Chapter Text
Throughout Logan’s 200 or so years of existence, a lot of crazy shit has happened. I mean, you don’t go that long and expect not to have a few insane tales to tell. But here, in the abandoned underground, trapped in a universe that was not his, was definitely the icing on the fucking cake.
When Logan woke, he had to catch himself on a misshapen railing before he plummeted to the ground below. His legs hung from the metal platform and he sat up, ears ringing, vision hazy. Sparks flew from severed wires and settled in a puddle of water below that was slowly growing thanks to a busted pipe that was gushing like a waterfall somewhere above. The sight of ruins was familiar, that’s for sure, which, when you think about it, explains quite a lot about Logan’s past.
There really was no one word to describe what Logan was feeling. It was a mixture of confusion, relief, pride, fury, tranquility, joy—Logan didn’t care enough for emotions to identify which was more prominent.
He stood up. Looked around some more. To his sides were gargantuan pillars of dim orange and blue, the matter and antimatter beacons that him and Wade had circuited to destroy the Time Ripper and save the mercenary’s universe.
…
Wait.
Shit, where was Wade?
He tried calling for him, the only response he received being the echo of his own voice against the walls. He looked around his feet as if Wade might have suddenly appeared since he stood up. He got down low, into a crouch, grabbing the metal platform in a vice grip and hanging from it like an ape. He tried calling for Wade again, still to no avail. He looked down, eyes scanning for the red and black suit. Shit, it was a ways down. Not that it would matter, you know, with the regenerative healing and all. Suck it up, Logan, you can deal with some broken bones for a minute. He took a steadying breath and released the platform, plummeting at least forty feet before he hit the ground and stuck, as Wade would call it, a ‘superhero landing’. And fuck, he was right, that shit’s bad for your knees.
Logan growled and tried to ignore the crushing pain that shot up his legs, punching his very incorrectly bent ankles back into place and forcing himself to stand up through gritted teeth. The pain subsided after a few moments. He uselessly called for Wade again, this time with a tinge of desperation choking the sound. He walked and walked, kicking over pipes and beams and chunks of rubble until he found a red and black gloved hand sticking out from under a fallen slab of concrete.
He rushed towards it, pulling the hefty concrete from Wade’s body with a grunt of effort and pushing it aside. He sunk to his knees beside him. It was quite a gory sight: a metal bar had impaled Wade’s arm, pinning it to the ground, another had his neck trapped, and one of his katanas had somehow managed to unsheathe and embed itself through its owners chest. Again, though, nothing Logan hadn’t already been acclimatised to.
He removed the foreign objects from Wade quickly, yet with care, as if the unconscious man would give a shit in his current state. Hell, he’d probably ask Logan to stab him.
Logan kneeled beside Wade with held breath for a few moments, waiting for him to wake up. He tapped his forehead. Shook him gently by the shoulder.
“Wade.”
No answer.
Panic started to rise like broken glass in Logan’s chest, sharp and painful. He shook Wade a little harder. Called his name a little louder.
He should wake up.
Why wasn’t he waking up?
Had the matter and antimatter somehow messed with his healing factor?
Logan gripped Wade tighter, shaking him with increasing urgency.
“Wade,” he repeated, this time with a low growl edging his voice. There was still no response.
“Come on, don’t do this,” Logan muttered under his breath, a deep sense of unease beginning to claw at him. He could see the subtle rise and fall of Wade’s chest—he was breathing, at least.
Logan ghosted a hand over his face, his fingers shakily following the sweat and grime across his forehead. His eyes darted around the ruins, searching for any signs of danger, any reason why Wade might not be healing. But all he could see were the remnants of their fight against Cassandra and the quiet aftermath.
His gaze fell back to Wade, who remained infuriatingly still.
“Alright, asshole, you’re leaving me no choice.” Logan’s voice was rough, but there was an undercurrent of desperation he couldn’t quite mask. With one swift motion, he balled his fist, claws drawing with a snikt , and slammed them into Wade’s chest, right over where the katana had impaled him. The force of the impact sent a jolt through Wade’s body, and Logan heard the faintest gasp escape his lips as he removed his claws.
“There you go,” Logan encouraged, even as his heart hammered in his chest. Wade’s injuries started to heal, and Logan sighed with relief. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a rough whisper.
“Get up, Wade. You don’t get to tap out on me now.”
Wade’s eyes fluttered open, but something wasn’t right. They didn’t have that familiar, chaotic spark that Logan had come to love and hate. No, instead, they were wide, unfocused, and confused, like he was seeing the world for the first time.
“Wade?” Logan said, a knot of dread forming in his stomach.
Wade blinked a few times, his gaze wandering aimlessly before finally settling on Logan. But the recognition never came. Instead, he stared at Logan as though he were a stranger, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“Who… who the hell are you?” Wade rasped, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar.
Logan’s blood ran cold. He’d been prepared for a lot of things—Wade cracking a joke, or maybe even complaining about how only Logan’s shirt had been torn apart in the explosion—but this? This was the one thing he hadn’t expected.
Logan clenched his jaw, fighting the rising panic as he stared into Wade’s eyes, searching for any sign that this was just another one of his fucked up games. But the fear and confusion in Wade’s expression were all too real.
“Wade… it’s me. Logan,” he explained slowly, as if saying it gently might break through whatever barrier had formed in Wade’s mind. He removed his cowl and placed it gently on the ground beside him.
Wade just stared at him, his brow furrowing deeper as he shook his head. “Logan?” he repeated, the name foreign on his tongue. “I don’t… I don’t know you.”
And with those words, Logan felt the ground shift beneath him in a way that all the explosions and battles they’d been through together never could. The air in his lungs suddenly felt tight.
“Shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “This is bad.”
“Where the fuck am I? And what in the shit am I wearing?” Wade panicked, his confusion turning to fear. He ripped his mask from his face and looked at his hands, turning them frantically as if they had been stubs his whole life. He suddenly backed away from Logan, scrambling to his feet and putting distance between the two of them.
“Wade—“
“Stop saying that name!”
“It’s your name!”
Wade looked at himself, eyes settling on one of his pistols sat in its holster. He grabbed it, fumbling to turn the safety off, and held it out in front of him with both hands, shakily aiming it at Logan. The man slowly raised his hands.
“That won’t—“
“I’ll fucking shoot you,” Wade threatened. Logan took a cautious step forward.
“Please, try to remember something,” he said, voice low and soft. “I’ve only known you for a few days, but—“
Wade pulled the trigger, landing a bullet deep into Logan’s chest. He grunted, scrunching his face slightly, but didn’t break eye contact. He took another step.
“You tried to sacrifice yourself for me. You locked the door and—“
Wade shot him again.
“I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about!”
“Just listen to me!”
Wade shot him twice this time. The bullets tore into Logan’s chest, staggering him back a step, but he kept moving forward, his healing factor already knitting the wounds shut. He grimaced through the pain, locking eyes with Wade, who was trembling, the gun still aimed at him.
“Damn it, Wade, just stop!” Logan growled, his voice rough but still trying to maintain some semblance of calm. But Wade’s panic was a wildfire, uncontrollable and spreading fast. He fired again, and again, each shot landing squarely in Logan’s chest, but Logan didn’t falter.
“What the fuck are you?!” Wade screamed, his voice cracking, eyes wide with terror.
Logan closed the distance between them in a few quick strides. Wade tried to back up further, but his foot caught on a piece of debris, sending him sprawling to the ground. The pistol skittered out of his grasp and clattered across the floor. He scrambled to get up, his breath coming in rapid, ragged gasps, but Logan was faster, grabbing his wrist in a firm but careful grip.
“Wade,” Logan said, his voice steady despite the burning pain in his chest. “You know me. I know you don’t remember right now, but you know me.” He kept his gaze locked on Wade’s, hoping to see even a flicker of recognition.
Wade struggled in Logan’s grip, his free hand coming up to claw at Logan’s arm.
“Let me go, you freak!” he snarled, but his voice was wavering, a mix of anger and desperation.
Logan tightened his grip just enough to keep Wade from slipping free but not enough to hurt him.
“Stop it. Wade, just fucking trust me—”
“I don’t even know you!” Wade shouted, yanking harder against Logan’s hold. His eyes darted around, searching for an escape, but he was trapped under Logan’s weight. Whether or not there was actually a way out didn’t matter.
“Yes, you do!” Logan snapped. He composed himself when Wade flinched.
“You were willing to kill yourself to let me live. That’s how much you trust me.”
Wade stopped struggling for a moment, staring at Logan with wide, mistrustful eyes.
“You’re lying,” he whispered, shaking his head slowly. “This is some sick joke, right? I’m on some fucked up reality show or—”
“It’s not a joke, Wade,” Logan interrupted, his voice firm. “I fucking wish it was.”
Wade’s breath hitched, and for a second, something flickered in his eyes—something that might have been recognition, or maybe just the first signs of cracking through the fear. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. He looked down at his suit again, touching the material with a mix of disgust and embarrassment. “What the fuck am I wearing?” he muttered to himself.
“Okay…” Logan started, taking a breath. “I’m gonna let you go, so just… chill out a bit.” Logan released Wade’s wrist and stood over him, offering him the same hand to help him up. Wade stared at it like it was an unwarranted dick pic, and got to his feet by himself, turning away from Logan, who sighed disappointedly in response.
“We need to find a way the fuck out of here,” he announced, placing his hands on his hips and looking around. He started to walk in one direction, stopping and turning when he didn’t hear a second pair of footsteps.
“You coming or not?”
Wade blinked.
“Unless you’d rather stay here without any God damn memories.”
Wade reluctantly walked with him.