Disclaimers: I don't own X-Men – either the comic series or the movie. Marvel owns the comics, and Twentieth Century Fox owns the movie. So be nice and don't sue, okay?

This is fiction, not fact. Any similarities to anyone living, dead, or somewhere in between are purely coincidental.

A/N: Scott and Jean Grey are cousins in this fic…

X-Trash

by TheMerryVingian

Professor Charles Xavier's Trailer Park for the Gifted…

"All right, which one of you little shits drank the last beer?" Logan growled from the kitchen.

Bobby, Rogue, and Kitty Pride began to tremble apprehensively, for Logan could get quite riled, especially after a drinking binge.

"Speak up, or all y'all are gettin' ass-whoopins from me!" Logan shouted.

Bobby, trembling, raised his hand. "Uhh, I did it, Logan. Last night. I'm sorry, but I was thirsty. I didn't mean to drink your beer."

"My beer?" Logan shot back. "That was you kids' breakfast for this morning. Now there ain't nothing to eat… unless one of you wants to get out there and pick up some of them ketchup packets that people throwed out."

All three got up, sighing. "I'll do it." said Rogue. "Maybe I'll find me some more leftover hair dye. I am running out."

"I'll help." said Bobby. "Let's go, Kitty." Kitty and Bobby followed Rogue out of the door of the trailer. Logan then slumped down onto the couch, one of many pieces of furniture that they had collected from the city dump.

"What the hell's with all the goddamn yelling?" Logan heard from the bedroom. He peeked up. It was Scott, his roommate, wearing his ruby red shades, with boxers and an AC/DC T-shirt, both full of holes, of course.

"Bobby drank the last beer last night," Logan spat. "Now there ain't nothin' to drink around here, or to eat. I sent the kids out for ketchup packets, but that'll take time."

"So go buy some more stuff, then," suggested Scott.

"Why the hell should I use my money to buy you guys shit?"

"Cause you owe me for all them times I bought shit for you."

"Yeah, well… I ain't got no money right now."

"Well, maybe if you'd go out and get a job, you wouldn't have to come borrow money from me. Though I have a feeling you would anyway – it's what you do."

"Hey, get outta my living room if you're gonna talk shit about me." Logan snarled.

"Uhh, this is my living room, and my trailer. And lest you forget, I let you move in here on condition that you share with the rent," replied Scott, "And I still ain't seen dime one from you."

"Yeah, well… I sent off my resume for that one job. I just ain't heard back from 'em."

"You mean the beer-tasting job you applied for on that last roll of toilet paper. Real smooth." Scott retorted sarcastically. "I guess you're as good as hired there."

"What's going on out there?" a female voice said from the bedroom.

"Nothing, honey. Go on back to sleep," Scott answered. But instead, a woman dressed oh-so-finely in one of Scott's other hard rock T-shirts and hair-curlers came out. It was Jean Grey.

"Hey there, cuz. Did you sleep good last night?" Scott inquired.

"Mmm-hmmm," replied Jean.

Scott looked over her, smiling. Jean smiled back. "I swear, cousin, you look finer 'n finer every day," said Scott.

"Thanks, Scott."

"AHEM!" Logan piped up, waking Scott from his love-trance. "We're still outta beer."

"So go ask Charles." Jean answered. "Maybe he'll loan you some money."

"Yeah, well… I kinda still owe him from when I bet him that I could drink 'im under the table."

"Serves ya right," Scott chimed in. "You should know better than to try to out drink the Prof."

"Well, Logan," Jean spoke up, "it's either ask Charles for money, or be S.O.L."

Logan sighed. "All right." And with that, he began the long walk to Charles' trailer, hoping he would be generous enough, or drunk enough, to give Logan beer money.

Well, this isn't much, but if it's well enough received, I'll write more. Please R&R!