Silver Wing

YEARS AGO…

You were eight when your mutation quietly began to show itself. Flowers in the yard bloomed out of season. The dead fern your mother refused to throw away turned green suddenly after you poked at it. The grass in the backyard bent towards your feet when you walked barefoot. You thought it was normal— didn't question it. Your mother called it unnatural and your father said it was attention-seeking. Kids on the playground laughed until they saw vines curled around your wrist like bracelets you hadn’t put on yourself. After that, they didn’t laugh anymore. They avoided you.

Your parents created rules. No going outside barefoot. No staying in the yard too long. No talking to the plants. No talking to anyone about your “weird plant thing”. But the first one rule was: don’t embarrass the family. They hid you like an impossible stain. 

Your powers didn’t disappear though— they simply grew stronger the more you tried to suppress them. Leaves sprouted in the cracks on the walls when you cried. Roots pushed through the soil and cement when you felt angry. So your father punished you every time something grew where it shouldn’t. He believed that discipline would fix you. You used to argue and beg. You used to say ‘I can’t control it’ and ‘please stop’ and ‘I’m trying’. But every word made things worse. 

With every shake in your voice, the plants reacted out. Vines grew and rattled the windows. The soil shifted the earth under the house. Your family blamed you for the chaos. They believed that you were doing it all on purpose. 

One night, during a fight that started over something extremely stupid and small, you screamed. Not just yelled. You screamed from somewhere deep enough to crack. Nature responded. Branches burst through the roof, roots split the tile floors, and thorns snapped outward like teeth. And your mother got hurt. It wasn’t enough to kill, but enough for them to look at you differently. Like you were something dangerous. 

After that night, your father grabbed you by the throat whenever you tried to speak during arguments, squeezing hard enough that pain shot through you. 

“Quiet,” he would demand. “Remember what happens when you open your mouth.”

You didn’t learn quickly though. You still screamed and cried too much and too loud. So much so that your voice grew raw and unreliable— sometimes nothing came out but air. Sometimes, words scrapped like broken glass. So eventually you stopped trying. Silence felt safer and meant no one got hurt.

They called your quietness an improvement. That you were finally learning. Your mother praised you when you didn’t speak for days and your father stopped yelling as much once you became easier to ignore. 

The plants didn’t stop listening to you though— your powers actually grew but you were somehow able to control them better. Your parents enrolled you in a school that would teach your sign language so that you had a way of communicating, but never learned it themselves.

You ended up leaving home in your teenage years. There was no screaming or a dramatic exit. Just a backpack, bare feet, and the plants guiding you.

~~~

PRESENT DAY

You were still trembling when Scott set you down in your bed. Jean was there, trying to tuck you in and soothe you with her presence. Tears were still streaming from your eyes and your hands were tucked close to your chest. Jean sat on the edge of the bed.

“Y/N, can I help you?” She asked softly. “I promise I won’t probe. I just want to calm whatever’s happening in your mind.”

After a moment, you barely nodded. Jean took a breath, lifted a hand over your head, and closed her eyes. As soon as she entered, she gasped.

“Jean?” Scott questioned.

“I knew her past was cruel,” she whispered. “I just didn’t know how cruel.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her parents, they—“

You gripped her arm tightly, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry. I overstepped. I’ll stop… Do you need anything?”

You shook your head, curling up on yourself more.

“We’ll stick nearby in case.”

Jean and Scott left. You closed your eyes, flinching at the memories of your dad grabbing your wrists and yelling at you about your mutation. You knew you weren’t going to get much rest the next few days.

~~~

Logan had destroyed four punching bags so far and was working on his fifth. The first few, he destroyed just with his fists but now his claws were out and working through the bags quickly. Charles rolled into the room, staying near the doorway to prevent an accident. 

“Leave me alone, Chuck,” Logan grumbled as he finished off the fifth punching bag. “I’m not in the mood.”

“I understand why,” Charles stated as he moved closer. “But, we still in to talk.”

“I already hate myself for what I did, okay? I shouldn’t have grabbed her like that. I know.”

“This is more than that.” Charles sighed. “I spoke to Y/N.”

“I’m sure she hates me.”

“She wants everyone to know the truth. She just doesn’t have the strength to tell it herself.”

Logan looked over at Charles. “Is she okay?”

“She will be. Come. Everyone is gathering in my office.”

~~~

Charles sat behind his desk, a file sitting in front of him. Logan was leaned up against the wall by the window with Jean, Ororo, Scott, and Hank sitting in various chairs in front of the desk. The office door was shut, making it clear this was a conversation that did not leave this room. Charles explained your past— as best as he could.

“Honestly, Y/N has surprised me with how she has rebounded after the events with Eli,” Charles stated after he finished explaining. “I had been afraid that what had happened with Eli would have drudged up old problems. And perhaps it did, just not as bad as it could have been. I do credit that to you, Logan.”

Logan scoffed. “Well, don’t. I ruined it.”

“I know that Y/N may close you off now. Perhaps even all of us. But we still need to show her that we are here for her. Her trauma doesn’t change how much we care and that she’s an important part of our lives.”

“If you pull away too, Logan, it will only make things worse,” Jean said.

Logan glared out the window, knowing that they were right.

“We will give her today,” said Charles. “But tomorrow, she needs people. And all of us will be there for her.”

~~~

To everyone’s surprise, you were up and teaching the next day. Like nothing had happened. The others checked in on you while Logan watched from afar. You went about your normal schedule— teaching classes, helping students study, tending to plants, going to therapy.

Your therapy session was rough, but you were honest with your therapist about what happened with Logan, your past, and even more about what happened with Eli. They were proud of you for being so honest and didn’t assign any tasks between sessions besides keeping to your routine. Though, when your therapist mentioned working towards forgiving Logan, you shut them down.

That night, Logan found you in the greenhouse. He stood in the doorway, hands stuffed in his jean pockets. The plants nearby rustled in warning, telling him all he needed to know.

“I, uh, just came by to check on you,” he said quietly. 

You ignored him, continuing to plant seedlings into pots for your students to try to grow themselves. 

Logan took a step in, only for a line of Venus flytraps to grow and snap at him. He put his hands up and stepped back. “Okay. Message received.” He glanced around to see how more of the plants were reacting. All the same— anger towards him. “I won’t come in, but I need you to listen…” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I will never forgive myself for laying my hands on you like that. I— I knew better and yet still did.”

Much to Logan’s surprise, you turned around and signed, “I don’t need your apology. I need you to leave me alone.”

“Petals—“

You shook your head furiously, clapping your hands before signing, “NO! My name isn’t Petals. My name isn’t Mute. My name is Y/N. And if you can’t respect that or my need for space, you will regret it.”

“Y/N, just listen to me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I trusted you!” A few tears betrayed you and slipped down your cheeks. “Even after all the mean comments and the awful nickname and the disrespect. You got me to trust you. You saved me but then you turned out to be just like him!”

“I am nothing like that bastard!”

“You are like all the cruel men in my life. My father, my uncles, Eli. You just happen to be one I can’t get rid of for some reason!”

“You want to be rid of me? Fine! You got it! I never wanted to be near you in the first place!”

Logan spun on his heal and slammed the door closed before storming off. One of your hands flew to your mouth as you began to sob and collapsed onto your knees. Vines snaked their way to you, wrapping around your midsection, wrists, and ankles in comfort.

~~~

Weeks passed. You continued to teach, help out, go to therapy, and ignore Logan at all costs. Your therapist wasn’t happy with you ignoring Logan, but chose to focus on other things during your sessions for now. Logan though was avoiding you just as much. That should have made things easier, but it didn’t. 

Unfortunately, that absence had weight. You felt it in the hallways and the courtyard. You felt it in the greenhouse and during your lonely trips to the nursery. Logan felt it in the training room and in moments when he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He caught himself too often passing by the greenhouse. A few of the plants outside would lean towards him, almost like they missed him. He would have to clench his fists to make sure that he did not reach out and touch them.

One afternoon, while helping a younger student repot a struggling fern, your hands trembled. The soil slipped between your fingers and the fern wilted instantly.

“Miss…?” The student asked hesitantly.

You forced a smile and gently coaxed life back into the plant with a careful touch. Your therapist had warned you about your emotions leaking into your powers. They had warned you that avoidance wasn’t healing— just pressure building under the surface and eventually it would need somewhere to go.

~~~

Later that evening, you found yourself sitting alone in the greenhouse long after sunset. That wasn’t uncommon. But what was, was the silence that pressed around you. You pulled your knees to your chest as you thought how you used to be able to sit here in silence and feel completely content. Now, it’s like the silence is screaming. 

Footsteps neared the greenhouse door. You didn’t have to look to see who it was. Logan’s steps were always clear. The plants stiffened before he sat down on the other side and leaned back against it. He knew you were in there, but didn’t speak up for a few moments. 

“Not here to talk,” he grumbled. “Just… needed to sit somewhere.”

Your hands clenched as they kept your legs close to your chest. The urge to get the plants to scare him off faded as the plants near you wilted slightly.

“I’ve been keeping my distance,” he added after a few minutes. Almost too softly to hear. “Like you asked.”

You rested your head on your knees and closed your eyes.

He continued, words slow, careful. “Doesn’t mean I don’t… miss bein’ around you.”

The plants shifted uneasily through the greenhouse.

You signed, even though you knew he couldn’t see, “I miss it too.” The admission stayed trapped between your hands and your heart.

Outside, Logan exhaled deeply. “I’m not asking you to forgive me. Not yet… Not ever… Just wanted you to know I’m tryin’.”

~~~

You ended up falling asleep in the greenhouse that night. The next morning, you found a pair of freshly sharpened pruning shears— your favorite brand— cleaned and oiled. Simply an offering without expectation. You stared at them for a long time before picking them up and putting them with your tools.

As you went throughout your day, you kept thinking about Logan and the shears. You wish you had the ability to forgive so easily. But forgiveness terrified you because what if you were hurt again? What if it was worse next time? And that wasn’t just about Logan— forgiving anyone. Your therpist knew this was a problem without you even talking about it and was slowly weaving it into conversations. You let it happened but didn’t do anything about it outside sessions. 

Logan gave you space still, but was really struggling himself with it. In the almost year since you arrived at the mansion, you had changed from his least favorite person to someone he needed to be around constantly. Someone he cared deeply for. So Logan trained harder, stayed out on longer patrols, and began taking missions by himself. He picked fights with weights and punching bags. Anything to keep from walking towards the greenhouse out of habit.

You caught glimpses of Logan still. You noticed the dark circles under his eyes. The way his shoulders stayed tight even when someone pulled a laugh from him. The faint metallic scent of healing wounds when he walked past you. The plants noticed too. They leaned towards him, constantly. Like they were no longer hostile towards him and missed him dearly. It irritated you a bit more than it should have.

Logan found himself in the trees by the mansion often now. He would sit against a large tree trunk and close his eyes. Roots shifted beneath him and the grass leaned closer, brushing against him. It was the closest thing to being in the greenhouse with you. And he was secretly grateful that the plants weren’t being hostile towards him.

Days later, you stumbled past a training session. You hadn’t planned on being there. But you couldn’t help but stop and watch the students training— being directed by Logan. He stood in the center of the room, running a defensive drill. He noticed you immediately, eyes flicking towards where you were standing.

The incident happened fast. One of the students lost their footing during a sparring move and stumbled backward directly towards you. Instinct kicked in and vines shot from the ground to catch them before they hit the ground. But the sudden movement startled another student, who collided into you from the side. Your balance slipped and suddenly, strong hands grabbed your waist. Logan’s hands. 

The world seemed to freeze for a fraction of a second. Your body reacted before your mind did— breath catching, muscles locking, heart slamming against your ribs. His grip tightened just enough to steady you, claws barely extended from reflex before he forced them back. 

Logan went very still when his brain finally pieced together that his hands were on you and weeks of distance shattered in a single moment. Ever so carefully, he released you, like you might break if he moved too quickly.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

You nodded quickly, stepping back. You needed space because the touch hadn’t been violent or controlling, just steadying and safe. And that realization scared you right now more than anything. Like maybe, Logan could be forgiven. Your feelings for him burst inside of you from where they had been buried for weeks now. You quickly shook your head and rushed to the greenhouse to hide. Logan stood in his spot and watched as you disappeared, knowing that you weren’t okay.

~~~

A few more days passed. Your therapist had expressed concerns about a breakdown on the horizon if you didn’t begin working on things truly. Sessions weren’t enough, you needed to make more changes outside of them. But you repeatedly told your therapist, your friends, and yourself that you were fine. 

It was a stormy, late evening when it finally broke. You were repotting and pruning alone in the greenhouse and rearranging trays that didn’t need to be rearranged. Your movements became sharper, faster, until soil scattered across the floor. Then a vine snapped at you and the sound echoed louder than it should have. Your breath hitched and memories crashed in. Your parents. Eli. Logan’s hands grabbing your wrists. Every moment where trust had turned into pain. You tried to shove them down, but failed.

The first surge was subtle. Roots pushed up against the floor with a low crack. You shook your head and panic begin to bloom. You tried grounding techniques your therapist had taught you. But every one of them failed. Vines then burst upward along the walls, twisting violently. The greenhouse glass rattled as leaves lashed through the air. Your control slipped completely.

Logan was pacing the other side of the mansion grounds when he felt the second surge. He had turned to face the greenhouse just as the vines shattered the glass from the inside.

“Shit!” He exclaimed as he ran.

Inside, you dropped to your knees, hands clutching your head. The plants weren’t attacking. They were reacting, mirroring your internal chaos. Thorns grew along stems that had never borne them before. Massive roots split tiles and flowers opened and closed rapidly like panicked breathing. You tried to pull the power back, but it simply slipped through your fingers like sand.

Logan burst through the door despite the warning rustle from the plants. “Y/N!” He shouted.

Vines snapped towards Logan— not attacking, but blocking his path. He somehow remembered that if he hurt them, it hurt you. So he forced his way through the vines, trying not to damage them. Logan could finally see you, curled inward and shaking on the ground. 

“Petals— Y/N!” He finally got to your side, falling to his knees. His hands hovered over you, not knowing what to do. “Look at me.”

You shook your head.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” Logan tried again.

This time you tried, you really did. But everything felt too loud and sharp and a lot. Logan hesitated for only half a second before he placed his hand on you. 

“You’re okay,” he told you. “You’re safe. You’re not alone.”

For a moment, the storm inside you paused. The vines slowed, leaves settled, and your breathing staggered towards something closer to steady. Then there was the sound of people running towards the greenhouse.

“Y/N!” Ororo shouted. “Logan? Are you in there? We felt the disturbance—“

Your head snapped towards the door and panic surged again. You didn’t want to be seen like this— not again. Not this weak. Vines shot towards the doors and broken windows, blocking anyone from entering.

“Hey, easy,” Logan said quietly.

You shook your head violently, trying to move away from him. You somehow got to your feet, unsteadily so. You stumbled backward into a workbench, hands searching blindly for something to anchor yourself. Your fingers closed around metal— the pruning shears. You clutched them tightly, grounding yourself using them. 

Logan’s eyes flicked down immediately. “Careful,” he warned softly.

Too late. Your hands were shaking too badly. The shears slipped and a sharp sting flashed across your palm. For a second you didn’t even register it— just warmth, sudden and wet. Then blood dripped onto the spilled soil on the floor. The plants recoiled sharply, reacting to your injury like a collective gasp. Logan’s entire posture changed instantly.

“Jesus— Y/N!”

Logan closed the distance before thinking, grabbing your wrist carefully but firmly. Red spread across your hand. Seeing you bleeding wrecked him.

“What were you thinking?” He muttered, voice straining against the panic. “You’re hurt—“

You tried to pull away, shame flooding you.

“Logan,” Jean called from outside. “What’s happening in there?”

Your breathing turned ragged again. The plants responded instantly— leaves trembling, vines tightening around your ankles. Logan noticed. He loosened his grip on your wrist slightly.

“Hey,” he said softly, trying to meet your gaze. “Look at me.”

You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. Your free hand rose to push him away, but didn’t have the strength to.

“Logan?” Jean tried again.

Logan’s thumb brushed lightly against your wrist, grounding you. “No one’s comin’ in unless you want ‘em to,” he told you. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Logan?” Ororo tried this time.

He didn’t look away from you. “She’s safe!” He called back. “Give us a minute.”

Your eyes fell to your wounded palm, staring at the blood like it didn’t belong to you. Logan moved slowly, gently guiding you toward a nearby stool. 

“You scared me,” he admitted quietly, almost under his breath.

The plants around you softened slightly, lowering their defenses. But your heart still raced— caught between the instinct to run and the terrifying comfort of staying right where you were. Logan reached for a nearby cloth, dampening it under the sink with practiced efficiency. When he returned, he crouched in front of you instead of standing over you.

“Gotta clean you up,” he said softly, eyes flicking up to yours briefly. “Okay?”

You wanted to pull away. To hide everything— your injury, your shaking, yourself. But exhaustion pressed heavier and you barely gave him a nod. The first touch of the damp cloth against your palm made you flinch despite yourself.

Logan immediately paused. “Sorry.”

You shook your head quickly, signaling he could continue. He worked slowly and methodically— cleaning away the blood with careful precision. His fingers were rough, calloused, but impossibly gentle. Every movement he made was deliberate, not to scare you or hurt you more. The greenhouse felt quieter now. The plants around you swayed softly. 

Up close, you could see the tension in Logan’s jaw and the tightness around his eyes. He wasn’t just focused. He was worried. Your chest tightened. 

“You gotta stop doing this,” he said quietly after a moment. “Not the cut. I know that was an accident… I just mean… holdin’ everything until it tears you apart.”

Your breath hitched and you looked away. The plants rusted uneasily. Logan wrapped the gauze carefully around your palm, movements slow enough that you could pull away at any time.

“You don’t have to talk to me… just don’t pretend you’re okay when you’re not.”

Your fingers curled slightly as he secured the bandage. The closeness made your heartbeat louder. Your eyes fell to his hands and the way they trembled almost imperceptibly when he finished tying the wraps. That made you sad, Logan didn’t shake. Not unless something really mattered. He stayed crouched there even after he finished. Neither of you moved. The space between you felt charged— thick when months of tension and everything unsaid. 

“You know… I’m not okay either,” he admitted quietly.

Without thinking, your uninjured hand moved. Your fingers caught the fabric of his shirt lightly. Logan froze, breath catching. He didn’t move closer or take advantage. He just stayed there. But even that felt dangerously intimate. Your eyes held his. Then, after a moment, he shifted closer— barely. 

Your knees brushed his and your breath caught sharply, though you didn’t pull away. Logan’s hands hovered near your waist, hesitating in midair. You leaned forward, just enough to close the space. His hand settled lightly against your side. Your heart pounded so hard it felt like it might shake the room. His eyes softened, searching your face for a sign of anything— hesitation, confirmation. There was fear and something deeper underneath.

Both of you leaned closer, breath mingling. Close enough now that you could feel the warmth of it against your skin. You swallowed hard before your lips parted slightly. Logan leaned in slowly, like he was approaching something sacred. And to him, he was. Your eyes fluttered halfway closed.

Everything narrowed down to the space between you. The quiet promise of closeness, comfort, and something neither of you dared to name yet. Or even really admit to yourselves. And then, the greenhouse doors burst open.

“Okay! What the hell—“ Rogue’s voice cut through the moment like lightning. 

You jerked back instantly. Logan growled, eyes snapping towards the greenhouse door. Rogue stood in the doorway, hand sup defensively, clearly not expecting what she’d walked into. Behind her, Scott, Jean, and Ororo hovered.

“Oh, uh, bad timing?” Rogue muttered, glancing between you both knowingly.

You pull your hand away from Logan’s shirt and stood up before retreating a step. The plants reacted to your spike of emotion— shifting protectively around you. Logan stood slowly, jaw tightening, frustration flickering across his face.

Scott stepped forward, expression serious. “Is everything okay in here?”

You nodded. You tried to sign but grimaced as you remembered your injury.

“Everything’s been handled,” Logan stated quickly. “We’re good here.”

“You sure?” Jean asked, looking between you both and your injured hand.

You nodded again before turning around and slipping out the other door.

Logan sighed, handing running down his face. “Just… let me handle her, okay?” He looked around the greenhouse. “If we could get people to help put this place back together, that’d be great.”

Then Logan began cleaning up, mind caught up with what almost happened and how you were probably going to make him pay for it later.