Logan wondered sometimes, if anyone knew, really, what they were doing as they sent so many men to war. Young men, Men with families, men with potential wasted on the battle field. He'd seen all of them, met all of them, and watched them die. One after another. Cruelly, unfairly, by guns or shells, alone in the isolated in the prison camps—either way, they were gone. And he was left. Unable to die like them.
Some may call it a blessing that he was able to return home…with just the scars and haunting memories to show—if that.
But Logan knew it was a curse.
It was a curse to watch a young man bleed to death in front of him unjustly. There was something about it that he couldn't explain. How wrong it was that those men died—and he was unable to. He *needed* to share in their suffering—and pain wise he did. But the pain was quickly gone as those men breathed their last breath.
Why did it have to be them? Men who had people who loved them back at home…who were waiting for their return. Why couldn't it be Logan himself? Him…who had no one…
Jean Grey slowly opened her eyes, wondering what it was exactly that had woken her up at such an ungodly hour.
Lightning flashed suddenly, followed by the loud complaining of thunder and the heavy pounding of rain on the cottage roof.
She rolled over to press close to Logan and hopefully drown out the noise. Only to find he wasn't there. The bed was only faintly warm.
"Logan?" she sat up suddenly.
The crackle of thunder replied.
Her bare feet hit the floor and Jean grabbed her dressing gown hanging on the rocking chair, padding down the short hallway. Surely he wouldn't have gone into the woods in a storm like this...
No.
Jean could sense he hadn't. But raw terror was flooding off Logan like a drowning, suffocating tidal wave and Jean had to steady herself for a moment as she rounded the corner and stopped dead for a second.
The lounge was a mess. There was shattered glass, and the couch and arm chairs were slashed open. The rug was torn.
And sitting, curled up in the corner was Logan. His hands cradled his head as he rocked back and forth. Jean could see blood stains on his knuckles.
"Logan?" she murmured quietly, softly entering the room and stepping over the shards of glass. "Logan, can you hear me?"
Every time the thunder rolled by he flinched, seemingly trying to curl into himself like a turtle.
When Jean reached his side she could see he was shaking, covered in a cold sweat. His eyes looked like those of a frightened animal. Careful not to touch him too abruptly and startle him, Jean set a hand softly on his knee, rubbing her thumb in circles on his skin. "Shh…Logan. It's alright. It's just a storm, soldier. Go back to sleep, the war is over. Your duty is complete."
Logan's chest was heaving as he tried to collect himself. He wasn't in the trenches; he was in his living room. Despite him having nightmares almost every time he slept during a storm, he still always woke up not remembering where he was or what was going on.
Logan flinched slightly when she placed a hand on his knee, though it was gentle and not the hard shove of a fellow soldier in the trenches. His breathing was slowly beginning to return to a normal pace and depth. Jean was there, her voice gentle and patient with him as she rubbed slow circles over his knee.
She knew he was confused, hardly remembering half of the things yet the memories—the nightmares were so vivid.
"There's men, Jeanie." Logan whispered roughly, glancing up at her. "Dead men…and blood…"
"Hush now." Jean soothed quietly gently wrapped him in her arms, forcing his head against her chest.
"But it should be me." Logan's voice was stronger now, bitter, almost angry. "Why can't it be me?!"
Anyone else would have flinched. But not Jean. She ran her fingers through his hair softly. "Someone had to avenge them, Logan…someone had to be left."
He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head, as if trying to shake away the memories. And Jean gently began rocking him back and forth, stroking her hands over his hair in a soothing motion. She could still feel him shaking, like the aftershock of an earthquake. As she rocked him back and forth, Jean closed her eyes, continuing to stroke her hand over his hair, and searched his mind for something…
Then she found it. An old song, a familiar song. And softly she began to sing. And slowly Logan relaxed, as the storm died away.
I've been fighting the same old war,
Against a disease, without a cure
Been holding on for so long
For so long
For so long
I've been wishing upon a star, if my universe falls apart
I feel so far from the sky, as my dreams, are going by
And They say, it's a battle that can't be won
We need our knives, we need our guns
Should I run away, and change my name?
Or Should I, stay and fight through the night, and never close my eyes?
I'll never close my eyes!
I've come too far, to go back now, turn into a face in the crowd!
Been on this road, for so long
For so long
For so long
Convinced there is no way out, my world is turned upside down!
My sense of direction's been gone, for so long
For so long
And They say, it's a battle that can't be won
We need our knives, we need our guns
Should I run away, and change my name?
Or Should I, stay and fight through the night, and never close my eyes?
I'll never close my eyes!
Stay strong, keep moving, can't let the darkness blind us
Carry on, we'll be the ones to pull the stars down to us
Stay strong, keep moving, can't let the darkness blind us
Carry on, we'll be the ones to pull the stars down to us
Should I run away, and change my name?
Or Should I, stay and fight through the night
And never close my eyes?
I'll never close my eyes!