As Logan drove in silence, Ken sat in the passenger seat, staring blankly out the window. The weight of the day pressed on him—leaving Wade behind gnawed at his insides like a festering wound, and no matter how much he brooded, nothing made it better. He hated being so far from his brother, hated feeling helpless.
Behind him, Logan and Pyro's conversation caught his attention, though he kept his eyes fixed on the road outside.
"So, Wolverine," Pyro said, his voice cutting through the tense quiet, "what's worse: freezing to death or burning to death?"
Logan rolled his eyes, clearly over the endless barrage of questions, but he still answered,
"Burning's worse, but freezing lasts longer. Neither are fun."
Ken stiffened at the mention of freezing. His mind flashed back to the cold—the bone-chilling, soul-sucking cold that Stryker had forced him to endure. He could still feel it sometimes, like a phantom pain creeping in on colder nights.
"Is it really that bad," Pyro's voice sounded small. "Burning, I mean?"
Logan glanced at the rearview mirror, his frown deepening. "It's painful, yeah. Why?"
There was a pause, and then, Pyro said quietly, "My mother burned to death."
Logan grunted softly. "Do you wanna talk about it or something?"
"No," Pyro shot back quickly, defensive. "I don't need you to get all Ward Cleaver on me and offer up a therapy session."
Logan raised an eyebrow, already feeling his patience thinning. "I didn't offer you a therapy session, kid. I offered to pretend to listen."
Before Pyro could reply, Ken, half-asleep and clearly on edge, shifted in his seat. "Freezing's worse," he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion.
Logan blinked, not expecting the interjection. He glanced at Ken, whose eyes were still closed, though his expression was tight. "What?"
Ken shifted again, turning his head toward Logan without opening his eyes. "I've been frozen before," he said, his voice lower now. "By Stryker."
Logan's stomach tightened. "You never told me that."
"He froze me multiple times. Part of his experiments. Wanted to see me heal the froze bites or something. I am half convinced he just wanted to see me suffer."
Ken swallowed, his fists clenching in his lap. He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but now it was out there. He could feel Logan's eyes on him, waiting for more, and he could sense the concern beneath his father's rough exterior.
Logan blinked, stunned. "You never told me that," he said, his voice softer than usual.
Ken shrugged, still avoiding his father's gaze. "I told Wade," he said, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "He understood. Stryker froze him... and burned him too. Sometimes both at the same times. He went through the same things I did."
Logan cursed under his breath, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he processed the weight of what Ken had just revealed. Both of his son had suffered, and Logan had been left in the dark.
Ken's voice hardened, feeling anger bubbling beneath his father. "I guess... I didn't think you needed to know. It was all in the past… Talking with Wade already made it better." He wasn't trying to sound cold, but the bitterness in his tone couldn't be masked. It wasn't that he didn't care about Logan; he did. But talking about it with his dad than his brother—it felt different, harder.
Behind them, Pyro shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the conversation settling in the car. Bobby was still asleep, and Jubilee stirred slightly, murmuring in her sleep. The quiet tension was thick in the air now, more suffocating than the cold night outside.
Ken stirred again, clearly tired of the tension. "Can we please just stop talking about this?" he muttered, his voice laced with irritation. "Put the radio on or something, I'm trying to sleep, and you guys are making me depressed."
Logan flipped through the radio stations again, finally settling on some soft alternative rock. Ken, thankfully, sighed in relief as the low hum of the music filled the car. Well, Pyro too, for different reason.
"You're my hero, Wolverine," Pyro said, the gratitude in his tone as he started humming the songs.
"No one cares," Ken grumbled from the passenger seat, his eyes closed again, trying to get comfortable. He missed his brother, and he almost positive that he heard an explosion at the directions of the mansion. Hell, his father probably heard it too, super-hearing and all.
He could only hope his brother is safe.
-
The sun had been up for a few hours when Bobby and Jubilee finally stirred from their slumber.
Logan had ditched the back roads in favor of the interstate by then, deciding that hiding in plain sight was the way to go.
For once, he thanked whatever higher power was responsible for Scott's taste. The electric blue Mazda didn't scream "Stealth," but at least it wasn't that ridiculous Ferrari red or, God forbid, canary yellow. To the casual eye, it seemed like any other generic sports car. If he stayed with the flow of morning rush hour traffic, they weren't going to run into any problems.
As far as Logan figured, they'd left the mansion with a full tank of gas, and he hadn't stopped anywhere along the way. He knew his clothes had blood on them and barely held up anymore, the teens were all still in their pajamas. Well, Ken is in his pajama with a battle gear that Wade made him wear... Stopping anywhere was asking for trouble.
The problem with that was, despite being almost adults, none of the three teens were at all shy about letting Logan know how cranky they were getting. Bobby was hungry, Jubilee needed to use the bathroom, and John had expressed, more than once, that he was a horrid combination of the two. Hell, Ken seemed be more mature than the teens and he was only 8 years old. 8 years old with Wade's influences too.
By the time ten rolled around, Bobby perked up in the back seat, squinting out the window like he finally recognized the suburbs they were rolling through. "We're close," he muttered, then started giving directions like Logan was some glorified chauffeur. Thank god he was feeling worried for his other kid he left back there to care about.
Logan grunted as they pulled into the driveway of your average, white-picket-fence, American Dream home. It was almost too normal. Logan's eyes darted around. The garage was locked, which was annoying. Hiding the car would've been a smart move, but instead, the damn thing had to sit out there like a beacon to anyone who might be looking for them.
Bobby knocked on the door a few times, his heart clearly thumping in his chest. After getting no answer, he fished out a hidden key from a potted plant by the front step.
"Handy," Pyro drawled, flicking his lighter open and closed, clearly unimpressed by the family-friendly spy tactics.
"Forgot my keys a lot when I was a kid," Bobby mumbled. "Once had to make one outta ice just to get inside."
Logan didn't bother hiding his smirk. Of course, the kid would make an ice key. He was about to say something sarcastic when Bobby opened the door, stepping inside and calling, "Mom? Dad? Ronny?"
The house was as quiet as a graveyard. Bobby's pulse calmed a bit, his shoulders dropping as he sighed in relief. "Looks like we've got the place to ourselves. Maybe I should call—"
"No." Logan's voice was like a whip crack. "You never know who's listening."
"What, you think they tapped my parents' phones?"
Logan shot him a look. "Those troops were serious, and they were Stryker's, if my memories serve me right, he was more dangerous than Magneto. I'm saying that we need to be careful."
"I'll go look for some clean clothes then, I guess you'll need those," Bobby said, "John, don't burn anything while I'm gone."
"I'll help you," Jubilee followed Bobby while still yawning, clearly eager to do anything that didn't involve pissing off Logan.
Pyro sneered. "I'll do my best," he said, flipping Bobby the bird. Bobby returned the gesture as he headed upstairs.
Logan rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Teenagers. He moved toward the kitchen, only to be interrupted by the faint beep of the odd cell phone in his pocket—the one John had found in the car the night before. He pulled it out, extending the sides the way Ken had shown him. Nothing but static.
"Hello?" he tried, feeling stupid. No response. He gave it a little whack against the counter, because why not? "Marie? Storm? Jean? Cyke? Hank? Chuck?" Still nothing.
With a sigh, Logan tossed the useless thing onto the counter and opened the fridge. The contents weren't exactly inspiring—juices, sports drinks, and a lone Miller Genuine Draft. Not exactly top shelf, but at this point, beggars couldn't be choosers. He popped the cap and downed half the bottle in one go.
A faint clicking noise caught his attention. Pyro, of course, was snapping his lighter open and closed in the hallway. But something about the kid's focus was off. He wasn't playing with fire this time—he was staring at the family photos lining the wall. Logan stayed quiet, watching the kid's face twist with envy and bitterness as he scowled at each picture like they'd personally insulted him.
Logan let him stew in his brooding. The kid had his demons. Hell, didn't they all? But before he could get too philosophical about it, his instincts kicked in. Claws out. He spun around, ready to attack—and then promptly felt like an idiot when he realized he'd just threatened a cat.
The feline was not impressed. It sauntered up to him, purring, like it couldn't care less that it had almost been impaled. Logan retracted his claws, scratching behind the cat's ears. "Guess I like cats," he muttered to himself while petting it. Though, if anyone asked, he'd deny it. Wonder if Laura would like one? Maybe he could persuade Marie to buy one for the family. If they survives this.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps—too late. Logan looked up just in time to see Bobby's parents and little brother walking through the back door. They froze, their eyes immediately locking onto the bloodstains on what left on Logan's shirt.
"Who the hell are you?" Bobby's father barked, stepping protectively in front of his son. The mother, on the other hand, went straight for the cat, pulling it away from Logan like he'd been threatening it instead of, you know, petting it.
"Right," John muttered from the threshold, staring at the family with a bored expression. "Screw the kid. Save your cat."
Logan didn't have an answer that would defuse the situation, so he just pointed toward the staircase as Bobby came stumbling down, panic written all over his face.
"Uh… Mom, Dad, this is… Professor Howlett. He's, uh, one of my teachers." He as he handed Logan a clean shirt, he shot him a look that screamed, Help me out here, but Logan just raised an eyebrow.
Kid dug his own grave with that one.
"And that's my roommate, John," Bobby continued, pointing at Pyro. "And Jubilee, my classmate… and Ken. Professor Howlett's son."
The silence was deafening. Bobby's pulse was loud in Logan's ears until finally, it slowed. Decision made.
"Mom, Dad? There's something I need to tell you—"
Before he could finish, the doorbell rang. Tension crackled in the air like electricity. Logan glanced at Bobby, then cautiously opened the door.
It was just his son, smiling with his stupid smile at him. Thank god he made it alive.
Wade grinned back at him like an idiot, holding up a pizza box like he was delivering the pizza itself.
"Anyone order pizza?"
"WADE!" Ken cheered from the living room, immediately running to hug Wade who happily return it. "I thought you were gone!"
"Pfft. Please, Ken. It's gonna take more than some off-brand female Sabretooth and a bunch of Craigslist's soldiers to take me down."
Logan blinked. "How the hell did you find us?"
Wade's grin widened as he pulled out from Ken's hug as the boy still refused to let him go from the hug. "Pizza guy's bike, Cyke's cars got wrecked real bad because the explosions—Uggh, I hope he got it insured." He pointed his thumb at a red scooter that park near a fire hydrant, a busted fire hydrant that pouring out water.
"That scooter?"
"The break is loose..."
Wade then put down the pizza box down then went lounging in the sofa like he own the places, of course. "So, after the mansion blew up, I called local pizza place to deliver the pizza and stole his bike—don't worry I gave him a big tips. I am not a monster! Also, I may or may not have slapped a GPS tracker on all of your clothes. Learned my lesson from the last time, y'know?"
Bobby's father, still bewildered, demanded, "Who the hell is this guy? What soldiers? Explosions? Bobby, what the hell is going on?"
Bobby sighed. "Mom, Dad… this is Wade. He's… Professor Logan's older son."
Wade flashed a devilish grin. "Oh, is this the meet-cute with the in-laws? Did you tell them about us already, Bobby-bear?"
"Bobby-bear??? In-laws??? Bobby what's—"
"NO! I AM NOT GAY MOM!!!"