Marvel: Reader Inserts

The Library ~ Part 9 ~ Logan Howlett

The gates of the school opened slowly in the pale light of dawn. The SUV rumbled up the long drive, tires crunching softly over gravel wet with dew. Logan gripped the steering wheel tight than necessary, jaw clenched. You sat beside him, head resting against the cool windowpane, your eyes half-closed. He glanced at you. You were too tired to even pretend you were okay. The bleeding stopped hours ago. The worst of the fog had passed. But something inside you hadn't quite returned. There was a quietness in your body now— not peace, but resignation. Fragile acceptance. Logan parked near the front steps.

Your eyes opened slowly. "Are we there?" you murmured.

"Yeah," he answered, voice rough. You tried to open your door but he quickly stopped you. "No, baby. Let me."

You didn't argue. You were too tired. He rounded the car, opened your door, and helped you out. His arm slipped around your waist— protective, grounding— and you leaned into him fully. The front doors opened before you reached the steps. Jean, Ororo, Scott, Hank, and Charles— all waiting.

Jean stepped forward, eyes soft. "We've got your rooms ready."

"We also have your apartment ready," Ororo added.

"I'll stay with her," Logan said without hesitation.

"Of course," Charles nodded.

"First," Hank stepped up, "we need to run some scans."

Logan nodded. You don't speak. You just let Logan guide you up the steps, one arm beneath your knees when your body began to shake again. Inside the mansion, everything was too bright. Voices were hushed, footsteps silent. You kept your eyes down as Logan carried you, cheek pressed against his shoulder.

The others followed but gave space. Jean walked ahead to open the doors, Hank adjusted the scanner as they approached the infirmary, and Ororo kept her hand gently on your back when Logan finally lowered you onto the exam bed. You quickly grabbed his hand.

"I'll be quick," Hank promised gently.

Logan sat beside you on the edge of the bed, your hand cradled between his. He watched every moment Hank made, eyes tracking each machine, each wire, each flicker of light. You didn't look at the machines. You focused on Logan.

"I don't want to do this again," you whispered.

He squeezed your hand. "I know."

"I don't feel like myself."

"You're still you."

"You don't know that."

Logan leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently to yours. "I do. I know you better than anyone."

Jean's hand brushed your shoulder. "We'll figure this out."

You nodded faintly, too worn to speak again. The machines hummed to life. You barely flicked when they touched you. Hours passed. When it was finally over, Hank handed Charles the data with a grim look. They said nothing in front of you. Just quiet glances, a few exchanged words in minds instead of mouths.

Logan caught it. "Tell us."

Charles hesitated. "She needs rest first."

"I'm not leaving her in the dark."

Hank sighed. "We need more time to interpret what we're seeing. It's... complicated."

"You're tellin' me that after all this, you still don't know what they did to her?"

"No. We know what they did. But we don't know how to undo it. Not yet."

"You've had almost three years and—"