Chapter Text
The battlefield was a graveyard of fire and steel.
Smoke curled through the air, thick and acrid, the scent of burning metal choking the ruined city streets. The pavement was cracked and uneven, littered with debris, bodies—some still moving, some not. The fight had spread in every direction, X-Men scattered in the chaos, each engaged in their own desperate struggle against the Sentinels that loomed like titanic executioners above them.
But Logan had no time to think about them.
The Sentinel in front of him was still standing.
He could hear the whine of its servos as it recalibrated, its remaining arm twitching, recalculating, preparing its next move. Its single glowing eye locked onto him, unfeeling, mechanical—evaluating the best way to kill him.
Logan wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing away the blood that wasn’t supposed to be there. His healing factor was working, but too slow for his liking. The deep slashes across his torso throbbed as muscle and skin struggled to knit back together, the wounds sluggish from the energy blasts that had torn through him earlier.
He was running out of time.
“Gotta end this,” he muttered under his breath, rolling his shoulders despite the sharp pull of pain. His claws unsheathed with a sharp snikt, gleaming silver in the flickering fires around them.
Then the Sentinel’s chest began to glow.
Logan’s heart stuttered in his chest as he recognized the telltale hum of an energy cannon powering up.
He had seconds.
He braced himself, digging his boots into the ground, preparing to dodge—
And then the world exploded into sulfur and indigo smoke.
A sudden bamf! filled the air, and before Logan could react, something collided into him, hard.
His feet left the ground. The force sent him hurtling backward, the world blurring into fire and rubble before he landed hard against the broken pavement.
For a brief, stunned moment, he lay there, coughing against the thick smoke curling around him, his head spinning from the impact. His arms braced against the ground, pushing himself up—
And then he saw it.
A few yards away, sprawled in the rubble where Logan had stood only seconds before, was Kurt.
The sight of him knocked the breath from Logan’s lungs faster than any punch ever could.
Kurt lay crumpled, his body twisted in a way that was all wrong. One of his arms was pinned awkwardly beneath him, his legs sprawled at an unnatural angle. His dark blue skin, normally so full of life, was now marred with deep, searing burns across his side where the Sentinel’s blast had struck. Blood—too much blood—was seeping into the cracked pavement beneath him, staining the ground in thick, black pools.
He wasn’t moving.
For a long, terrible second, Logan forgot how to breathe.
No.
He forced his legs to move, pushing himself up with a ragged snarl, muscles screaming in protest. His boots scraped against the rubble as he staggered forward, reaching out—
A shadow fell over him.
The Sentinel.
It was still standing.
Logan barely had time to react before the massive metal foot came crashing down between him and Kurt, cutting off his path. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, knocking Logan back onto one knee.
He barely felt it. His pulse was roaring in his ears, his vision tunneling as he stared past the Sentinel’s towering frame to where Kurt lay, unmoving, fragile.
His stomach clenched, nausea curling in his throat.
Kurt was strong—hell, the Elf could take a beating like the best of them—but this? The damage was bad. Logan could smell it, the sickly scent of burnt flesh and blood filling his nose. He knew a killing wound when he saw one.
He can’t be dead.
The thought lodged itself deep into Logan’s chest, sharp and unbearable. It was the kind of thought he refused to let himself think.
A guttural growl tore from his throat, low and dangerous. His hands clenched into fists, claws still dripping with Sentinel oil.
I gotta get to him.
But the Sentinel wasn’t finished.
Its remaining arm whirred, recalibrating, and the chest cannon began to glow once more, charging for another shot. This time, Logan wasn’t the target.
It’s aiming for Kurt.
Something in Logan snapped.
A roar tore from his throat, raw and animalistic.
His body moved before his mind could catch up—pushing past the pain, past the exhaustion, past everything that screamed at him that he couldn’t make it in time.
He had to.
The Sentinel’s cannon flared—
Logan leapt—
Metal and flesh collided in an explosion of sparks and blood.
Pain seared through his shoulder as he drove his claws deep into the machine’s exposed circuitry, slicing through wires and steel like wet paper. The Sentinel jerked, its arm spasming wildly, its cannon firing off-course, the blast barely missing Kurt’s body as it crashed into a nearby building instead.
Logan didn’t stop.
He snarled, shoving his claws deeper, ripping and tearing, a violent, brutal rage consuming him. The Sentinel screeched, the sound grating and mechanical, but Logan didn’t care. It had hurt his—
He didn’t finish that thought.
With one final, savage twist of his claws, the Sentinel shuddered—and collapsed.
The ground shook as it hit the pavement, metal groaning under its own weight.
Silence.
Logan didn’t wait to watch it die. He was already moving.
His knees hit the pavement as he skidded to Kurt’s side, his hands reaching out—but hesitating, hovering inches above him.
Up close, it was worse.
Kurt’s breathing was shallow, his chest barely rising, barely clinging to consciousness. His face was slack, lips parted slightly as though he were caught between sleep and something far worse. Blood matted his dark curls, staining them an even deeper black.
Logan swallowed hard.
“Elf,” he rasped. His own voice sounded strange, too raw, too tight. “C’mon, buddy. Wake up.”
Nothing.
A lump formed in Logan’s throat.
His hands curled into fists, trembling.
He couldn’t do this.
He couldn’t watch another friend—another one of his—slip away.
Not again.
Not Kurt.
Behind him, the sounds of battle raged on. He knew he had to move, had to get them both the hell out of here before more Sentinels showed up.
But he couldn’t leave. Not without—
A weak, shuddering breath.
Logan’s entire body went still.
Slowly, Kurt’s eyelids fluttered, a faint, pained noise escaping his lips. His head lolled slightly, his golden eyes barely opening, dazed and unfocused.
“L-Logan…?”
Logan let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“Yeah, buddy. I’m here.” His voice was hoarse, almost too low to hear.
Kurt’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile forming before his eyes slid shut again.
Logan clenched his jaw.
Carefully—so damn carefully—he slipped his arms beneath Kurt’s limp body, ignoring the pain lancing through his own wounds.
Then, with a quiet grunt, he stood.
And he ran.
The battle would have to wait.
Because right now, nothing mattered except getting Kurt out alive