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Logan remembered drowning. Well. No, drowning wasn't the right word for it - his lungs were screaming for air, but he didn't need it, not the way that most people did. He could live without air, but he would be in agony. And everything faded to black, merciful blackness.
When he opened his eyes again, everything was gold. His favourite song was playing - on a radio far too modern to be found in the sixties.
He took a moment to lay in his bed, breathing in the scent of his sheets. It felt like he was home. But he wasn't alone - other scents lingered there, and he felt his heart stutter slightly as he recognised them. He wasn't alone. They weren't... they weren't dead.
He took a moment to mourn for the man he must have been a few minutes prior - the man that they loved, the man he had been before he woke. A man who had built a life with them. A man who was gone now, lost in darkness, another memory concealed from him. Another part of his life that was lost, forever. And then he got up.
The school was buzzing with life. Iceman and Rogue were talking, holding hands. Hank McCoy was strolling down the corridor with a broad smile on his face, and Storm was getting children to lessons, one arm thrown around a nearby child. There were so many mutant children.
Before, back in the future he'd prevented, mutant children had been a rarity. Some of the mutations he could see here would have got them killed at birth or manifestation. But they were smiling.
Logan itched a little. He'd never been good with comfort, never suited luxury. It reminded him too much of being a sick little boy, before he'd found himself running. He'd lost a lot that night, but he didn't... being in a house like this didn't settle right in his stomach.
None of it felt right.
And then he saw her. Jean. The woman he loved more than anything, leaning against a door, a soft smile on her face. Beautiful. And if she was beautiful, that was nothing compared to the feel of Scott's hand on his wrist, the chance to gaze into those glasses and know that he was real.
They smelled of him. Same as he smelled of them. And he wanted to tell, but the way Jean looked at him - he thought she might already know. Regardless, he had to talk to the Professor. And there he was, sat at his desk, alive, looking calm.
"Logan, don't you have a class to teach?"
"A class to teach?"
"Yeah, history."
"History, huh?" Logan went to say more, but then the professor nodded. And then he smiled.
"We've been waiting for you. I think perhaps if you aren't feeling well though, you should go back to your room. I'll see if Doctor Grey or Mister Summers are free, I'm sure they'll be happy to take care of you."
"Thank you." Logan answered, walking out and then pausing, unsure if he should go to his own room, or the one that Jean and Scott shared.
Go to their room, Xavier instructed. And watch your back. We've been waiting for you.
Logan wasn't sure if that was meant to sound like a threat, but it definitely did. Regardless, he did as was asked, heading back along those corridors. The children had mostly been herded into their classrooms now, sat in rows, answering questions. A few were messing around at the back of the class. Children. Like they were meant to be.
But something about where they were felt wrong. He assumed it was the unease of being forced back into his body.
He checked his claws. Metal. Deadly, and he was armed. That reassured him more than he would have expected, all things considered. He was a warrior, not a teacher. If he had to make himself go through the motions... he could do that. He had to hope that in time he would settle, would work out where he belonged.
He knocked on the door, and getting no answer he went into the room. It was a large bed - large enough for three adults, judging by the layout of the pillows. He wanted to lean in, sniff them, see how they fitted together, but he held himself back. It wasn't his bed, not really. He didn't belong here.
Don't be so overdramatic, Jean said in his mind and he could have cried, because it had been so long since he'd heard her. This is your home.
I killed you. Logan reminded her, because he knew that was the truth. He'd killed her. He'd destroyed what they had, and he didn't deserve-
You deserve us. We want you, Logan. And it's not just us. She walked into the room, smiling at him, and again it struck him - there was a pain, behind that smile. One she wasn't trying to hide.
She sat down beside him, and rested her head against his shoulder, one hand stroking up and down his arm, without even thought. "I'm here. You're not alone."
"Thank you. I just... didn't feel well." He heard himself say, and then she was lying him back, curling up against him, and he threw an arm over her - protective, rather than possessive. She looked up at him, and there was fire blazing in her eyes.
We were prepared for this. She told him softly, even as she kissed him without hesitation or fear. The other you, I mean. He wrote you notes, put what he wanted down in records. But we've been waiting for you. He gave me your memories, if you want them.
I do. Logan answered, seeing the reluctance there. He took a deep breath. I want all of them.
You might not like what you see... She answered, and he caught glimpses he remembered, moments from his youth, from the wars, and up until... until it became a stranger's life not his own. The torture of experiments. The School. The failures and successes. The drift was hard to spot at first. But he could see things that weren't there. Things that weren't right. The sight of collars instead of the queue for the cure. Text books analysing mutant genetics. Mutant criminals. But no sentinels. None of those hulking metallic beasts.
When the camps came, they weren't for extermination. They were for observation. Mutants had lost their danger, in a way. Their abilities were weakened by chemicals laced into the water supply - the adults knew, but had no choice. The children simply thought their mutations were naturally like that.
Experimentation centres, but 'humane', observers behind glass panels watching children being children. Mutants a curiosity not a threat. Jean's own telepathy numbed to the point she had to have contact with someone to speak rather than just observe.
And then she showed him a view of outside their room, the monitoring centre where a cluster of humans were watching a video feed of them.
He was careful to stay calm, to hold her close.
What do we do now?
We've been waiting for you, all of us. She told him softly. The other you... that's why he made all the notes. We're ready. We'll stand with you.
And you and Scott?
The two of us will be right beside you. She reassured, kissing him gently. It's been our plan for a long time. You're ours, and we aren't leaving you. But you can help, can't you?
If Logan had been a stronger man, he might have felt horror or sickness at the situation she was exposing, but he wasn't. He was a fighter. And he didn't know how to react to the fact the loves of his life were welcoming him into his bed, or to the fact he was apparently a teacher now. But he knew how to react to threats, knew how to fight, and how to win.
He'd seen the darkness the future could hold. And he refused to let it take what he had gained away from him.
"Yeah, gorgeous, I can." He kissed her, and smiled as Scott opened the door, walking over and kissing him as well, one hand resting on Jean's arm to allow a psychic link to form between them. Scott smiled shyly, a careful kisser, before he cuddled down on Logan's other side, leaving him between the two of them, somewhere secure. They pretended to sleep, and whispered in each other's minds.
The people who threatened their students would have no idea of what was coming. This time it would be different. This time, Logan wouldn't face it alone.