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You've been here before; it's not your first bar of choice, but it's close to your work. And after a long day sometimes a beer sounds like heaven.
It wasn't the cleanest or prettiest but that certainly wasn't the biggest problem when it came to this bar in particular.
Logan, the Wolverine. He was there any time you went, no matter the time of day. You knew who he was; everyone did. No one talked to him yet people talked about him.
You weren't stupid like everyone else who tried to talk to you about the man. He could hear everything everyone was saying behind his back. His mutation gave him more than claws and a healing factor. Yet judging by all the whispers, apparently, no one else knew.
You couldn't help but feel more than a little depressed about it. All the shit-talking behind his back added to the already present guilt he surely felt, couldn't help his mental state. All the man ever does is drink, surely to distract himself from everything.
It was late, or if you wanted to get technical, early. Your apartment was a shit heap and was the last place you wanted to be right now. That's one thing you can relate to Logan on. Besides, watching people is probably one of your favorite pastimes. You could do it for hours and you already have been. However, most of the time, you were really just watching Logan.
Eventually, it was time again for another round, and for some reason, you were feeling nice, so you asked the bartender to add a drink for Logan to your tab.
You could hear the hesitation in the bartender's voice, but a handful of seconds later, there was a new glass placed in front of you and Logan. The X-Man held a confused glare. “I didn't order another drink.” He gruffed out.
The bartender scoffed. “Like you weren't already going to get another already. Besides, it's not on you.” The bartender nodded towards you. They mumbled something you couldn't quite make out, but judging by the eye roll it was probably something snarky.
Logan looked over to you for a second, acknowledging your existence for the first time that night. His eyebrows knitted in confusion once again. Quickly studying you for some semblance of an answer to why you just bought a universally hated man a whiskey.
Maybe you shouldn't have chosen to be nice to him, but you've heard all the stories. Surely even if he was there it wouldn't have changed the outcome, right? You could be wrong, but what the hell? The world needs a little more kindness. Even if the person you're showing it to never even says ‘thank you’.
Time passes as well as more drinks, the bartender visibly gets more on edge the more Logan drinks. After a while, the bartender snaps.
“Look bud, we only got so much alcohol here. You've drunk more than a couple of bottles; I'd say it's a shock you're still alive, but I know what you are. How ‘bout find someplace else to drain?”
Logan scoffs. “And where would I go, huh? I can't get one step into a place before they tell me to fuck off.”
The bartender rolls his eyes. “Well, hell, maybe I'll start doing that too.” The man hands Logan a receipt and card. “Your tab is already closed so fuck off.”
Once again, an urge to help Logan appears. You really shouldn't; it isn't your business, but you already bought the guy a drink. “Look man, he's a paying customer like all the rest of us.”
The bar goes silent and the bartender turns to you with the same look of hesitation crossing his face. “Yeah, and I got other paying customers who want whiskey, and I can't give it to ‘em because he drank it all already. Besides, he's drunk and I'm tired of dealing with his bullshit.”
“Fine, bub,” Logan smirks; he signs his tab, and stands up, immediately swaying and reaching to hold his balance. He flips off the bartender before moving towards the door. He stumbles a number of times before finally making it out.
You pull out your wallet tossing a wad of cash on the counter before following Logan.
Once outside the cold night air immediately nips and your nose and fingertips. Despite this, you look around for the man. Finding him lying on the ground a few feet away.
At this point, you're definitely in over your head, but you aren't leaving him like this. “Hey.” You say adding a light nudge with your shoe.
“Fuck off, bub.”
Well, he's awake, at least.
You sigh. “Where do you live, man? You aren't staying out here; it's below freezing.”
“I said fuck off, bub. Go back home to your momma kid.” He manages to spit out.
You know the cold won't kill him but surely he'll still be able to feel it. You're too far from your apartment to drag him there so back to the shop you go.
“Can you stand? I don't want to drag you.”
For a second you think Logan actually passed out due to his silence. But then you hear a grumble.
“What the fuck is your problem? Just leave me alone. Don't you know who I am? I could kill you right now.” He snarls.
You can't help but let a chuckle slip. “Of course, I know who you are. Everyone does. But you aren't going to kill me for being nice to you.”
Logan growls before stumbling to get up, eventually managing to stand. “You wanna test that theory, bub?” He balls his fists before his claws come out. Well, if you could even call them claws, they're barely visible.
Sure, you know how dangerous this man is, but in his current state, he'd barely be able to land a hit before toppling over.
“Look, man, I'm not doing this shit; I'm just trying to help. I know you don't want it ‘cause ‘oh big tough guy,’ but come on, I got a place. There's not a bed, but it's nearby and heated.” You turn around for a second to point towards the shop before hearing a thud.
When you look back Logan is once again laying on the ground.
“Logan?” You ask.
No response. Of course. You sigh and nudge him again, with no response. You bend down and grab his arms, pulling to no avail, fuck, he's heavy.
If you're quick enough you should be able to grab a creeper from the shop to put him on. So, after a lot of effort, you manage to pull Logan aside and sit him up against a wall.
You then quickly run a few blocks down to your shop unlocking the door and grabbing a creeper before making a haste exit and returning to where you left Logan. Luckily he's still there by the time you get back.
After much finagling, you get him on the creeper. He barely fits but it's a hell of a lot easier than dragging his ass all the way back to the shop. At least this way you can roll him back. So, after a quick break, you catch your breath and start rolling him back to your place of work.
Once back you drag the full creeper into the shop and push him towards the break room. You realize a little too late that there was no way in hell you'd be able to lift him onto the couch or chair that resides there. So you place him by the couch and hope the light padding of the creeper is enough to provide at least a little comfort. And after a little bit more thinking you grab a fire blanket and drape it over the inebriated man.
Once you finish taking care of Logan, a wave of tiredness washes over you. At this point walking home was out of the equation. It was way too late, and at this point, you didn't even think you'd be able to make the trek. So, without much more thought, you flop onto the chair in the corner and let the sweet seduction of sleep overtake you.
In the morning, or what you can only assume is the morning, you're woken up by the sound of fabric ripping. You open your eyes to see Logan sitting up on the creeper shoulders rising and falling rapidly with his now fully extended claws deep in the side of your couch.
You rub the sleep out of your eyes. “You good? Well, I guess that was a stupid question, you just tore up my couch.”
Logan quickly looks at you with eyebrows furrowed in anger. “Where the hell am I? Who are you?” He's quick to stand up and approach you, claws poking at your neck. Seems he's a lot scarier when he's not drunk.
Your eyes definitely widen a bit and you raise your hands in surrender. “Woah there! You're at my auto shop; last night, you were wasted, and you passed out outside the bar, so I rolled you back here so you wouldn't freeze or… get mugged? I don't know what I was thinking, to be honest. I had a few too many beers myself. I just knew I wasn't going to leave you to rot out there.” You clear your throat and tell him your name. “Look, I'm sorry if I overstepped my boundaries, but I wasn't going to be able to just walk away without at least trying.” you look down, and the claws are still prodding at your jugular.
After a beat, Logan retracts his claws. “That still doesn't explain why I'm here. You know who I am, why help, what's your angle?”
You scoff. “Does kindness need an angle? Look, I get why so many people hate you, but I don't. What happened was fucked up, what you did was fucked up. But all you do now is fucking drink. If that doesn't scream regret and guilt, I don't know what does. People deserve second chances sometimes.”
Logan's expression softens for a second before the scowl returns. “Yeah well, I don't.” He turns around back towards the couch and creeper. “You rolled me here? On that?” He asks looking back.
You nod. “To be fair, it was an on-the-fly thought; you're fucking heavy as shit. Hence the reason you aren't actually on the couch and just next to it.
Logan chuckles. “You really had nothing better to do other than fucking roll me here? Well, if you went through all that trouble, I should at least apologize for the couch. So, sorry.” He says walking towards the break room door.
You scoff. “Wait- you're just going to leave?” You shout as he walks across the shop.
“Yep.”