Work Text:
"So," Logan says with a nod of his head.
Scott raises an eyebrow as he peers at Logan.
He's always understood, on some level, that his rose-colored glasses gave him a certain skewed version of the world around him. He figured he saw what others didn't — when it came to Logan, he saw a version of the man that was softer and kinder than most others saw. Scott could see past the rough exterior.
"So?" Scott asks.
Logan scoffs, and Scott tries not to think too much of it. He shifts as he leans against the mossy tree trunk Logan's taking a smoke break beside. He winces, and sighs to cover it. "So," Logan says, his voice low so the kids can't hear him. They're not far — within eyeshot. "How long are you going to keep pretending that gun only grazed you?"
Scott stiffens and tries to play it off. "What do you mean?" He's thankful his visor covers his eyes.
Logan lets out a bitter laugh. "I could smell the blood two miles back, bub." Logan only calls Scott 'Bub' when he's angry.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Logan shakes his head. "You go on and keep pretending you're fine, Slim, but it'll be me hauling your bleeding ass back to civilization."
Logan blows out a big breath of smoke and Scott almost wants to tell him to take it back.
"Listen here," Scott says, turning on Logan. He winces this time, fully and without holding back, because Logan already knows. "These kids need someone to make them feel safe. I've been the one leading them through this goddamn forest, and I'll be damned if I let you scare them by—"
"The only thing scaring them is your need to be the strongest mutant here." Logan says it like it's an insult, but Scott can see the concern behind it.
Scott opens his mouth to say something more, but Scott feels that searing pain he'd been ignoring for the past hour spark through his body. His hands fly to his side, just under the leather jacket he's been hiding beneath. "Fuck!" His shoulder lands on the tree as his vision pulses in the sunset.
"Take it easy, Slim," Logan says, though his voice is background to the blood rushing through Scott's ears. "I gotcha, I gotcha." The words are said close to Scott's ear. He can smell the cigar on Logan's breath, and it's a welcome distraction from the blood he's sure he reeks of by now.
"I can't— I can't let them down, Logan," he mumbles.
"I know, Scotty. I know."
Logan's words fade from him as his vision seems to burn. All the red gives way to a creeping darkness and he's suddenly too tired to feel much of anything — not the pain and not Logan's shoulder supporting him.
When he comes to the first thing he notices is a warmth on his stomach. He tries to reach for his face, unsure if his glasses are on or not, but something tight stops his arm from raising very high.
"Mornin' sunshine," comes Logan's gruff voice.
"M—morning?" Scott can feel his glasses move on his face as he talks, and he cracks his eyes open before committing fully. "Where—?"
"The kids and I set up a tent," Logan explains.
Scott blinks as he struggles to lean up, wincing in pain and then feeling a dawning horror. "The kids—!"
"Are all fine, calm down." Logan shakes his head.
The tent they're in is bright. It's hard to tell, but Scott's pretty sure it's a blue tent and the sun is high in the sky outside. He glances down at himself and grimaces. "You didn't let the kids see me like this, did you?"
"Your precious students?" Logan jokes, and shakes his head when Scott glares at him. "Nah, Slim. I told them you'd had one too many beers and that was why you were slumped by the trees."
Scott's not even sure if he's joking or not.
The tent is a little cramped with the two of them, but Logan's got a knot between his brows. "If I didn't know any better," Scott says, "I'd think you were worried."
"'Course I was," Logan says. "I'm not leading all these kids through the woods myself."
"We can't be more than a dozen miles from the school. I'm sure you'd manage," Scott argues.
"Fine." Logan shifts a bit, placing a hand on Scott's hip. "I wouldn't want to do it without you."
His hand is calloused and Scott can feel the warmth over his stomach. He's wearing his jeans but his shirt is gone, his chest wrapped with bandages. There's a long moment that feels frozen in time, like Logan's waiting for him to say something.
So he says, "I'm sorry," and hopes that it's good enough.
Logan nods and shifts back to unzip the tent. "I'm getting breakfast going. You get something to wear and meet me when you feel up to it." Specks of white float past Logan to the forest floor and at first the bright white is alarming and odd, but the cool wind grounds Scott.
"It's snowing," he says, and damn if Logan doesn't look downright handsome in the snow.