Xander stood in the courtyard of the Xavier Institute, his gaze wandering from the well-kept grounds to the looming mansion that housed the school. He had spent most of the day talking to Rogue, trying to wrap his head around the Institute's purpose, and his thoughts were still swirling. Just as he was about to retreat to the quiet of the mansion, a low rumble broke through the air. He turned toward the source and spotted the jet descending, its sleek black surface reflecting the fading sunlight.
*So, that's how they get around,* Xander mused, watching the jet make a smooth landing in a clearing at the edge of the grounds.
The door to the jet hissed open, and one by one, the X-Men began to disembark. First out was Cyclops, his iconic red visor catching the light as he stepped down the ramp. He was followed by Beast, who adjusted his glasses, looking both scholarly and warrior-like with his blue fur ruffled from the mission. Remy LeBeau, better known as Gambit, swaggered out behind them, flipping a playing card between his fingers. And finally, Logan—Wolverine—came down last, his expression as gruff as ever, his eyes scanning the area as if he were expecting trouble around every corner.
Xander couldn't help but feel like an outsider watching them. These were seasoned heroes, warriors with powers far beyond anything he had ever encountered back in Sunnydale. They moved like a team, working together without having to say a word. There was a bond between them, one forged through battles and hardship, and Xander wasn't sure he'd ever find that kind of belonging here.
Cyclops stretched as he hit the ground, shaking off the tension from the mission. "Good work today, team," he said, his voice calm but commanding. "We'll debrief inside."
Beast nodded, looking up at the mansion with a tired smile. "A little rest would be most welcome. I do believe I've earned the luxury of some tea and contemplation."
Remy chuckled, flicking his card into the air and catching it effortlessly. "Remy t'inks a stiff drink sound a lot better, mon ami. But ya go enjoy ya tea, Beast."
Logan grunted, his claws retracting as he rubbed his knuckles. "I'll take a beer. Ain't been a mission yet where that don't sound good after."
Xander stood silently, observing their interactions, and couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration. Despite their differences, they worked together like a well-oiled machine. It reminded him a bit of the Scooby Gang, though the stakes here seemed... different.
As the team moved toward the mansion, Logan's eyes swept over the grounds, landing briefly on Xander. Their gazes met for a split second, but Logan didn't linger, simply nodding at him before walking past. There was no malice in the look, just a hint of curiosity, as if Logan was sizing him up.
Xander let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He could tell that was just Logan's way—always on guard, always looking for the next threat. He could respect that, especially after all the chaos they'd dealt with back in Sunnydale.
Cyclops gave Xander a quick nod of acknowledgment, though there was no recognition in his eyes. It was clear he didn't know who Xander was, but his polite nature kept things civil. "Good to see a new face around," he said briefly before continuing inside with the others.
Gambit, however, gave Xander a playful wink. "Looks like ya settlin' in here, non? We'll have to see 'bout gettin' ya in on some card games, eh?" His grin was mischievous, a sharp contrast to Logan's stoic presence.
Xander chuckled, appreciating Gambit's light-hearted attitude. "Maybe. If you can handle me cleaning you out."
Remy laughed, his eyes flashing with amusement. "We'll see 'bout dat, homme."
As the team disappeared into the mansion, Xander felt a strange mixture of awe and unease. These people weren't just fighting supernatural forces—they were dealing with a world that feared and misunderstood them. And here he was, still trying to figure out where he fit into it all.
---
Xander leaned against the railing of the mansion's back terrace, watching the last streaks of sunlight dip below the horizon. He had been absorbing everything Rogue had told him about the X-Men, but there was still so much to take in. The way she described the team—how they fought not just to protect mutants but to protect humans from the growing fears surrounding mutation—was noble, but also daunting.
Rogue stood next to him, her arms crossed, leaning against the rail as well. Her green eyes scanned the grounds, but there was a calmness about her. "It's a lot to take in, huh?" she said, sensing his unease. "Ah know it's not easy—this place, what we do. It's not for everyone."
"Yeah, it's... intense," Xander admitted. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing over at her. "So, this is what you all do? You're like, mutant protectors?"
Rogue gave a slight nod. "More or less. We keep the peace, save people when we can—both humans and mutants. Sometimes that means stoppin' a big bad mutant, and sometimes it's keepin' people from huntin' us down."
Xander raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. "So, basically you guys are mutant superheroes?"
"Something like that," Rogue replied with a shrug, her southern drawl making it sound easy-going. "The Professor, he believes in a world where mutants and humans can live together, without all the fear. But we ain't there yet. That's what we're fightin' for."
Xander let out a breath, nodding in understanding. "Sounds like you guys have your hands full. I bet they're glad you didn't name the team after Professor Xavier's first initial."
Rogue blinked in confusion. "What?"
Xander smirked, leaning closer and lowering his voice conspiratorially. "You know... instead of 'X-Men,' you could've been the 'C-Men.'" He mimed the air quotes for emphasis.
It took Rogue a second, but when the joke clicked, she let out a snort before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. She doubled over, clutching her sides, the sound of her laugh echoing across the terrace. Xander grinned, feeling like he had just scored a major victory with that one. The kind of laugh Rogue was letting loose wasn't something Xander had heard much of since he'd been here. It was real and unrestrained.
"C-Men! Oh my God, Xander!" Rogue managed between breaths, wiping a tear from her eye. "You are somethin' else!"
Xander couldn't help but chuckle along with her. "I try."
---
Rogue was still laughing, trying to catch her breath. She leaned on the terrace railing for support, wiping at her eyes, still giggling uncontrollably. Xander had seen his share of laughs, but something about how Rogue was cracking up made him smile wider than he expected. Maybe it was the way she let her guard down, allowing herself to just enjoy the moment.
"What's goin' on out here, cherie?" came a familiar voice, thick with a Cajun accent, from behind them.
Xander turned to see Remy LeBeau—Gambit—approaching, his hands in his pockets, a mischievous grin already on his face. He raised an eyebrow as he looked between the two of them, clearly intrigued by Rogue's hysterics. "Sounds like ya havin' too much fun out here. Care to share?"
Rogue, still catching her breath, waved him off. "Xander... Xander just made a joke 'bout... oh God... 'bout the Professor's name! He said we coulda been called the *C-Men* instead o' the X-Men!" She doubled over again, the thought still too funny for her to handle.
Remy's grin widened, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He sauntered closer, glancing at Xander with playful curiosity. "*C-Men*, eh?" Remy drawled, chuckling softly. "Now dat's somethin'. Gotta hand it to ya, homme, ya got a sharp tongue." He gave Xander a playful nod of approval, clearly entertained by the joke.
Xander shrugged with a grin. "What can I say? I'm here to make a good impression."
Remy let out a low laugh, leaning against the railing next to Rogue. "Well, dat ya did. Though, maybe ya wanna be careful where ya tell dat joke, non? Professor might not find it as funny as *we* do." He winked at Xander, his tone playful but with just enough of a hint that Xander should tread lightly around certain authority figures.
"Noted," Xander said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I'll keep the C-Men jokes on the down-low."
Remy chuckled again, clearly enjoying the banter. He turned to Rogue, his voice softening slightly, the flirtation in his tone unmistakable. "But I gotta say, cherie, ya laugh is soundin' real sweet tonight. What dis man do to get ya crackin' up so much, eh?"
Rogue smiled, shaking her head. "He's just got a knack for it, Remy. Ain't nothin' wrong with a little laughter now and then."
"True 'nough, true 'nough," Remy agreed, tossing a wink at Xander before straightening up. "Well, y'all enjoy dis beautiful evenin'. I'll be 'round if ya need me, cherie."
With one last playful look, Remy turned and sauntered back toward the mansion, his swagger unmistakable. Rogue watched him go, shaking her head with an amused smile.
Xander leaned back against the railing, feeling the cool evening breeze. "So, does he flirt with everyone, or just you?"
Rogue laughed softly, rolling her eyes. "Mostly just me. But that's Remy for ya."
---
The laughter from Xander and Rogue's conversation faded as they noticed a figure approaching from the side of the mansion. Xander felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere as Logan—Wolverine—strode toward them. His presence was unmistakable, the air around him almost crackling with a primal energy. He didn't say anything at first, his hard gaze focused on Xander with a quiet intensity that made him feel like he was being sized up.
Rogue straightened up immediately, her laughter fading. "Hey, Logan. Y'all finished up with the mission?"
Logan gave a curt nod, his eyes never leaving Xander. "Yeah. Finished up fine," he muttered, his voice a low rumble. He looked at Xander for a beat longer before speaking. "You're the new kid, huh?"
Xander forced a smile, trying to match Logan's stare but feeling the weight of it. "Yeah, that's me. Name's Xander. Just trying to figure out what I'm doing here."
Logan crossed his arms, his jaw clenching slightly as if mulling something over. "You talk to the Professor?"
Xander nodded. "Yeah. He, uh... He thinks you might know something about my father."
The second the words left his mouth, Xander saw Logan's eyes harden, his expression shifting into something colder, more guarded. Logan took a deep breath through his nose, his arms dropping to his sides, but the tension in his posture didn't go away.
"Who told ya that?" Logan growled softly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What's this got to do with me?"
Xander blinked, confused by Logan's sudden defensiveness. "I—I don't know. The Professor seemed to think... well, he didn't say it directly, but he hinted that you might know something about a guy named James Howlett."
At the mention of the name, Logan visibly stiffened. He closed his eyes for a moment, his hands clenching into fists before relaxing again. It was subtle, but Xander could tell the name had hit a nerve. Logan opened his eyes, looking at Xander with a mix of anger and something else—regret, maybe.
"Look, kid," Logan muttered, his voice rougher now. "You're diggin' in the wrong place. I ain't got nothin' for ya. Don't know who told you otherwise, but you're better off leavin' this alone."
Xander felt a surge of frustration rise inside him. He had come all this way for answers, and now he was being shut down by the one person who might be able to give them. "What's that supposed to mean?" Xander snapped, trying to keep his voice steady. "You don't know, or you don't want to know?"
Logan's eyes flashed with something dark, his voice lowering to a near growl. "It means you ain't gonna find what you're lookin' for. Not here. Trust me, kid, you don't want to know what's buried in my past."
Xander stared at Logan, his heart pounding in his chest. This was not the meeting he had expected. Part of him wanted to push harder, to demand the truth, but the way Logan looked at him—like he was seeing a ghost from a past he couldn't remember—made him hesitate. There was something deeper here, something Logan wasn't willing to confront.
Rogue stepped forward, sensing the tension between them. "Logan, maybe—"
"No," Logan cut her off, his voice firm. He gave Xander one last look, his gaze filled with a mixture of anger and guilt. "You're better off without me, kid. I'm nothin' but trouble."
With that, Logan turned on his heel and walked away, his footsteps heavy as he disappeared around the side of the mansion.
Xander stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, feeling a mixture of anger, frustration, and... loss. He didn't know what he had expected, but it wasn't this. Logan clearly knew something about his father, but whatever it was, he had no intention of sharing it.
Rogue placed a hand on Xander's shoulder, her expression soft but sad. "Ah'm sorry, Xander. Logan... he's complicated."
Xander shook his head, trying to push down the rising tide of emotions. "Yeah, well... so am I."
---
Logan stalked away from Xander and Rogue, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel as he moved deeper into the mansion's grounds. Each step felt heavier than the last, like he was carrying the weight of something far more than just his body. His mind was a whirl of fragmented memories, pieces of a past that refused to fully form, and now... this kid. This kid who might be his son, or might not be. He couldn't even remember.
The name *James Howlett* echoed in his head, pulling at the edges of memories that he had buried long ago—memories he didn't even know if he wanted to uncover. The truth was, Logan had been running from his past for as long as he could remember. Every time he thought he was done with it, something like this would come crashing into his life, tearing open old wounds.
He found a secluded spot in the garden and stopped, leaning against a tree. His claws ached to unsheathe, but he forced them to stay retracted. Instead, he balled his fists, the familiar pain in his knuckles reminding him of who he was—what he was.
*If this kid is really mine... then what?* Logan thought, his mind racing. *What can I offer him? A lifetime of pain and memories that ain't even worth remembering?*
Logan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the guilt gnawed at him. He knew he couldn't be the father this kid was looking for. Hell, he didn't even know how to be a father. All he knew was fighting, survival, and loss. And that's not what Xander needed. He needed someone stable, someone who wasn't haunted by a past filled with blood and violence.
Logan ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching. He thought of the countless faces he'd lost over the years, people who had come and gone in his life, people he had failed. He wouldn't do that to this kid—not again. Xander was better off not knowing him. Better off not getting dragged into the darkness that followed Logan wherever he went.
*He'll be better without me,* Logan told himself, though the thought didn't bring him any comfort. If anything, it made the ache in his chest even worse.
The sound of approaching footsteps made him stiffen, and he turned to see Jean Grey standing a few feet away, her face soft with concern. She didn't say anything at first, just watched him with those empathetic eyes that always seemed to see right through him.
"I didn't want to interrupt," Jean said quietly, stepping closer. "But I can't help but notice something's eating at you."
Logan grunted, leaning back against the tree. "Ain't nothin' new, Red. Just the same old crap."
Jean gave him a knowing look. "That's not true, and you know it." She paused, her voice softening. "It's about Xander, isn't it?"
Logan didn't answer right away, his gaze dropping to the ground. He didn't want to admit it, didn't want to say it out loud, because that would make it real. But Jean was patient, waiting for him to find the words.
"Yeah," he finally muttered. "Kid's lookin' for answers. Thinks I might be his old man. But he's barkin' up the wrong tree. Even if I am... he's better off without me."
Jean stepped closer, her expression gentle. "Logan, you don't know that."
"Yeah, I do." Logan's voice was firm, but his eyes betrayed the turmoil inside him. "Look, Red... I can't be what that kid needs. I can barely keep my own head straight, let alone be there for him. He's better off not knowin' the kinda life I've lived."
Jean crossed her arms, her gaze never leaving his. "You're selling yourself short. Xander deserves to know the truth—whatever that is. And maybe you do too."
Logan shook his head, pushing off the tree and stepping away from her. "No. I don't need to know. And neither does he."
Jean watched him for a moment longer, sadness in her eyes. "You can't run from this forever, Logan."
"Watch me," he growled, turning and walking away without another word.
As he made his way back toward the mansion, Logan's mind was made up. Xander was better off staying away from him, from everything Logan represented. He wouldn't drag another person into the mess that was his life.
But as he walked, the doubt still lingered, clawing at him. He just hoped he wasn't making a mistake.
---
Xander stormed through the hallways of the mansion, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. His encounter with Logan hadn't gone the way he'd hoped. In fact, it had gone about as badly as it could have. He had come here searching for answers, hoping to find something, anything, that would help him make sense of who he was. But instead, he'd been shut down, rejected, and made to feel like he didn't belong.
Logan's words echoed in his head. *"You're better off without me, kid."* Xander had heard that kind of line before, from people who thought they were protecting him by pushing him away. But he didn't need protection—he needed the truth.
He reached his room and threw open the door, grabbing his jacket off the chair where he'd tossed it earlier. He couldn't stay here. Not if the one person who might know something about his father wouldn't even talk to him. It was like Sunnydale all over again—secrets, lies, people trying to "protect" him when all he wanted was the truth. He couldn't do it again. He wouldn't.
Xander slung his jacket over his shoulder and grabbed his bag, stuffing the few belongings he had brought with him into it. He didn't have much—a change of clothes, a few personal items—but it didn't matter. He wasn't planning on staying long anyway. Now he had no reason to.
As he zipped up his bag, he heard a soft knock at the door. For a moment, he thought about ignoring it, but the knock came again, more insistent this time.
"Xander?" Rogue's voice called from the other side of the door.
Xander sighed, his anger deflating slightly. He hesitated, then opened the door. Rogue stood there, her green eyes filled with concern, her gloved hands clasped in front of her. She looked like she was about to say something, but her gaze fell to the bag slung over Xander's shoulder, and her expression shifted to one of confusion.
"You're leavin'?" she asked softly.
Xander nodded, not meeting her eyes. "Yeah. I can't stay here, Rogue. This place... it's not for me."
Rogue stepped closer, her brow furrowed. "It's 'cause of Logan, ain't it?"
Xander sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, it's nothing you need to worry about. Logan made it pretty clear that whatever connection we might have, it's not worth digging into. He basically told me to leave it alone."
Rogue's expression hardened. "That sounds like Logan, alright. But that don't mean you gotta leave, Xander. The Professor, Jean—they can help ya figure things out. Ya don't have to leave just 'cause Logan's got his own issues."
Xander shook his head, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "It's not just him, Rogue. I came here hoping for answers. I thought maybe I'd find out something about my past, about who I really am. But instead, all I've found is more dead ends. If Logan doesn't want to deal with it, fine. I won't force him. But I can't stick around pretending everything's okay when it's not."
Rogue bit her lip, her eyes searching his face for a moment before she stepped aside, giving him a clear path to the hallway. "Ah hate to see ya go," she said quietly, her voice tinged with sadness. "You don't have to do this alone."
Xander looked at her, his heart softening a little at her concern. But the frustration still burned inside him, and the need to get away, to clear his head, outweighed everything else. "Thanks, Rogue. But I think I do."
Without another word, Xander stepped past her, his boots echoing against the floor as he walked down the hallway. He didn't look back, even though part of him wanted to. He could feel Rogue's eyes on him, but he kept moving, his pace quickening as he made his way out of the mansion.
The air outside was cooler now, the evening settling in around him as he crossed the courtyard toward the gate. Xander's thoughts raced, his mind spinning with everything that had happened since he arrived. Maybe this place wasn't for him after all. Maybe he was meant to find his own way, just like he had back in Sunnydale. But the ache in his chest told him that leaving here felt different—like he was walking away from something unfinished.
As he stepped out through the gates, the mansion behind him, Xander took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him. He wasn't sure where he was headed, but he knew one thing for certain: he couldn't keep chasing ghosts. Not Logan's, not his father's, not anyone's.
For now, it was time to move forward. Wherever that led.
---
Rogue stood in the hallway, watching Xander's figure disappear around the corner. She heard his footsteps growing fainter, echoing through the mansion's wide halls. The cool air that followed in his wake chilled her more than the evening breeze outside. He was leaving—really leaving—and it didn't sit right with her.
She had seen how Logan shut him down, pushing him away with the same gruff attitude he used to keep everyone else at arm's length. But something about the way Xander looked when Logan dismissed him… it hit Rogue harder than she expected. Xander wasn't just some kid looking for adventure—he had come here searching for answers, for a part of himself. And now, he was leaving with even more questions than before.
*Damn it, Logan,* Rogue thought, her frustration rising. She knew Logan better than most—he wasn't trying to be cruel. He thought he was protecting Xander by pushing him away. But that didn't make it right.
Rogue turned on her heel and walked briskly down the hall, trying to shake off the feeling of helplessness gnawing at her. She didn't want to just stand by and watch someone else get hurt because Logan couldn't deal with his past. She made her way to the rec room, hoping to find some answers—or at least someone who might know what to do.
The room was dimly lit, and Gambit was lounging on the couch, flipping a card between his fingers in his usual, casual manner. The flicker of his red eyes met hers the moment she stepped inside, his grin fading slightly when he saw the look on her face.
"Where's your boy, cherie?" Gambit asked, his voice light but curious.
"He's leavin'," Rogue said, unable to hide the sadness in her tone.
Gambit stopped fiddling with his card and sat up, his gaze sharpening. "Leavin'? Already? What happened?"
Rogue leaned against the wall, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Logan happened. They had a conversation, and Logan pushed him away. Xander was lookin' for answers, and all Logan gave him was another reason to leave."
Gambit's expression darkened slightly. "Logan's got his own demons, but pushin' dat kid away like dat—dat's not right. Ain't no way he's gonna find what he's lookin' for out there alone."
Rogue nodded, her frustration clear. "Ah know. But it's more complicated than that. Xander was lookin' for somethin' personal—about his family. And Logan... Logan doesn't know how to deal with anythin' that reminds him of his past. Ah think he's scared, Gambit. Scared to find out if Xander really is his son."
Gambit stood up, crossing the room to stand next to her. "Logan's got plenty to be scared of, cherie. But dat don't mean the boy should have to pay for it. What you wanna do 'bout it?"
Rogue shrugged, her heart heavy with indecision. "Ah don't know. Ah tried talkin' to Xander, tried tellin' him he didn't have to leave, but he's made up his mind. He's angry, hurt. Ah don't think anything Ah say is gonna change that."
Gambit placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "You did what you could, cherie. Sometimes folks gotta figure things out on their own. But I get it—don't sit well with you seein' him walk away."
Rogue sighed, leaning into his touch for a brief moment carefully avoiding skin contact. "No, it doesn't. Ah just wish Logan could see it too."
---
In Professor Xavier's study, the air was filled with quiet contemplation. The professor sat behind his large wooden desk, his fingers steepled as he stared thoughtfully out the window, watching the evening settle over the mansion. Jean Grey stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, her face etched with concern.
"He's leaving," Jean said softly, breaking the silence.
Xavier nodded, as if he had already known. "I sensed it, yes. Xander is a young man burdened with many questions and not nearly enough answers."
Jean turned to face him, her eyes troubled. "It didn't have to be this way. If Logan hadn't..."
"Pushed him away?" Xavier finished for her, his tone calm but weighted with understanding. "Logan has always had difficulty confronting his past. His fragmented memories are a source of great pain for him. When faced with the possibility that Xander might be connected to that pain, his instinct is to retreat."
Jean sighed, pacing slowly across the room. "I get that. But Xander's been through so much already. He came here looking for something—hope, maybe—and now he's leaving with nothing."
"Not nothing," Xavier corrected gently. "He leaves with a greater understanding of who he is, even if it's not the clarity he was searching for. He knows now that his past is intertwined with forces beyond his control. That knowledge, though painful, will guide him forward."
Jean paused, her frustration still simmering. "I just wish Logan could see that by pushing Xander away, he's not protecting him. He's only hurting him more."
Xavier's expression softened, his deep empathy for both Xander and Logan evident. "Logan is a man who believes that the best way to protect those he cares about is to keep them at arm's length. He's spent so long doing that, it's difficult for him to see that sometimes people need more than distance. They need connection."
Jean sat down in the chair opposite Xavier's desk, her eyes downcast. "What do we do now? Just let him leave? Let Logan close himself off again?"
Xavier leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady. "Xander is not a prisoner here. He must make his own choices, even if they lead him away from the Institute. But I believe his journey is far from over. There are paths yet to cross, and I trust that in time, he will find the answers he seeks."
Jean nodded, though the weight of the situation still pressed heavily on her. "And Logan? Do you think he'll regret this?"
Xavier's eyes darkened slightly, as if he had already seen the possibilities of what might unfold. "Logan is a man full of regrets. This may become one more. But in his heart, he believes he's doing what's best for Xander. It will take time, and perhaps more pain, for him to realize that pushing people away doesn't lessen the burden—it only makes it heavier."
Jean sighed again, rubbing her temple. "I just hope it doesn't push Xander too far away to come back."
Xavier offered a gentle smile. "In my experience, those who seek the truth eventually find their way home, even if the path is difficult."
Jean gave a small, weary nod. "I hope you're right."
The room fell into a contemplative silence again, both Jean and Xavier lost in their thoughts about the young man who had come seeking answers—and the man who had refused to give them.
---
Logan sat in one of the more secluded areas of the mansion grounds, away from the noise and the people who filled the place with their expectations and hope. He liked the quiet out here—liked the space to think, or more often, to try not to think. The night had settled in, the stars barely visible through the blanket of clouds overhead. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, its ember glowing in the dim light as he took a slow drag.
His mind, however, was far from quiet.
Xander's face flashed through his thoughts—angry, hurt, and determined all at once. Logan had seen that look too many times before. It was the same look he had worn himself so many times when he was younger, searching for something but not even knowing where to start.
The kid had asked him about James Howlett. Logan barely even flinched at the name anymore, but it still stirred something deep inside, something primal and broken. There were pieces of his past he could never fully recover, no matter how hard he tried. And now this kid—this kid who might be a piece of that past—was looking at him for answers he couldn't give.
*Better off without me,* Logan thought again, though the words tasted bitter now.
He let out a low growl of frustration, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot. He didn't want to feel this way—didn't want to think about what Xander's connection to him might be. Because what if the kid really was his son? What if Xander was a living reminder of a life he couldn't remember, a person he had lost somewhere along the way?
Logan shook his head, running a hand through his hair. *No. I'm not gonna drag that kid down with me. Not now, not ever.* He'd made enough mistakes in his life—brought enough pain to the people who got too close. He wasn't about to let Xander get caught up in that mess.
But as much as Logan tried to push it down, tried to bury the emotions that were clawing their way to the surface, he couldn't stop the guilt from creeping in. He had seen the hurt in Xander's eyes, seen the way the kid had hoped for something, anything, that would make him feel like he wasn't alone in the world.
Logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring down at the ground. He had made his choice—pushed the kid away because he believed it was the right thing to do. But now, sitting here in the cold silence, it didn't feel right at all.
*Maybe Jean was right,* he thought bitterly. *Maybe I'm just too scared to deal with it.*
Logan growled again, shaking his head. He didn't like thinking like this—didn't like feeling like he had failed someone who had come to him for help. But what else could he do? If Xander stayed, Logan knew it would only lead to more pain. And pain was something Logan knew all too well.
The wind rustled through the trees, a cold reminder of the world outside this quiet corner of the mansion. Logan stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets, and started to walk back toward the mansion. His boots crunched softly on the gravel as he moved, but his thoughts remained heavy.
Maybe pushing Xander away had been the wrong call. Maybe he should have tried harder to help him find the answers he was looking for. But Logan wasn't the kind of man who dealt in maybes.
He was the kind of man who carried his regrets quietly, and this was just one more to add to the pile.
---
The bus station was quieter than Xander expected for this time of night. The distant hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional shuffle of a passenger echoed through the otherwise empty space. Xander sat on a bench, his duffel bag at his feet, staring out the large glass windows at the darkened street outside. His reflection stared back at him, and for a moment, he wasn't sure he recognized the person looking back.
He had been sitting there for over an hour, waiting for the next bus out of Westchester. Where to? He didn't really know yet. Anywhere that wasn't here. He just needed to be gone. Away from the mansion, away from Logan, away from the past that was trying to drag him under.
But as he sat there, the weight of the last few days pressed heavily on his shoulders. Xander had come to the Institute looking for answers about who he was—about where he came from. He had hoped that maybe, just maybe, he'd find some piece of the puzzle that would make everything click into place. But instead, all he had found were more questions. More dead ends.
He leaned back against the bench, letting out a long breath. The encounter with Logan still replayed in his mind, the cold, dismissive words that had cut deeper than he wanted to admit. *"You're better off without me, kid."* Xander knew rejection. He had faced it before in Sunnydale, from his father, from others who had written him off. But hearing it from Logan—someone who might be his actual father—stung in a way that felt different.
He glanced down at his hands, rubbing his fingers together absently. The itching sensation was still there, a dull irritation under his skin that wouldn't go away. Maybe it was a sign of something more—something changing inside him. Maybe it had been there all along, waiting for the right moment to surface.
*But what now?* Xander thought. *Where do I go from here?*
The sound of a bus pulling into the station snapped him out of his thoughts. The hiss of the brakes, the rumble of the engine—it was the signal he had been waiting for. The doors of the bus opened with a groan, and a few tired-looking passengers began to board.
Xander grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. This was it. Time to go. Time to move forward. But as he stood, his feet hesitated, and he looked back out the window at the darkened street leading back to the Institute. A part of him wondered if leaving was the right call. There was still so much he didn't know—about Logan, about his powers, about the strange connection he felt to this place.
*Maybe Jean was right,* he thought. *Maybe I'm running away again.*
But what else could he do? The mansion didn't feel like a place for him. It was filled with people who were figuring out their lives, their powers, their place in the world. Xander wasn't there yet. Maybe he never would be. But staying felt like pretending, and he wasn't good at pretending anymore.
He took a deep breath and stepped toward the bus, his mind made up. He would leave, just like he always did when things got too complicated. Maybe one day he'd find his way back, when he was ready—when he knew more about who he was and what he wanted. But for now, he had to go.
As he handed his ticket to the driver and stepped onto the bus, Xander felt a strange mix of relief and regret. The bus doors closed behind him with a soft hiss, sealing him in. He found a seat by the window, setting his bag down on the floor as the engine rumbled to life.
The bus pulled away from the station, the lights of Westchester fading into the distance. Xander leaned his head against the window, watching as the trees and streets blurred into a darkened smear outside. His thoughts drifted to the people he had met—the ones who had tried to help him, the ones who had pushed him away. Jean's gentle encouragement, Rogue's laughter, Gambit's playful smirk, even Logan's gruff indifference. They were all part of the strange new world he had found himself in, but for now, they were part of his past.
*Maybe one day,* he thought. *Maybe one day I'll come back.*
But for now, the road ahead was his only certainty.
---
New York was a different beast at night. The city pulsed with energy, a constant hum of life that never quite settled. Xander found himself wandering through the downtown streets, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his eyes scanning for any sign of a decent motel. He'd figure out where he was going next in the morning. Maybe he'd join the teams looking for new Slayers. Or maybe he'd keep flying solo for a while.
For now, though, all he needed was a place to crash.
He turned down a quieter street, the glow of neon signs giving way to dimmer, flickering streetlights. His feet ached, and his mind was a blur of everything that had happened back at the Institute. But before he could sink too deep into his thoughts, something caught his attention.
Movement in the alleyway just ahead.
Xander stopped, narrowing his eyes. There was something off about it—something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His instincts, honed from years of fighting in Sunnydale, kicked in.
*This doesn't feel right.*
He approached cautiously, his footsteps light as he neared the mouth of the alley. The shadows loomed thick and heavy, but his eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. What he saw made his heart skip a beat.
At least a dozen—no, more like twenty—vampires, their yellow eyes glowing eerily in the darkness, encircled two figures who stood back-to-back. The first was a man clad in black leather, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes even in the dim alley light. A massive sword was slung over his back, and in his hands were gleaming silver stakes. The other figure was a woman with striking white hair, wearing a sleek black suit that hugged her athletic frame. Xander could tell she wasn't a mutant, but she moved with the grace of someone who knew how to handle herself in a fight.
*What the hell did I just walk into?* Xander thought, his hand instinctively gripping the strap of his bag. He'd fought plenty of vampires in Sunnydale, but this... this was different. These vamps were organized—hungry, but not reckless.
The stress of the situation tightened his chest. He wasn't prepared for this. No weapons, no backup, and no clue who these two were. But as he took a step forward, something inside him... snapped.
Pain shot through his hands, white-hot and burning. Xander gritted his teeth, gasping as he doubled over, clutching his hands to his chest. He could feel something happening, something shifting beneath his skin, like pressure building to a breaking point. And then, with a sickening *snikt*, it happened.
Three long, onyx-black claws erupted from each of his hands, slick with blood and pulsing with a strange, dark energy.
Xander blinked, staring down at his hands in disbelief. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
The pain ebbed slightly, but the weight of the claws felt alien, as if they had always been there, hidden beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to emerge. He flexed his fingers experimentally, the claws extending and retracting slightly, responding to his thoughts.
The sound hadn't gone unnoticed. All eyes turned toward him—vampires, the man in black, and the woman with white hair.
The vampires hissed, their feral expressions twisting into surprise. The man's sunglasses shifted in Xander's direction, his grip on the stakes tightening.
"Well, guess I've got your attention now," Xander muttered, his voice dry as he stood straighter, claws still extended.
The tension in the alley spiked, and Xander could feel the vampires assessing him, unsure of what to make of the new threat. The man with the sword—Blade—raised an eyebrow, but he didn't seem particularly shocked. The woman—Felicia Hardy, though Xander didn't know her yet—cocked her head, a smirk tugging at her lips.
For a moment, the alley was silent, the only sound the soft, steady hum of the city beyond.
Xander glanced at his claws, then back at the vampires. He took a step forward, tilting his head slightly, a grin spreading across his face despite the chaos. "So, who's first?"