Chapter Text
Logan was asleep for seven years.
He only knows this because he’s been dreaming for all those seven years… And from whatever had woken him up.
“Its twenty-fucking-thirty nine! How deep were those kids digging?” It complained as light began to peek through Logans eyelids. “Ah… nevermind, yeah, mutants.”
Oh God.
Someone had found him, Rice crossed the border, or St— no… He’s long gone. At least he assumes, washed away by the broken dam as well as broken dreams.
The dirt is cleared, the sun burns, and he's being pulled out of the ground like an old root that’s given way. He’s limp, weak, in the hold of whatever was uprooting him. He tries to fight back, tense up and stand up himself, but he can’t find the strength just yet. A red blur—which must have been that voice, what uprooted him—lays him on snow covering the dead grass adjacent to… what was supposed to be his grave. It’s a lot like his isolation chamber in Japan: cold, damp, alone…
Except this time, he did die there. Somehow. He knows it.
The snow is rocky and uncomfortable but Logan is grateful to be out of the dirt.
The red blur continues to jabber as he attempts to blink the dirt out of his eyes, causing them to water. He notices things about himself that changed over the years: to no surprise, he’s grown quite the impressive beard—at least more so than whatever the hell he had back when he died—there isn’t much left to his top and pants, having disintegrated over the years buried underground: and he feels younger. probably even a hundred years younger, if it was even possible. The aches and pains he had been dealing with for the past seventeen years are gone, completely.
All he feels is the shifting and creaking of his adamantium bones. His claws, his bones expanding as he wakes up for the first time in almost a decade.
Logan doesn’t recognize the man in the red suit. He simply stares back at Logan with milky white eyes and waves cheerfully, moving around impatiently. He needs to find out why on Earth he was dug out of his well deserved grave, and fast. Nothing good ever comes from grave diggers.
“Can I help you, bub?” Logan asks, his voice is practically destroyed from disuse. The man looks just as surprised as he feels. He clears his throat.
“Wow, uh… yeah. I need your help,” That sure is new, he thinks sarcastically . “With something crazy important. But given what I just had to do and what you went through, I’ll give you a minute.” … That is new. He takes the man's advice, just sitting and feeling the snow cool his skin. Logan feels amazing, somehow. But a new kind of tiredness begins to seep into his bones, and for once it doesn’t feel like death. He stares up into the falling snow.
He could still be dreaming. It would make sense, his dreams have always been strangely vivid. However his level of awarness is throwing him for a loop, he shouldnt be able to feel these things. At least this well.
He hopes he’s still dreaming, he wouldnt know what to do if he wasnt. What, is he being given a second chance? Why?
“There's a safehouse a mile or so from here, I’m going back to get some clothes.” He stands up and he swears he actually hears his joints creak, the scraping of metal. Logan stretches for a moment and almost loses balance in the snow along the way.
The man laughs, “I can tell, princess.” A familiar third sense of annoyance comes rushing back, Logan scoffs at the man.
“If this is that fuckin’ important to you, explain while I walk.”
The snow is bright, illuminating all the dried blood covering him. It stains the snow as they walk, leaving a trail of blood and gore like he always does.
Momentarily, he feels at peace. With the smell of snow, the shimmer of the trees and the crunching of their footsteps.
Logan learns a lot as they walk. The man's name is Wade Wilson, preferably Deadpool when he’s in the suit. It’s very stark against the big white expanse of the forest. Something about the names wakes something up in the back of his mind. He’s not about to start calling this clown of a vigilante Deadpool . It sounds like he was named by a middle schooler. Anyways, Wade’s a mercenary mute who’s been working on his own. Logan envies that. He claims to have had a bunch of run-ins with what’s left of the new X-Men. Logan finds himself envying that as well, as well as doubting it.
He hopes Laura's okay, hopes she and her friends made it to Canada in one piece. Or in twelve pieces. Either way, safe, now that Logan isn’t following them. He prays that his sacrifices aren't in vain, never seeing his daughter again over the safety of the few mutants left in the world. Except for this new one he just met. He couldn’t be a part of Laura's generation, or his own. When he asks, all he gets is:
“It's more cancer and less x-gene.” Whatever the fuck that means.
Wade informs Logan that he needs help repairing his universe… this one, they’re going to the place that’ll fix it once Logan gets his act together. It’s very much an outlandish request, something Logan hasn’t had to deal with… ever. He doesn't think. But he’s got absolutely nothing on his schedule and he’s looking to bash some skulls, satisfy seven years worth of bloodlust and muscle cramps, so he agrees. It’s not like he can’t slash his way out of a situation like this, hopefully. He’d be more wary if the man who “hired” him didn’t talk like someone who’s supposed to be checked into a facility.
Wade promises him that he can rest as long as he wants once it's over, the comment sits uncomfortably.
This man seems so familiar, but he’d remember a personality like that.
Logan walks a little bit quicker.
-
It takes longer than he remembers to get to the safehouse. It smells of mold and rain, it's sunwashed and ransacked, save for a set of clothes that Rictor had probably patched up for him. Once changed and comfortable, he washes away whatever blood he could and sets to trimming his hair.
Then he notices how much his hands are shaking. It’s not the way they did several years ago, he used to shake because of death, sickness and weakness. Because of the poison. Now… Now, he doesn’t know why he shakes. Lack of sustenance is a possibility, but it’s never caused problems before.
He doesnt know how, or why he knows this but… he feels more human. He remembers chasing this feeling when he first “woke up.” Alone–not alone–in the ruins of a tower. Hobbling over to a woman he didn’t recognize. She didn’t smell human, but he could feel how she once was one. It was weird. He knew she was a mutant, but there was more to it.
Wade notices his silence, “D’you need any help? I promise I’m a good barber, I’ve cut my roommate's hair many times, even my girlfriends!” Before Logan can protest or make fun of him, Wade is snatching the rusty scissors from his hands—it took barely any effort—and pushing him into a seat in front of the mirror.
Logan doesn’t recognize himself.
His wrinkles have smoothed over, leaving behind freckles and sun bleached skin from the inescapable Arizonian heat. The grey has purged itself from his hair, roots growing back a familiar brown, but his eyelashes stayed a blondish-grey that fails to block out the sun. He looked similar to the way he had before Yukio forced him out of his barely-a-home in the forest and back to Japan. He expected himself to look thinner than he was, but he still definitely is. He’d never seen himself this small, this sickly looking. It looked like his body was beginning to knit itself back together, now he was awake again. It must be what all the shallow aches and shaking are.
Wade takes off his gloves to work, Logan notices the odd texture of the man's hands, it's intriguing. His nails trail along his scalp as he works and Logan couldn’t have suppressed the shiver it caused even if he tried. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it, it’s only natural.” For some reason the response is unlike the merc, calm and gentle. Logan wants nothing more than to wrap around that reassurance and fall asleep. It's unlike him as well.
Of course Wade gives him his spikes back, he must be a fan.
-
Logan remembers children, in the safehouse. Trying to cut his beard from every angle. Their little hands resting on his arms, their giggles lifting him into awareness. Hobbling towards this same mirror to assess whatever damages they may have done. Acting upset but not feeling it… just disoriented. Loved.
He hopes those children are safe. He can’t really remember any one of them specifically, vividly enough, lost to the tragedy of his past life. All he sees is Laura.
He didn’t expect to accept this so quickly.
-
Going through a literal, tangible portal for the first time is anticlimactic, it's like walking through the automatic doorway of a supermarket. He can’t believe he remembers what that feels like.
The people that supposedly needed him to help save Wade's world… his world as well, weren’t very happy to see him. It was expected but annoying nonetheless. The man with bandages all over his nose looked furious, he seemed to be in charge here. He stomped towards the two of them and jutted a finger at Wade. He senses past rivalry, a fight lost by the obvious.
“You can’t be fucking serious! What. Is. That.” He demands, slowly pointing his accusing finger at Logan instead. He exchanges a glance with Wade, who doesn’t give him anything obvious in response. Logan guarantees he’s reading the situation incorrectly, but he’s treated that way more times than he can remember. Like a Thing. Just like his own aversions, it comes natural to people.
The sky is blue, the sun is warm, and Logan is a thing. An animal.
“It’s your anchor being, dipshit! He’s still very much alive, so I don’t see what the problem is! Is it the lack of a suit? You should be used to it by now, the author was so excited to leave out the suit. Cheeky bastard.”
The man steps away, jaw slack with shock. “Who did you—? Oh my god…” He walks backwards towards a set of desks and picks up what looks like a baton. Logan braces himself, just slightly, ready to pounce if need be. He can’t exactly sniff out whatever the fuck is happening. This is some timeline bullshit he’s “too feral” to understand—Hanks words, not his.
Unlike Logan, Wade has background knowledge of whatever’s happening, and steps forward. “Look, less-sexy-and-less-intimidating-Hannibal, let’s discuss this peacefully! Control freak, to control freak!” He gestures between himself and the man.
“We’ll get back to it in a little bit! Once we clean up the mess you idiots have started!” He yells through a big bright flash of light.
-
He’s begun to grasp an idea on whatever happened to him. True to his animal nature, he has–for lack of a better term–nine lives, and just used up one. He’s shedded his past life and been reborn like a butterfly. He can guarantee that no one has ever gone through something like this, so he settles for making up an explanation on his own. He’s curious as to why the adamantium just suddenly decided to stop poisoning him, if that was even the reason to begin with. Maybe that doctor was right.
He’s gone through a metamorphosis, he’s keeping it as that.
Not that he deserves it.
Logan knows he’s supposed to hate Wades guts. He’s irritating, sure, annoying and confusing, most definitely, but he has a certain respect for the man. He’s bold and is good at putting people in their place.
Logan relies on Wade too much, even within the few hours he had known him. He doesnt understand what's happening, Wade does… to an extent, much more than Logan does. He doesnt want to be so useless, but there isnt much he can do. As much as he tries. Everything moves too fast, too unfamiliar. So he clings.
The two had come to an agreement to just get out as soon as possible. It isn’t like Logan has shit to get back to. In fact, he feels something calling to him, within the void.
It didn’t go away when he sliced off Sabertooths head.
“You know he’s supposed to be your brother right? It wasn’t written out or anything.”
“Creed hasn’t been my brother for a long fucking time.”
It didn’t go away when Cassandra Nova walked down those stairs like she owned the place, because maybe she did.
“Charles talked about you.” He didn’t.
“Aww, how sweet!” It wasn’t.
It didn’t go away when the two of them fight-fucked in that stupid car.
“I made a wish because I need you.” Logan believed every second of it, he couldn’t help himself.
“I think I–”
It went away when he woke up afterwards, but not for the obvious reasons.