, of course, wasn’t about to let such a thing happen. He’d tracked the man to a warehouse he’d been using as a makeshift lab and spent the last few days surveying the exterior intently. Tonight, he was planning on making his move, but first... It seemed like he had something else to take care of.

He heard the footfalls behind him long before they got close, tensing at the sound. When they were close enough, he whirled around with his claws out, teeth bared in preparation. At the sight of a familiar red and  black suit, he sighed. He didn’t retract his claws, didn’t lower his hand; just because he recognized the person approaching didn’t mean he’d decided not to stab him. “Wilson,” he growled lowly, “the fuck are you doing here?”

Though Remy was dealing with another demon heading towards him, he still managed to catch Logan’s muttered threat. That probably would have worried most people, but Remy liked to live dangerously. He also spent most nights out of the Mansion, so the idea of anything happening while he was sleeping was a bit of a moot point. But naturally he did not say so to Logan. “Well, I do have a great ass, so can you blame me for takin’ care o’ it?” He smirked at Logan before spinning his staff and catching two demons at once. In all seriousness, his teammate was not wrong. Remy had learned long ago to watch out for himself first and foremost. But in his time with the X-Men, he had also learned to help his teammates, no matter how they might not get along otherwise.

The fight probably would go better if Logan stayed un-impaled, that was true. But that did not mean Remy could not take down the rest of the demons by himself. “You underestimate me, homme. Give me a few good hands, an’ I can win de whole pot!” He flipped some cards between his hands, readying a few to charge up. “Oh non, we can’t have dat! Guess I gon’ hafta let de demons get you, den. Don’ wanna wreck my reputation!” Smirking again, he flung the cards at an oncoming demon. Of course Remy had no real intention of letting Logan get impaled, but he just could not help riling his teammate up. Which was surely inadvisable, but Remy tended to ignore little tidbits like that.

In a lot of ways, Remy was insufferable. He was everything Logan hated and pretty proud of it, and sometimes, it was difficult not to sock him in the jaw. He was also, unfortunately, family. It wasn’t clear how it happened, and Logan hated it more than he was willing to admit, but Remy’s status as an X-Man meant that Logan would kill for him just as much as anyone else. Admitting to that, of course, was something he’d never do. The guy was cocky enough as it was, and the last thing Logan wanted was to add to it. “I’ve seen better,” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes. He seemed to do a lot of that with Remy around. It was almost like a secondary mutation -- the ability to utterly annoy Wolverine. It was a painfully common superpower. Still, in spite of the bickering, Remy’s staff kept the demons off Logan’s ass as well as Remy’s, and that was saying something. Maybe it wasn’t in the Cajun’s nature to look out for people other than himself, but he was capable of it all the same.

He snorted, rolling his eyes again. It was sort of true; Remy had an annoying habit of managing a win, even in the most unlikely of scenarios. Still, his survival was more sure-fire if Logan was assisting, and he knew it. “You might actually break a sweat if you have to finish without me,” he amended. “Don’t think you’re up for that, either.” He watched his teammate charge up the cards, hoping the fight would be a quick one. Logan liked violence a little more than the next guy, but even he was getting a little burnt out on the constant demon battles. “You let the demons get me and it’s just gonna piss me off. You’d have to worry about more than your reputation then.”

Logan was easily the only person Laura trusted implicitly in the world, and allowing her to help rid the world of traffickers was proof of that. She preferred keeping the X-Men oblivious to her ‘vigilante’ acts on the streets, primarily because those Laura went after were deeply personal targets. Traffickers were one of those, another group that rid people of hope and humanity as they sold living, breathing humans remorselessly. Logan was aware of Laura’s deep, underlying issues with it, and while they never addressed the Facility or Weapon X program, it was understood that their vendettas were similar in nature because of their respective experiences. Laura took no comfort in that, however, loving Logan far too much to wish any pain on him, even if had happened long before she was born.

Having Logan help her was unnecessary, as they both knew, but his support was always valuable. She controlled her emotions easily, had been trained to do for the entirety of her life, but Laura couldn’t deny that confronting the traffickers was infuriating, enough to force Laura to lose her composure. With Logan there, that was no longer a risk. His temper was as intense as hers, but together, they managed to fight against their instincts. Now was no different, even after she discovered that a human trafficker, unwilling to value human life, kept beautiful fish fed and their tank clean. “You’re going to be a much better owner than a monster,” Laura replied, prepared to defend Logan even from his own self-deprecation. No one badmouthed Wolverine with Laura around, period. “It’ll be a good pet for you,” she decided, eying the blue fish once more. Logan and Laura weren’t entirely prepared for nay form of pet, even fish, but she much preferred bringing them to Xavier’s than leaving them behind for certain doom. They deserved good lives despite their unfortunate previous owner. “They may be filthy,” Laura replied, wrinkling her nose. “If we walk carefully, we may be able to bring the tanks.” She did not want to accidentally poison their new pets, it would be unforgivable. As Logan rummaged through the cupboard, Laura added, “Make sure to smell it before risking the fish.” With their noses, nothing would get buy them, she was confident. “That’s a horrible name, Logan. What about Indiana? The children love Indiana Jones and Harrison Ford.”

There were times when Logan wondered if suffering might have been something he was born for, if pain was something always meant to befall him. It seemed a fair question, he figured, considering how often he’d faced down intense torturous scenes and other overall terrible experiences. If there was one thing Wolverine was good at, it was getting knocked on his ass. Laura, if anything, seemed to confirm the hypothesis. She was made from parts of him, had his blood running through her veins, and his genes were what made her who he was. And, like Logan, Laura had suffered endlessly. She’d been poked and prodded, had tests run on her over and over, been tortured and trained and made into a weapon. Maybe it was their lot in life to suffer, and maybe they’d both be better off if they accepted it, but it was clear that Laura wasn’t going to accept it for anyone else. She was going to go after traffickers who meant to do people harm, and Logan was going to be right beside her fighting with everything he had. He owed her that.

She would’ve been fine without him, of course. They both knew that, both understood that Laura had gotten to where she was entirely on her own, had helped herself more than Logan ever had. But he wanted to be there, wanted to be at her side, and she hadn’t pushed him away yet. Until the day she did, he’d be there. He snorted as she spoke, giving her a quick shrug. “Not saying much,” he pointed out. It wasn’t hard to be a better man than a trafficker had been, but some days, it was the only standard Logan met. He’d never been a good man by any stretch of the imagination. Most of the time, he’d made his peace with that. “Fish are pretty low maintenance, I guess. Just gotta remember to keep it fed.” It went without saying that keeping things alive was hardly Logan’s strong suit. His specialty, in fact, lied in doing pretty much the opposite. “I’m not gonna get a used bag,” he snorted, shaking his head. “What happens if these guys have friends on their way here, huh? We can’t make a quick getaway carrying a fishtank, and I doubt the thing’s as bulletproof as we are.” A little paranoid, maybe, to assume that more criminals were on the way, but Logan had learned to always assume the worst. Usually, he wasn’t wrong. “I’ll smell it,” he promised, throwing a few boxes of ammo from the cabinet and into the floor. Fishing out an unopened box of plastic bags -- never let it be said that Wolverine didn’t know his traffickers -- he tossed it towards Laura with a snort. “Indiana? Sure. I like that. What are you callin’ yours?”

The demons were an enemy that Laura could easily focus on, defeat with some struggle, but blindly fighting would not win a war. She hated that fact, but raised on the Art of War, Laura could comprehend strategy. Slaying the demons was useless if they were unaware who was leading and organizing them. More would replace them, especially if their lines were as infinite as Doctor Strange and the reporter had claimed. Soldiers were unfortunately replaceable, but leaders were not. However, the demons were impossible to interrogate, and with all of them looking and smelling similar, it was impossible to differentiate a leader. It frustrated Laura endlessly, as did everything about this situation. Being stranded on another planet, possibly another dimension, was nonsensical. Combating demons, merely a religious persons greatest fear until recently, was allegedly impossible. Their situation was hopeless in many ways, impossible to progress, and Laura hated everything about it. Better than anyone she understood how useless slashing through the demons was in a literal sense, but in an emotional one, Laura expected to be far less frustrated once she was bloody and left a significant dent in the demons’ front line.

Laura expected that Logan would feel similarly. He was a nonbeliever as she was, and Logan, also like Laura, absolutely hated magic. They were used to opponents that were tangible, fathomable, and they did their best work whilst comprehending the situation. No amount of time on Earth, remembered or forgotten by her father, had prepared him for this. She also resented that, knowing how reckless Logan was. Logan would rush through the wasteland, prepared to sacrifice his life in a heartbeat if it guaranteed an answer about the enemy that they were currently facing.

Luckily, Logan did not have the opportunity. Laura intended to watch his every move, ensuring that he was not being self-sacrificing or angrily impulsive. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for Logan Howlett, and truthfully, she was not ashamed of that fact. He had saved her life, given her hope when Laura couldn’t possibly fathom what the word meant, let alone the feeling, and Logan was her family. Years ago, she had resented the Wolverine, believed that Logan was the source of her pain and suffering, truly believed that the world would be far better off without them in it, but now Laura knew better. Without the Wolverines, the world would be far more dangerous and after they were through with the demons, even a ridiculous, impossible enemy would understand why. Unfortunately, they could not rely on strategy or knowledge of their opponent, but Laura and Logan could rely on violence. They excelled in that department. “They do have someone leading them though,” she pointed out. “They have a patrolling schedule, have calls that allow them to bring backup… there is some organization.” It was not something that Laura acknowledged lightly, but Logan would have noticed it as she had. It was yet another mystery to add to the pile, and Laura hated mysteries. “Good,” she said curtly. It was a difficult thing for Laura to suggest, she preferred to finish the battles she began, but for Logan, Laura was willing to make the sacrifice. “Of course it matters,” she said, sounding mildly offended that Logan suggested otherwise. “These demons aren’t worth your life, if that’s possible to take.” Before Logan could step over the line, ending the conversation, Laura moved in front of him, blocking the escape route. “We need you here.”

Strategy had never been Logan’s strong suit. Ferocity was more his style, hitting things hard and fast and without mercy. He’d often been compared to an animal, had the word thrown in his face like some sort of insult, but it was the honest truth. There had been long periods of his life where Logan was more beast than man, and in fights, it showed. He didn’t view a situation from a strategic standpoint, never looked through his best options to figure out where the most efficient place to strike might be. Instead, he simply attacked. He slashed, he stabbed, he tore apart everything in his path with his teeth bared like a rabid dog. For the demons, it seemed the only thing that worked. It wasn’t as if they were a talkative enemy, wasn’t as if they might divulge some secret if he only let them get the words out. In a lot of ways, the demon army was a force Logan could relate to. They seemed to know nothing but violence, seemed to understand only bloodshed. It was something of a relief to Logan, going from the secrecy of the Skrulls to the simplicity of the demons. He didn’t know where they were coming from, didn’t know who was in charge of them, but at least he knew where to point his claws. Right now, it was all he needed.

Unfortunately, the situation still wasn’t one that was easily solvable. Logan didn’t know where they were more than anyone else did, couldn’t even smell the difference between this planet and Earth through the stench of the demons. He wondered, idly, if that was by design. He wondered if someone knew that he and Laura were in the city, wondered if they understood what the Wolverines were capable of and designed the demons in such a way that they’d make it impossible to figure things out through scent and sound alone. It was a possibility they had to keep their minds open to, and Logan hated that, too. He wanted clear answers, wanted neat packages tied up with strings. He rarely got it.

He knew Laura was watching him now, and he was smart enough to understand why. Despite all the telepaths he’d known, all the people who’d seen inside his head, there was no one on Earth -- or wherever the hell they were -- who understood him like Laura. She knew his self preservation was weak at best, knew he’d sacrifice himself in a heartbeat to save the city, knew that the part of him that was afraid of dying had been nonexistent for decades now. For whatever reason, she seemed intent on making him build it back up. Laura didn’t need Logan, would probably be better off with him gone, but she thought she did. She thought he was someone worth idolizing, someone worth looking up to, and Logan was far too selfish to correct her on it. It was nice. sometimes, having someone who thought you were worth something even when you knew you weren’t. “They’re pawns,” he replied with a shrug. “Go where they’re told to go, do what they’re told to do. Nothing hard about that.” He’d been something similar once, though he could only remember it in snaps. He knew enough to know he hadn’t been allowed a mind of his own, knew enough to know he’d never been given a say. It was almost enough to make him feel sympathetic for the demons. Almost. “And we get a beer after,” he added, quirking a brow as he turned to face her. “That’s non-negotiable.” It was something of a habit for Logan. After every mission, every raging battle, he had a beer. Maybe more, depending on how the day went. Glancing over at her, he studied her for a long moment as the words sunk in. “I don’t think killing me is something they’re capable of,” he offered, hoping it might provide her with something akin to comfort. Enough people had tried and failed to kill Logan over the years that he was sure it was an impossible task, and he was never sure how he felt about it. The idea of immortality had been easier when he hadn’t had a family like the X-Men, he thought. Stepping forward, he paused as Laura stepped into his path. He let the words wash over him, stood in silence as he mulled them over. Did they need him? He didn’t think so. He was a heavy hitter, but the X-Men were chalk full of those. Hell, Laura was objectively a better fighter than he was. Saying so would only lead to an argument, though, and the last thing Logan wanted to do was upset her. Finally, after letting the silence stretch a beat too long, he offered her a nod. “I’m not going anywhere, kid,” he promised. 

@canucklchead​

The Facility was not an enemy that Laura expected to suddenly appear in New York City, and the unit that had was admittedly small, judging by what she had smelled, but they had made it clear that the trigger scent was in their grasp. It had only been two soldiers that attempted to corner her, moments away from uncapping the only substance that could control her, and by a small stroke of luck, Laura had managed to stab them before they could unleash her wrath. Not naive and not optimistic, she did not expect that would happen in the future. As long as the Facility existed within New York City, they would go to any length to control Laura once again, and with the trigger scent, it was possible. It was rare that she felt fear, but knowing what horrific things she was capable of, especially with the trigger scent in play, Laura was terrified.

Logan was the only person that Laura trusted with the information and confession. He would understand the risks, and he would understand exactly why every person inside of the Facility’s headquarters needed to die. She hated pointlessly taking lives, but the Facility and their soldiers were wholly irredeemable. They were horrific, disgusting people, and Laura would not regret spilling their blood for long. However, their mission would not end there. In order to be free from the Facility’s control, Laura needed to become immune to the trigger scent’s effects. Logan would support her in that decision, although she was unsure whether he would enjoy it. The process would be painful, it would go against every single instinct ingrained within Laura, but she had withstood torture — and torture by the hands of Kimura.

Having made her choice, Laura walked towards Logan’s room at Xavier’s and opened the door without knocking, the matter at hand too important to waste time. “I need your help,” she announced, closing the door behind her. Before Laura continued, she turned music on her phone, drowning out the sounds of their voices to any students or X-Men that may pass by. Laura had no intention of sharing her business with anyone besides Logan, especially not while it concerned the Facility. “You may not like it,” she continued. “I found a small group of the Facility’s soldiers and they have the trigger scent. I want vials of it, I will become immune to its effects.” Before Logan could speak, Laura added, “I understand the risks and what the process will entail.”

Though their respective experiences with the Facility and Weapon X had been undoubtedly similar, there were several key differences that Logan made note of. Some of them, he was glad for. The Facility hadn’t gotten the chance to sell their weapon the way Weapon X had, hadn’t rented Laura out and let her kill for the highest bidder in spite of their plans to do just that. Laura managed to escape them before that was a possibility, managed to ruin their plans long before those plans could ever be realized. Logan was undeniably proud of her for that. Other differences were less of a relief, less of a blessing. The trigger scent Laura had been programmed with was one of them.

The scent, Logan figured, had been the Facility’s way of learning from Weapon X’s mistake. Weapon X never had a trump card to control Logan largely because, for the longest time, they hadn’t needed one. Xavier and the other telepaths who’d taken a look inside Logan’s head told him it was clear that he’d been the victim of brainwashing, obvious that he’d had his memory stolen, but there had been no end-all program that he couldn’t fight off. Laura’s story was unfortunately different. The Facility hadn’t been keen on losing their weapon, had taken precautions with their trigger scent to ensure that she would do what they wanted even when she was fighting it with everything in her. Logan hated it for her, would’ve given anything to take the weight from her shoulders. 

This, though... This wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “You were right,” he told her, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t like it.” He’d been seated at the desk Xavier had put into his room for reasons Logan still didn’t understand, beer popped open and half-empty. “You don’t know what large doses of that shit could do to you, Laura. This could kill you. Hell, it could do worse than that.” For all they knew, attempts to become immune to the trigger scents might end with Laura in some sort of long-term --- or even permanent --- animalistic state. It wasn’t something unheard of for Logan, after all, so it seemed reasonable to assume it was a possibility for Laura as well.

There was something exciting about being back to back with a stranger in a fight. Jason was sarcastic and pessimistic, but even he knew once you fight alongside someone that things change. Even if it’s a fight in a dank, and rather smelly, dive bar. Jason noticed that this other man’s punches hit harder than expected, but he was done being surprised by such things. Everyone had their thing in this city. Jason shrugged and gave the stranger a smirk over his shoulder. “Not recently. But I just really needed to put a few assholes in their place. He took a surprise right hook to the face and stumbled a bit. After a few seconds and a shake of his head, Jason parried the next blow, grabbed the man behind the neck and slammed his face down on the wood table.

He reached up, touching his bottom lip. His thumb came away bloody. Jason chuckled. “I forgot how much fun just a regular fight could be…” he said off hand. He couldn’t remember the last time he was in a normal fight. It was either a fight for the city, or for his life or someone else’s. This was satisfying. Jason was attacked by both at once and he slammed into the strangers back. It was like he was slammed into boulder. He found his feet again and it only took one hit to put the other two guys down. They were drunk after all. “Jesus…” Jason mumbled, as he moved and flexed muscles in his back. He could feel the bruises already. “You’re…. solid.”

It was far from the first time Logan had found himself like this. He’d met plenty of companions through bar fights and brawls, made plenty of friends through violent situations. It seemed to be just about the only way he could really bond with someone, and given his history, he supposed it wasn’t surprising. When violence was all you knew, you tended to find something like comfort in it. “I won’t stop you,” he offered with a shrug. If the kid needed to blow off steam, he had every right to blow off steam. It wasn’t as if Logan had never been there, wasn’t as if he’ never needed to punch something. Hell, he usually needed to punch something. And the kid knew how to punch, which came as something of a pleasant surprise. Logan gave an appreciative nod as one of their assailants met the table with his face.

Nodding when the kid spoke again, Logan couldn’t help but agree. “Tell me about it. All this demon and alien bullshit, fighting a couple of drunk assholes is almost a relief.” He barely felt the kid slam into his back, probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all if it wasn’t brought up. “Yeah, well, I work out,” he offered with a shrug, not wanting to get in to the real reasoning in a crowded bar. As per usual, he didn’t exactly get the choice of keeping his tongue held for long. He spotted the gleam of the knife an instant too late, saw it headed for the kid’s gut. “Shit, look out,” he called, shoving the kid out of the way. He was quick enough to save the stranger, but not fast enough to prevent the blade from sinking into his own gut down to the hilt. What happened next was more reflex than anything else. Logan’s claws shot out, and growled low in his throat. “If you don’t get that fucking knife out of me, you’re losing a hand,” he warned the man.