Chapter Text
Logan cracked open a cold one and leaned against the wall of the Xavier Institute hallway, watching with growing irritation as Magneto made his dramatic exit from yet another Council meeting. Cape flapping. Metal swirling. Charles sighing wistfully in the background.
Again.
He took a slow sip of his beer. Counted to ten. Then growled.
“Christ,” he muttered. “I was thirty-two when Lincoln got shot. Lincoln. You think I ain’t got trauma? Try remembering when morphine was cutting-edge.”
Jean poked her head out of a nearby room. “Logan, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he grunted. “Just tired of that metal-bending diva throwing tantrums like a toddler who didn’t get a juice box.”
Jean blinked. “Magneto?”
“Who the hell else? Man’s over a hundred, and he’s still acting like puberty hit too hard. Charles keeps coddling him like he’s some precious fragile egg—meanwhile, I got shot in the face by Nazis and didn’t even get a thank-you note.”
Jean opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, and just nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“And don’t get me started on the sexual tension between those two.”
“What?”
Logan pointed down the hall with his beer. “You’re tellin’ me you don’t feel it? It’s like walking into a storm cloud of gay regret. Even the kids talk about it. I caught Jubilee taking bets on when they’ll finally kiss or kill each other.”
Jean’s face turned the color of her telekinetic aura. “That’s—Logan—they’re not—”
“I’m locking ‘em in a room.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” He crushed the can in one hand and tossed it over his shoulder. “You wanna end this war, Jean? You wanna bring peace to mutants and humans alike? You put Chuck and Erik in one room, lock the damn door, and don’t let ‘em out ‘til the air’s cleared or somebody’s clothes are.”
⸻
Ten Minutes Later
Everyone stood outside the reinforced conference room as the clang of the lock echoed through the halls.
Inside, Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr blinked at the heavy metal door now bolted shut.
“Logan,” Charles said slowly, “what… did you just do?”
“Secured world peace,” Logan grunted, lighting a cigar.
“You locked us in here?”
“Sure did.”
“You don’t have the authority—”
“I was born in eighteen thirty-freakin’ two, Charles. You wanna talk about authority? I’ve been through more governments than you’ve had haircuts.”
“You what?” Erik called.
Logan took a long drag, ignoring them. “You two can psychic-pillow-talk your way outta here when you’re honest with yourselves. Until then, this door ain’t openin’.”
⸻
Thirty Minutes Later
Everyone had wandered away. Sort of. Jean sat nearby, headphones on but listening. Beast took notes. Jubilee was livestreaming reactions to “Xavierneto: Confined Edition.” Logan sat cross-legged, cleaning his claws.
Then:
“…Logan?” Scott asked, wary. “Where’s the key?”
“What?”
“You locked them in. Where’s the key?”
Logan paused.
Looked down.
“…I may have swallowed it.”
“WHAT?”
“I was drinking. Thought it was a vitamin. Looked shiny. Mistakes were made.”
“Do not tell me—”
With a shrug, Logan stood.
And then, casually, like he was stretching a sore back—
SHINK. SCHLURP. GRIT.
The hallway went deathly silent as Logan dug into his own gut, pulled out the key with a squelch, and held it up like a prize.
Blood dripped down his abdomen.
He did not flinch.
⸻
Storm stared. “Logan, you are leaking.”
Nightcrawler crossed himself. “Please tell me that’s not normal.”
Jubilee was howling. “That was the grossest, hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Beast looked traumatized. “There were tools. Sterile tools.”
Logan, guts still half-out, looked over at the door.
“You two done makin’ doe-eyes through the metal yet?”
There was no answer.
Then came the muffled sound of very intense arguing. And then…
Silence.
Followed by a thump.
And another.
And then—
“LOGAN,” Charles finally called, voice slightly hoarse, “How are Wanda and Pietro?”
Logan cocked his head. “Erik. How are your kids?”
From behind the door: “That’s none of your business!”
“Sure it is. You shack up with Chuck, I get step-uncle rights. I’m makin’ the twins a ‘World’s Most Traumatized Family’ cake.”
“LOGAN—”
He jammed the key in the lock.
The door swung open to reveal Erik looking flushed, Charles with his collar askew, and an air of something definitely unresolved between them.
Logan eyed them both.
Then turned to Jubilee. “Kid owes me fifty bucks. Pay up.”