I never saw any kids. Wes interjects with such insistent force it must seem like he's been accused of something. It still hurts him more than anything else. He can accept every one of Logan's accusations -- admit that he deserves them even -- save the implication that he might injure a child. He isn't certain whether the older man still believes it of him or not, but his expression implores Kurt for his understanding. Maybe now, before he admits to anything else, he'll be granted that at least. Perhaps in the midst of everything else his partner will believe that some things are beyond even Wes. That no matter how terrible of a person he may be, he would never do that.
He wants to close his eyes to avoid the worst of it, but even blinking threatens momentary flashes of the image of their mutual partner lying in the grit and the filth of Deerington, bleeding from that belly wound. He can't sleep without dreaming of it, and even now the scent is still stuck up his nostrils. When Wes thinks about it, he catches a putrid whiff of that terrible place and the thing he did to an unsuspecting Logan.
No, not unsuspecting. Trusting. Logan had laid down willingly when he'd convinced the man that he was Lucy.
Wes's breath trembles again. The big man sounds close to tears as he puts his eyes anywhere but on the steadfast expression that Kurt wears. I hurt him. I cut him open to take that thing out of him. But I didn't do it to save him. I did it because I knew it would give my body what it needed. I knew it would boost the power, and I felt like I was dying without it. I cut him open and I took it out, and when I realized what I'd done I ran.
The strength of Wes' disavowal, the aftershock of emotion that plays across his features, is enough that Kurt starts to raise his hands to offer something comforting, a reassurance that he wasn't trying to accuse him of hurting any child and that he remembers, like it was yesterday, those nights in September after Wes' doppelganger had tried to convince the entire town otherwise.
But Wes isn't done. As he lets out that shaking breath, a memory that doesn't belong to him surfaces in the back of Kurt's mind. A dirty floor, a familiar figure stretched out across it, dark splatters of gore and wet tearing sounds. The images aren't new to him -- they've been featuring in his own dreams, threaded through the stuttering recalls of Logan's own nightmares. He'd assumed, until now, that they were more of those dark memories courtesy of Weapon X. He hadn't realised whose eyes he had been looking through, or at whose body.
No, he signs, automatically, as his tail sets down his drink on the bar and he takes a step closer to gather Wes' fingers briefly between his own, then touches his chin, encouraging his gaze back up.
And he doesn't know what you did, he guesses, though it's scarcely a guess given the conflicting accounts.
No? What do you mean no? Wes snaps. He doesn't expect Kurt's generosity, nor the tenderness of the hand reaching out for him. The tall man takes a step back warily, eyes shining with misplaced desperation. He's halfway through formulating a firm insistence when he catches himself in the realization, and his shoulders slump. Kurt's not trying to put more space between them. The man isn't finding an excuse to make a clean break. And Wes can't properly comprehend how he can stand there so gently, still seeking connection, still trying to understand.
It's more kindness than he knows what to do with, and he feels the lump forming in his throat around his shame and his hopelessness. Wes tries to swallow, but makes a strangled sound instead as he tries to find his breath again amid so much pressure in his chest. He knows, he insists, though even that feels like much too little too late. I told him as he was leaving. I wanted to explain that the nightmares are my fault. He called me Wrench, said he doesn't know me. It still stings to admit, and he imagines that Logan knows that better than anything. That the man's firm dismissal and insistence that he is someone beyond recognition is the sharpest knife.
"Liebchen," Kurt sighs, the translation given through his hands simpler but no less heartfelt. That Wes is trying to back away isn't lost on him. He doesn't bother going around to the end of the bar, just hops up and onto it in a single smooth motion, sitting himself down on the edge so he can resume talking almost immediately.
Logan is sensitive about being lied to like that, he offers, almost hesitant in offering up another man's secrets, but wanting to explain and perhaps take some of the sting out of those recent wounds. Though you didn't mean it like that, that will be how he sees it. He has been used many times. Had his mind broken and turned into a weapon many times. When he thinks it's happened again.. it's hard for him to react rationally.
He lets out a breath, searching Wes' face, his hands open and reaching when he's not signing. Sweetheart, he says again, I love you. He loves you. Give him time. You both need time to heal this trauma.
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no subject
He wants to close his eyes to avoid the worst of it, but even blinking threatens momentary flashes of the image of their mutual partner lying in the grit and the filth of Deerington, bleeding from that belly wound. He can't sleep without dreaming of it, and even now the scent is still stuck up his nostrils. When Wes thinks about it, he catches a putrid whiff of that terrible place and the thing he did to an unsuspecting Logan.
No, not unsuspecting. Trusting. Logan had laid down willingly when he'd convinced the man that he was Lucy.
Wes's breath trembles again. The big man sounds close to tears as he puts his eyes anywhere but on the steadfast expression that Kurt wears. I hurt him. I cut him open to take that thing out of him. But I didn't do it to save him. I did it because I knew it would give my body what it needed. I knew it would boost the power, and I felt like I was dying without it. I cut him open and I took it out, and when I realized what I'd done I ran.
no subject
But Wes isn't done. As he lets out that shaking breath, a memory that doesn't belong to him surfaces in the back of Kurt's mind. A dirty floor, a familiar figure stretched out across it, dark splatters of gore and wet tearing sounds. The images aren't new to him -- they've been featuring in his own dreams, threaded through the stuttering recalls of Logan's own nightmares. He'd assumed, until now, that they were more of those dark memories courtesy of Weapon X. He hadn't realised whose eyes he had been looking through, or at whose body.
No, he signs, automatically, as his tail sets down his drink on the bar and he takes a step closer to gather Wes' fingers briefly between his own, then touches his chin, encouraging his gaze back up.
And he doesn't know what you did, he guesses, though it's scarcely a guess given the conflicting accounts.
no subject
It's more kindness than he knows what to do with, and he feels the lump forming in his throat around his shame and his hopelessness. Wes tries to swallow, but makes a strangled sound instead as he tries to find his breath again amid so much pressure in his chest. He knows, he insists, though even that feels like much too little too late. I told him as he was leaving. I wanted to explain that the nightmares are my fault. He called me Wrench, said he doesn't know me. It still stings to admit, and he imagines that Logan knows that better than anything. That the man's firm dismissal and insistence that he is someone beyond recognition is the sharpest knife.
no subject
Logan is sensitive about being lied to like that, he offers, almost hesitant in offering up another man's secrets, but wanting to explain and perhaps take some of the sting out of those recent wounds. Though you didn't mean it like that, that will be how he sees it. He has been used many times. Had his mind broken and turned into a weapon many times. When he thinks it's happened again.. it's hard for him to react rationally.
He lets out a breath, searching Wes' face, his hands open and reaching when he's not signing. Sweetheart, he says again, I love you. He loves you. Give him time. You both need time to heal this trauma.